Life as a Drug Lord

We own property in a fast growing suburb--part of a farm now hemmed in with town houses and single family suburbia.

My mother calls, announcing, "The cops called today. They said we have marijuana in the old pasture."

"Hmmm," I say. So I wander into my pony's old pasture. The pony has been gone some 15 years now, and I start poking around. Sure enough, there are several fine looking, ten foot tall marijuana plants. "Yep, the cops are right."

"Are you sure?" my mother demands. "How do you know what marijuana looks like?"

"You just do. It's not that hard."

So I make arrangements with the local cop shop to come by and pull the plants out. After all it was their idea in the first place. They did a quick survey and found couple of plants down at one end of the pasture. "This won't take long," says Don the cop, who drew pot-pulling duty.

I waggled my finger and point out my healthy crop that's striving and thriving.

"Oh," he says.

Ninety minutes later, Don tells me they think they took out 4000 plants. No wonder my old pony led such a happy life.