What child doesn’t have a story of a tree house while in their youth?
In our back yard was our tree house. Dennis was getting weaker as the MD progressed in his body, so we made sure the tree house was easily accessible. It was low in the tree and the steps leading up to it were wide and well secured to the tree. We had gotten a bb gun for Christmas the previous holiday and we were eager to find a bunker we could shoot it from. The tree house was perfect. It was cumbersome for Dennis to make several trips into the tree house, so we always made sure we had plenty of ammo to last us awhile each time we ventured into our bunker…which was often.
From the cover of our private club house we were safe to send a barrage of bullets upon any unsuspecting animal venturing into our shooting range. If a stray dog wandered close to our property we were quick to send him on his way yelping. The same was true for cats. Although we wouldn’t consider the sound they made to be a yelp. Many a bird met its maker when they would land in the tree that housed our bunker.
Even neighborhood animals have intelligence though and the visits from meandering dogs and cats grew more and more scarce as they learned they would get pelted if they came too close to the certain area that comprised the range of our gun. What is and army to do when they don’t have a foe to shoot at? We started shooting at something new.
Across the street and one lot to the east of our tree house was a business run my Mr. Zender. He had a repair shop where he worked on all manner of small engines and parts. He would work on some of my future lawn mowers from this very shop which now became our newest target. His entire building was made of galvanized sheeting through and through. From the door to the walls, from the floor to the roof, it was all galvanized sheeting. The sound of a bb hitting galvanized steel is quite resounding, so Mr. Zender could easily hear each bb that hit his building and echoed through out his shop. One day in every week was torment Mr. Zender day. From the privacy of our tree house we’d shoot a single shot onto the roof of his shop. The initial landing would make a very audible “ping” upon its landing. As the bb took its long, rolling trip down the inclined, corrugated roof, it made its own definite, tortuous sound. The sound would reverberate throughout his shop until it finally reached the bottom edge of the roof and fell harmlessly to the parking lot surrounding his building.We would shoot several rounds, one right after another to make the annoying sound triple in intensity to get a reaction from Mr. Zender. He would come running out from the inner sanctuary of his shop and peer up and down the road looking for the perpetrators of this hideous noise. We always made our salvos onto his roof when absolutely no one was around to heighten his frustration in not being able to find the guilty party. We would peer out the many knot holes in our tree house and watch as his head would rip from side to side in an attempt to locate us. Usually on the third trip Mr. Zender would yell some threat that if he ever caught us we would be sorry we were ever born. Such a threat would bring giggles out of us and make us stop shooting for a brief period. We made sure we had our sandwiches and drinks for lunch so if he were looking out the window hoping to find any slinking bodies, his resolve to find us wasn’t stronger than our hunger. In such fashion we vexed Mr. Zender many times, never getting caught.