The cold snap had kept the pond temperature low. Clarence fed the line through a shaded section to preserve the chill. It wasn’t frozen—but it had bite. And mixed with pond silt and a dash of garden sediment, it would stick. Not enough to harm, but enough to annoy—deeply.
He smiled, just slightly. If the city wouldn’t stop them, and the signs wouldn’t stop them, and his words didn’t matter—then maybe a surprise would. Not a fight. Not a threat. Just a wet, muddy reminder that this yard belonged to someone.