Greetings, Doe girl.

Remember me? Yep, it's your old pear-lovin' pal Rob.

Every year I watch and watch, hoping and waiting for the day when I can pick from the branches those sweet, delicious pears from the tree I planted-only to find that you, or your kin, have herd about our Curdsville place-and an orchard ripe to plunder. My orchard. And every year, eschewing the gritty cooking variety pear tree that you are welcome to enjoy just down the hill, you come into the yard to sink your teeth into my labor.

To take my taste of fruitopia.

My Bartlett pears.

Did I mention they were mine?

Well deer Jane-shall I call you Jane?-you are not a welcome guest, but a habitual thief. Still, I'm happy to reflect, this was not your year, not your horn of plenty.

You, Jane, had the audacity to attempt a broad daylight raid. Only this time, unlike some years past, I caught you, the lowest of sneak thieves, in the very act.

How brazen, shockingly bold, I must say. You stood there, Jane, as if I couldn't see you from the side door of the house, within hoof's reach of the lower branches. Maybe, you thought, I would run and hide while you partook of ill-gotten gains.

Perhaps you figured the old guy had a blind spot and couldn't see you. Maybe, Jane, you thought Rob would look the other way for the deerly beloved majestic creature. How vain you would be to have such thoughts.

Who knows what went through your devious little mind as I gazed squarely at you? But a shout or two and a few steps in your direction and you white-tailed it for the bushes.

You didn't get all my pears in a clandestine heist. I finally won a round, this round. So ha, I say. Ha, again.

I shall think of you fawnly, Jane, with each delicious bite and know that life truly can be sweet-for the Chapmans, that is.

But look behind you, Jane, for the authorities are sure to come. They have your description (beautiful creature with a heart of deceit), they know where you live (the woods), and can track any fugitive with dogged determination.

Oh, you are a bad seed, Jane, but maybe not quite rotten to the core. Maybe you're ripe for just desserts from some other tree. Have you tried apples? I hear they're quite delicious-not just the red ones.

If you're still looking for my pears Jane, I did leave a few (I am not without heart), but plucked most of the lower hanging ones and they're safely stored in the house.

My house.

For me and mine.

So chew on that…

– Rob

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