Harry lived in the house behind mine. His obituary ends with this line:
Harry will be missed for many things but most notably his feistiness and zest for life.
Sounds about right.
Not long after we moved here, when Harry was a spry fellow in his early eighties, he locked himself out of his house. There was no getting in the first floor without breaking a window. But perhaps one of the second-story windows was open, if just a little. We put a ladder against the porch roof, and I climbed up to check the windows.
To my surprise, Harry climbed up right behind me. All the windows were closed. We tried to slip a thin piece of metal through the meeting rails of a bedroom window, hoping to open the clamshell sash lock. No luck.
We ended up using my cordless drill to drill a hole through the lower rail of the top sash, and then used a bent coat hanger to unfasten the clamshell. The window slid open easily, and Harry climbed in.
Rest in Peace.