Painful as it is, we who live on Gabriola have to acknowledge that a certain level of crime does exist. Whoever the perpetrators are, they have no respect for private or public property.

Where did they come from? Living on an island should be some kind of assurance that the crimes of the city would never lay foot here . One thing this certain: as the weather warms up so does the level of crime. Does this mean that we have an element of 'fair weather' criminals, or that this is dependant on specific circumstances? What 's even more aggravating is that whoever this person or persons are, they leave no traceable tracks behind them. Our own local police seem to be baffled and this adds to the sense of unease. So, what kinds of things are happening?

For me, personally, I have had three attempts to break into my garden shed. Most people have a good selection of tools, and often valuable ones. On the first attempt of B&E it was just after dark and I heard the shed door open and close. The following morning I was shocked to see things overturned on the floor. Nothing was actually taken so I must have scared him off. I later heard that this kind of thing had been happening all over the island. Makes you very suspicious, doesn 't it? Are they working in pairs, or is this more of an organized thing? And what 's the point in trashing property if you 're just out to steal something?

The second assault on my property was more successful for the criminal, and again, my garden shed was left in chaos. Almost as if he 'd taken pleasure in it. Now my fear escalated, and knowing how impossible it was to patrol the whole island I decided to take matters into my own hands. I bought a can of 'that' spray, and prayed I'd aim in the right direction when the time came.

Much as it saddened me I kept the doors locked, and the outside lights on. I had my camera just inside the back door where I could grab it, and 'that' spray right next to it. And sure enough, under cover of night the coward returned.

I picked up the camera but forgot the spray, and it was too late to go back . Creeping carefully along the garage I listened just outside the shed door. With a racing heart but steady hand I flung the door open and took 3 quick succession shots of the raiders. This time there were 2 of them and they were caught completely off guard. With something like a hiss they flew past me and were gone.

Aha! I had them on film, and now I could expose these creeps to the whole island. With immense pride in myself, and wanting to savour the moment of revelation, I calmly poured myself a glass of wine and settled at my computer.

As I smugly downloaded the pictures, I thought about calling the Flying Shingle to arrange an interview with me. But as my pictures came up, I put down my glass of wine, and sat opened-mouthed as I faced my criminals. Racoons! Two big, fat racoons stared into the camera. Shocked, I did a quick review of the crimes perpetrated against me. No tools were actually taken, but all the shiny stuff was missing. I had noticed that my grape vines were bare, and that my compost seemed to have been mysteriously turned.

I could just imagine those two racoons scampering up the road chattering "Busted! Earl, you were too noisy!" "Well, you 're no ballerina either Ethel. Now, who are we going hit?"

I had a hard time to keep from laughing out loud; especially when I saw them head up the road to Rose Topps' place!!!!!

July 6, 2008