![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihSkDFgc5gMzNW8bfW_wSjNTy0u1IW17lS9vfBUa_u9sZfAY-VHf1ioF_jFIVOvcWjmpWiMn6qDK2sWfWH9rQ6Nj6Flqq1_RdiiQ6ZlJWQFCz_vqEbJWAFUyTwICtFN3S0j7jkWSdtcxk/s320/no+trespassing.jpg)
I stalk our neighborhood for unoccupied, fenced property which almost always has a No Trespassing sign
prominently displayed. Then I release Annie Bones so she can run free. I feel a little like an urban
guerrilla.
Because I am what some would call 'an old lady,' with almost white hair and a few wrinkles, I'm let off with a, "really
ma'am, you aren't allowed in here."
And I say, "Oh, I'm sorry, of course. How silly of me."
They smile and my dog and I go our way. She's had her run, I've had my fun and the
warners feel like they've been kind to a grandmotherly type. (This is just one of the perks of getting older.)