The life of a caboose is not always an easy one.
It often means to (unintentionally) get caught in the crossfire of two warring brothers. It is just the way it is. And it makes for (too many) close calls. Thankfully not all wounds require ER visits, but the location of this one made us realize that every missed millimeter equals miles of grace.
The puny girl in me ordered all weapons (commercial or self-invented) to the trashcan. NO MORE WARS. Obediently (and somewhat shaken by The Fritz’s almost-out-eye) the Pirates, Vikings, Barbarians, Indians, Union solders and Confederates lay down their swords, sticks, PVC pipes, 2x6’s (:-o), Mazoongas and logs at the feet of their
loving and long-suffering?, oppressive?, traumatized Queen Mother.