Mood: don't ask
Topic: "If It Ain't OneThing"(5)
Sports, politics, love, work, it don't matter, if momentum is going in the wrong direction there are times when you might as well roll over and turn off the alarm clock (digital, of course). The Shire is home to hacking coughs, frazzled nerves, overcast skies and limping canines. It is almost as much fun, says Frodo, as an enema (which reminds him of the colonoscopy scheduled for February 8th).
This past Sunday morning probably dawned, although from the incessant drizzle and invisible skies it was difficult to ascertain. Frodo had risen early, simply because further sleep was denied by associates requiring the relief provided by authorized urination in the great out-of-doors. Frodo wondered if President Obama was having as much fun as he.
Sam and Bilbo were having a heated discussion about breakfast plans. Frodo had completed his critique of the Sports section, but lacked the capacity to attack Business, National, or Local. He retreated to the bathroom.
While brushing his teeth, and with the small window on the world slightly ajar, he was startled by the muffled words of a loudspeaker nearby, but out of sight. "This is the Police. We are serving a search warrant at this address. Please come out with your hands up."
This is not a usual morning presentation in the vicinity of the Shire, even on a Sunday. Frodo nearly strained his neck in the attempt to see something through that tiny window, anything, which might give him some insight into what was going on out there, beyond the Gardens. His rushed exit from the bathroom caught the attention of Fiona and Mick, the Wonder Dog, who immediately sensed adventure. Sam and Bilbo listened to his harried explanation but noted, as did Frodo, that things were now silent in every direction. It was also raining.
Frodo, Fiona, and Mick, the Wonder Dog, all properly leashed, took off in rain garb toward the perceived source of the audio activity. Alas, they found neither flashing lights nor guns drawn. Sane people, Fiona seemed to say, were back inside, eating breakfast. By happenstance, Tom Bombadil approached in his motorcar from the opposite direction, and stopped to briefly exchange greetings with the sopping Hobbit and companions. When informed of the impetus for Frodo's sojourn, Tom attested to the fact that nothing untoward had occurred where he had been. Frodo noted the sarcastic tone from he who had not even been in the proper vicinity, but it signaled the wisdom for Frodo to return to the interior chambers of the Shire.
He coughed with every step bound toward home. The closest thing to real human interest had eluded his keen sense of observation, and now he faced incessant questions with no apparent answers. Frodo quickly eliminated the memories from the appropriate storage facilities in his cerebellum.
Today, however, Bilbo noted a short paragraph in the local newspaper (if you can sanely refer to what they now allege to be a newspaper). It was noted that in the general vicinity of the Shire, on Sunday morning, a SWAT Team had taken possession of an automobile believed to have been used in a shooting in Mordor. Although the names were unknown to Frodo, the location was such that it probably represented the events which had drawn his attention, and this narrative.
This evening, Frodo walked by the general area of the events of the day before. He tarried. Fiona seemed disinterested, but Mick, the Wonder Dog, was a willing understudy in the search for clues.
Both of his associates wondered why Frodo kept referring to Mick, the Wonder Dog, as "Watson." Sometimes, an overly active imagination is all it takes to give meaning to existence in the middle of winters discontent.