Thieves

My parents still live in Texas. Yesterday afternoon, their place was broken into. The thieves took the televisions, several of my father's firearms, his Nikon camera with all accessories, and several other miscellaneous things. The neighbors were away for the most part. One gentleman, whose house is to the back and side of my parents', says that he heard hammering, but since Dad does a lot of construction, he didn't think anything of it. To quote my mom, "They're thinking about it now!"

Keep in mind, however, that my father is both a veteran and a gunsmith. He has tools stashed in places that most people would never think to look. So fortunately, he isn't completely defanged. Also being an intelligent human being who believes in planning for the worst so you're delighted when the best occurs, he had a complete list of his firearms' serial numbers. The police are distributing the data to gun stores and pawn shops in the area so if anyone tries to pass them off, they come up flagged.

The sons of bitches who did this need to pay. I'm too far away to do much, but I just did something that might help ensure that their fate wings more quickly to their hearths. Between that and the efforts of the police, joined with the vigilance of shopkeepers in Central Texas, I'm feeling hopeful that my Dad might get a few of the guns back. (If anyone wants to write something discouraging about them getting seized/impounded, or never showing up -- just save it. I don't want to hear it, and I sure as hell am not interested in defeatism. Good things do happen by a mix of focused visualization and focused action.)

The thieves are fucked. Don't mess with my family.