This is it, the final offensive. The push to break our enemy, to drive him before us, and to hear the lamentations of his women, or just get the damn house finished, sold and move North. We called a local Realtor, one that had a pretty good rep for selling country property. Both the Mrs and I have been Realtors in a past life. We’re not talking reincarnation or anything hand wavy like that. Our time in Missouri, or Misery as I like to call it, was not built on the sound foundation of happy memories. Being a Realtor can do that to a guy. The people in the business had a saying, “Buyers are liars” to which I added, after having some experience in the field, “As are sellers and Brokers and so on…” Sure, it’s all supposed to be on the up and up, but so is the Government. You get my drift.
Anyway, our Realtors said they would be out in a week to see the place. Hmm. A week. Could it be these guys are so busy that it would take that long to come see the place and get a contract. Or maybe, they weren’t all that hepped up to come out and see another old house. Everybody knows everybody in these parts, and sure as heck these guys knew this place and had already formed an opinion from seeing it when the last people lived here. You can put lipstick on a pig, but it’s still a pig.
We let it ride and see what would come of it. 3 of them showed up, late, and did a brief tour of the place, didn’t ask many questions and didn’t really look the place over much. Said they would crunch some numbers and get back to us as to what the place was worth. A week later, a single Realtor showed up and told us what they thought the value of the property was, and that value was something just a bit North of what we paid for the place, 10 years ago. The Mrs glanced at me and I saw her tense up a bit. Back when we had horses, we mostly dealt with Arabs and Saddlebreds. Never had much truck with Quarter Horses but lots of people like ‘em. Arabs will let you know, early, if you and he are gonna have a problem. Like sometimes before you got out to the barn. Saddlebreds were pretty easy going, they had their moments sure, but tended to calm down quickly and not hold a grudge. In Kansas, we got our first Quarter Horse. I had always heard that you could never tell with them, until the last damn second when all hell broke loose, if you and him were gonna butt heads. Turns out to be true. Our Quarter Horse was Mr Congenial until he wasn’t. I’ve been told I’m a pretty laid back kinda guy, until I’m not. The Realtor found out I more resemble a Quarter Horse when push comes to shove. She left with us promising to talk about things and maybe call her, sometime.
We had a pow wow and decided to quit messin’ with the local yokels. The next day, Mrs Former Realtor called somebody in Wichita and he showed up the following day. He gets out of the car, Sweet Pea cuddles up to him and we spent maybe 15 minutes chatting, acting like we’re old friends, out in the front yard. He loved the place, took notes, admired my drones, talked about guns and hunting, and then we sat down to brass tacks. What do I have to do to make you happy, he asked and I told him. Mamma always said, if you get a chance to go, go big and so I told him what I wanted. He didn’t say no, just that it would take some time. I know we are not going to get what I want for the place, but given the time, I think this old boy might just get us what we need. I told him I needed about 3 weeks to tie up loose ends. He called today to ask how things are going. I told him I was in the process of breaking my enemy and hope to soon drive him before me. “So, right on schedule, then?” Yup, I said. He laughed and told me to keep him in the loop.