on rebar betrayal and suburban shenanigans

the secret lives of scurrying sheds

Eighteen months ago I moved my shed.

It’s a simple 10 x 12 building with 8 foot walls.

When I moved it, my cousin and a friend and I were involved.

There was pizza, pop and beer.

We had flood lights, poles, pull straps and a truck with a powerful winch.

It took us about an hour to move the darn thing thirty feet.

The problem?

We pulled it too far forward. There wasn’t enough room in the driveway for two vehicles.

Over the past few weeks I’ve been working to rectify that.

I cleaned up an area behind the shed. I leveled the ground. I even went so far as to spray paint lines where I wanted the shed to end up.

And today?

I dug holes, jacked up the shed and put some logs under it.

I hooked up a come along to a stake in the ground.

Then?

Then I started to crank the winch.

Imagine to my surprise when an inch thick piece of rebar pounded four feet into the ground didn’t hold.

It was a bit of a pickle.

My tools were out of the shed. It was up on blocks and I was desperate to move it exactly twelve feet back.

Today was the only day I could do the job.

So what did I do?

I got my truck and slowly edged the bumper into the face of the shed.

Within ten minutes I had the sucker pushed back and perfectly in place.

The whole event was really quite satisfying.

Well. The first time was likely more satisfying.

I had other people around. It was exciting! It was the first time!

First times are so much fun!

Today?

Well, it was the second time doing the whole move the shed thing.

It was a much less fraught, more matter of fact sort of thing. It was kinda blase.

The first time was more fun because we didn’t know how it would go down.

Today?

I knew it would move and there was no ‘we’ to make things more exciting.

But hey, at least I have a compelling story to tell online, filled with the gripping drama of inch-thick rebar and the raw power of my truck's bumper.

Another soul baring existential struggle!

Dear reader, you’re welcome

But we can learn something from such experiences.

You just have to listen carefully.

You know what the shed told me when it finally settled into its new resting place?

Nothing.

Pretty damn rude considering how much attention I’ve paid it lately.

It could have at least complimented me on my magnificent eyebrows - or my wonderfully sculpted arse.

The last time I moved the shed, we did it while the nosey neighbours were out getting groceries. They left with the shed in one place and came back with it moved forward.

Today?

They were out at lunch and came back to find it moved again.

I've already started thinking about moving it again next spring. Just to fuck with them a bit more eh?

Wouldn’t it be fun if in their advanced years, they think they’re losing their marbles - His shed is taunting us, it seems to move itself!

Stay evil you fiends.