The cold snap had kept the pond temperature low. Clarence fed the line through a shaded section to preserve the chill. It wasn’t frozen—but it had bite. And mixed with pond silt and a dash of garden sediment, it would stick. Not enough to harm, but enough to annoy—deeply.
He smiled, just slightly. If the city wouldn’t stop them, and the signs wouldn’t stop them, and his words didn’t matter—then maybe a surprise would. Not a fight. Not a threat. Just a wet, muddy reminder that this yard belonged to someone.
He tested it with a rake handle. The sensor blinked. A half-second later, a sharp burst of water arced out in a thin spray. It lasted about four seconds before shutting off. Clarence nodded to himself, then adjusted the angle to reach across the unofficial “shortcut” path. It was ready.
To be extra sure, he added one more sign—this time in block letters on reflective plastic: “WET ZONE – PROPERTY UNDER MAINTENANCE – DO NOT ENTER.” He knew they wouldn’t read it. But it wasn’t for them. It was for him. A reminder that he had done everything he could before this.