That asshole dog Jack hadn't raised any hell, but I went out anyway and checked the front porch, the back porch, and the bed and cab of my pickup where our regular mailman, Jason, is known to drop them.
Seeing as the post office was already closed, I told Lisa I'd call the post office tomorrow if they were open this holiday weekend.
About quarter to six, I ran into town for our monthly fast food meal. When I got back, Lisa was laughing about how some guy pulled into our driveway and that asshole dog Jack had him trapped in the truck. He was there to drop off Lisa's packages after they'd been mistakenly delivered to his house.
Now how cool is that? In California, Lisa would've never seen them and they'd have been sold at the flea market.
