Herbert's Delivery

“That's it, to hell with these boxes!” Herbert shouted to no one. With one hand he carried the small box, and with his other he supported his c shaped back as he walked toward his trash can. “I don't know how many times I have to put this out here, when it's not my damned package.”

He grunted as he slammed the box into the blue and yellow garbage bin, as hard as a 70-something retiree could that is. He glanced around his impeccable yard suspiciously as if the yard itself was the one who kept putting these delivery boxes at his front door. He muttered with approval at the sight of his yard. Since Beatrice passed it was one of the few things that kept Herbert going. That and his old lazy dachshund Georgie.

Herbert smiled as he thought to himself, well Georgie aint lazy he's just retired. Herbert's eyes stopped at the northeast corner of his yard, where his yard met the boundary of his neighbors; the wretched Patterson's.

His jaw tightened at the unsightly disarray of their yard. Uncut grass, random toys and trash adorned their yard. “Some people I swear just.” Herbert's train of thought stopped, his eyes widened at the pile of sticks that was on his side of the property line, sticks that were certainly not his.

He grumbled to himself as he stomped toward the sticks. Some people just don't take care of anything now-a-days. Herbert adjusted his glasses and beady little brown eyes with a freckled covered smirk came into view. The Patterson boy.

Herbert stood across from the boy who came out from behind the tree. They stood frozen in time it seemed, Herbert's scowl grew. He could hear the soundtrack from The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly.

Standing across from him was Herbert's nemesis. They were fated for their eternal struggle Herbert thought. It was only natural, youth and what was considered the beginning, versus time and what could be considered the end.

Herbert yelled at the boy like he had plenty of times. “Keep your sticks on your side! And I know the sticks didn't get legs and walk over here on their own, so that means your sticks stay on your side!”

“Mr. Herbert you won't believe it but I watched those sticks walk over to your yard!” The boy retorted with sincerity on his face.

“The sticks walked..You little shit.” Herbert muttered to himself before tossing the sticks back over in the general direction of the Patterson boy; who scurried away in laughter.

Little runt runs at the first sign of trouble.

Herbert tossed the remaining sticks on Patterson's yard and walked with a swagger that comes from vanquishing your mortal enemy. He went back into his home, and closed the door to the outside world.

The next morning was one one of many plans for Herbert.

The can opener buzzed as it peeled off the lid from the can of dog food.

Herbert heard stirring from the living room. Georgie moved for few things in this world, food being the main one. He heard his panting before he came around the corner. Georgie's long frame trailed behind him, his belly literally dragged on the floor. Herbert commenced the baby talk. “There's my little sausage! That's my boy come on, you know what that sound means my boy.”

He scratched Georgie behind the ears, “that's right my little sausage. Cmon lets eat now.”

Herbert held the can over the dog food dish and watched as what was allegedly considered food slopped into the bowl. Herbert's face twisted with mild disgust, thankful he didn't have to eat that. Though he might eat something similar if his sons had it their way and put him in a home.

“To hell with that!” Herbert grunted at Georgie. Georgie continued to eat his slop unbothered. Herbert would rather die than give up this. This freedom he had. He had Georgie, he had bacon on the stove top. A hot cup of joe burped on the verge of completion. Life was good.

All he needed now was his morning paper. Then he would take said paper to the little boys room for his morning coffee, and morning dump. Or as he told Beatrice, he was going to do the taxes.

Herbert opened the door again, his mild smirk faded from his face. There next to the morning paper was a box, with a smile on the side of it. One might think it was the same exact one he threw in the garbage the day before. No name or address on it, nothing as it had been the past three days in a row. He growled in anger. “While I’ll be. Where the, why?” He looked around for any delivery truck.

Herbert then proceeded to pick up the package and dispose of it again. He then stomped back into his house and slammed the door behind him.

The door then opened a crack, a bony arm reached outside and grabbed the paper before it returned to its solitude.

“Some guard dog you are.” He snapped to Georgie who looked up from his now empty bowl blankly; his tail wagged in response.

Herbert wasn't about to let these damned boxes annoy him; he proceeded with his previous plans of coffee, newspaper, toilet.

He had just plopped on the toilet when he heard Georgie's squeaky bark. Herbert sighed. Georgie only barked when there was actually someone at the door, or he had to crap. He was a good dog as far as that was concerned. Herbert tossed aside the paper to the floor and grunted his way up to his feet. “I'm comin’, I’m comin’.”

Hebert came down the stairs, Georgie scurried around at his feet like a little barking worm.

“Okay, okay ya little turd, it better be good. You interrupted my taxes, I’m almost done with 2017.”

Herbert went to open the door, his knees buckled a tad as Georgie ran past his side. There on his door mat as it was before was another box. Herbert's fists shot around erratically as he fought the urges to use the lord's name in vain. Instead grumbled words and noises came out his mouth.

After some deep meditative breaths Herbert thought to himself, “To hell with it let me open this damned box.” Herbert folded open a knife from his back pocket, and expertly sliced it open.

Slowly he opened the flap and nearly jumped from his bathrobe. From the box came a white cream pie that hit Herbert in the face. The box tumbled to the ground and Herbert almost did with it. He wiped the cream from his face, and now realized it was shaving cream. A medley of curse words Herbert didn't know could be mixed together flowed from him. He kicked the box, and tried to call Georgie back to him.

“Georgie, come! Georgie snack! Come on, snack.”

Herbert took a few steps toward his dog, who he realized was barking to the sky.

“Georgie cmon whadya-” Herbert now saw what Georgie was barking at. About thirty feet above his fat little dog was a drone. Observing him.

“What the sam hell.” Herbert muttered. He realized now this is where the boxes must be coming from. “Enjoy the show!”

He turned back into his house as fast as his back would allow. He emerged again with an over under shotgun in his arms. He loaded two shells into it, and snapped the gun back together. As Herbert shakily raised the gun the drone buzzed around and quickly maneuvered away past the Pattersons house.

“Damn right.” He nodded to Georgie. “No more boxes!”

Before he turned back to his house Herbert took note of movement around the Patterson's home, he grumbled to himself and walked into his home.

Craig Patterson had long messed with the old man next door. Whether it was tping his house. Spreading chemicals to kill his yard. Egging the house, or this most recent adventure. For the past week he had used his drone to drop things on the old hags house and he found that when he left a box as if it was a delivery,it really pissed the old geezer off for some reason.

Craig placed the box into the claw of his drone.

“Prepare for liftoff.” The drone's small propeller blades spun to life as it hovered into the sky. Craig watched himself and his home shrink smaller and smaller in the video feed. The feed now shifted more to the old man's house. “Eyes on target.”

Despite his worry about the old geezer shooting his drone the day before, Craig couldn't resist the urge to mess with the old man. It had become his favorite summer pastime.

The site picture grew larger and larger as the drone closed the distance to the front step of the house. “Initiating drop sequence.”

He pressed and held a button on his controller and the box dropped to the step. “Package delivered.”

Now all there was to do would be to observe. “Maintaining holding pattern.” His voice squeaked. He smiled in between bites of cheetos.

The show was about to start. The newspaper just got dropped off, like clockwork the old fart would appear at the door with his fat dog, and get the paper.

Today Craig had the drone positioned right above the old man's house so he didn't have much of a chance to see it. Then he could also use the old man's house as cover in case he did decide to do the old west routine again.

Right on queue the door opened up and out came the sausage looking dog and the old man. He wore his usual flannel bathrobe. Craig could see him cautiously look around and finally at the package.

Craig's smile grew as he could see the old man stomping his feet, shaking his fist.

“Another happy customer.” He said as he laughed. The old man was furious today, he jumped up and down on the package, crushing it. “Ah I knew I should've put dog poo in it this time.”

He zoomed in with the drone some, the old man was going extra crazy today. He then looked up at the drone. “Uh oh, maybe mission abort.” The old man gave the drone the bird, from his position Craig could hear his yell.

The old man's face went from blind fury, to that of shock. He held his hand up to his chest and stepped forward, then backward, then to his side. “What the? What's he doing? Did I finally break him?” This was different from the normal angry dance that the man did.

The old man froze in place now with both hands to his chest. He collapsed, and shook violently on the ground.

“Oh my god, oh no. No, no,no,no. Crap!” Craig's stomach plummeted. He wanted to throw up. Did I just kill the old man?

Craig called for the drone to return, he didn't let it finish landing. He put down his controller and began sprinting inside. “Dad! Dad! The neighbor needs help! Dad!”

Meanwhile back at Herbert's, Georgie barked desperately at Herbert who lay motionless on the ground. Above the barking Herbert could hear that rotten Patterson boy shouting “Dad the neighbor needs help!” His hands still grabbed at his chest as if he tried to pull his own heart out.

A Wiry smile came across Herbert's face, he patted Georgie's head, and pushed away the dog's kisses.

“Now now boy, get back will ya.”

He slowly rose to his feet with resolve and patted the dirt and grass from his robe. Herbert observed the Patterson boy running inside their home. “Oh I'll bet hes pissin’ his pants right about now, what'dyou’ say Georgie boy?” He looked down at Georgie whose belly propped him up on the ground like a tripod, his tail wagged anxiously.

“Oh cmon, boy, let's get you fed.” Today Herbert may just have a beer with his breakfast, and he kick his feet up on the recliner. After he finishes the taxes that is. Yes, that's what he will do, he thought.

Before he closed the door on the world, Herbert looked outside one more time.

“Heh that will show ya, ya little shit.”