Jeff Haas

The package must have arrived during the night because it was resting on Jacob Osbourne's welcome mat early in the morning. The lightest of sleepers, Jacob was up with the sun and could see a small box wrapped in coarse brown paper sitting on his front porch. He twisted his head to get a better look through the front door window, but all he saw was the thick string holding the package together.

He didn't know what to do.

After ten minutes of indecision, he went to the garage and grabbed his extended pruning shears, then put on his Kevlar vest and gloves. Turning off the security alarm and unlocking three deadbolts, he cracked the front door and peeked out.

So far so good.

Standing back from the door, he angled the pruning shears through the opening and nudged the package with the tip, then nudged it a little further. When he had pushed the package several inches without incident, he was relieved. At least temporarily.

Now he had to pick the damned thing up.

Setting the shears down in the foyer, Jacob opened the front door wider, stuck his head through the opening, and looked down at the package. His name and location were correct, but there was no return address. He knew it was risky, but before he could stop himself he swung the door wide open and picked up the package.

To his amazement, nothing happened.

Gaining confidence, he carried the package into the kitchen and set it down on the island. He carefully removed the string, slowly unwrapped the package, and pulled the paper away from a slick white box. Written prominently on top of the box was the name of a familiar company.

Thank God, it was only his medicine.