The little rascal down the street is my suspect since this kid always plucks at my raspberries, leaving the bushes stepped on, broken in parts and he is exasperating my patience so I do need to boot him out next time.
The other day he was caught sneaking up in the garage of the next door neighbour rummaging through the boxes of old toys left there through the years and, although he did not take anything, he played with some of the toys right there in the garage until the neighbour finally told him to leave.
Another neighbour reported to me that he is very sneaky, he lifts vegetables from their garden and he tried to pull out one of the rabbits from its pen the other day but he was caught just in time and that upon seeing her he ran off looking scared.
Surely someone must report him to his negligent parents who don’t seem to give him any supervision whatsoever, to the point that I have never seen either one of them coming or going from that derelict house with crooked shutters and broken window panes, a house that is a terrible eyesore in our well manicured neighbourhood.
I send my husband to complain to the parents only to see him quickly come back to tell me that the boy lives alone because his parents have been killed in a car accident last fall, that he has no relatives, that the boy feeds himself by picking in the neighbourhood gardens and that he invited the boy to dinner and he was on his way to call a social worker to come meet the boy at our house at that time.
The boy ate his dinner with such appetite looking up at us between bites and smiling at the social worker throughout the whole meal, eating nonstop until there were no crumbs left whatsoever after finishing off his second desert and shortly thereafter the boy left with the social worker looking very pleased, smiling ear to ear so we could see his joy in being taken care of.
Hélène Vaillant©/Stories for Children