Nobody Is Minding the Latch: Gator Bagels, Highway Emus, and a Peacock in the Mirror

Four perimeter breaches in seventy-two hours, zero locked doors, and one very tired guard goose.

Nov 07, 2026

Honk. Gather round the fence post. Keep your hands off the latch and your clipboards in the truck.

That clipboard on the ground? That was the previous shift’s “Access Control Policy.” Shut the door.

People spend billions of dollars every year on "security architecture," laminated visitor badges, and forty-slide briefings titled Aligning Our Perimeter Posture for Q4. Then somebody props the back door open with a mop bucket because the kitchen got warm, and nature walks right in to order breakfast.

I read the morning dispatches from the porch with an Oliva Serie V and two fingers of rye, and let me tell you: nobody out there is minding the gate this week except me.

Start in Southport, North Carolina. Earlier this week, a three-foot alligator strolled straight through an open back door into a bagel shop. Didn't pick a lock. Didn't spoof a badge. Didn't bypass a firewall. Somebody left the back door open, and three feet of dinosaur walked in looking for an everything with schmear before police and animal services hauled him out.

That gator understood physical security better than half the consultants in Washington. An unlocked door is an invitation, whether you're wearing scales or carrying a pry bar.

Then move north to Thompson, Connecticut, where rookie animal-control officers spent part of this week wrangling a five-foot runaway emu near Interstate 395. As a professional bird, I have two thoughts on this. First, respect to the rookies. Five feet of annoyed dinosaur-cousin with drumsticks like bolt cutters isn't a beginner assignment, and they brought him home in one piece. Second, how does a five-foot bird clear your fence line and make a run for the interstate without anybody noticing? Somebody skipped the evening walk-around.

And it wasn't isolated. Up in Scarborough, Maine, police had to round up three escaped alpacas wandering loose through town. Down in Brisbane, Australia, a couple walked into their own bathroom and found a peacock named Hex admiring himself in their mirror before going home to his tattoo-artist owner.

Let's tally the week's blotter:

One alligator in the bagels.
One emu making a break for I-395.
Three fugitive alpacas on a neighborhood stroll.
One vain peacock conducting an unauthorized inspection of a stranger's sink.

If you handed this problem to our resident anti-mascot, Lord Do Nothing, you already know what would happen. He wouldn't get out of his chair. He wouldn't adjust the ermine. He'd clear his throat, express grave bipartisan concern about Reptilian Bakery Access, commission a Blue-Ribbon Emu Subcommittee, and adjourn until after the holidays while Hex the peacock moved into the guest bedroom.

That's the whole difference between theater and a perimeter. Theater writes a memo after the gator's already behind the counter. A guard checks the latch before he pours the rye.

So here's your weekend security audit from the resident goose at Security n Cigars. It fits on zero clipboards:

Shut the back door. Not "mostly shut." Latched.
Walk your own fence line. If a five-foot emu can slip out, anything else can slip in.
Check the bathroom mirror for peacocks. Probably fine, right up until the morning it isn't.

My gate's locked. The cigar's drawing clean. Lord Do Nothing gets his own big write-up here on Sunday, assuming anyone can wake him up for it. Until then, keep your doors latched, and tell me in the comments the weirdest thing that ever wandered onto your post, your shop, or your yard.

Security n Cigars is free to read. Bring a friend, and leave the clipboard at the curb.

Signed, Gerald

Discussion about this post

Ready for more?

Nobody Is Minding the Latch: Gator Bagels, Highway Emus, and a Peacock in the Mirror

Four perimeter breaches in seventy-two hours, zero locked doors, and one very tired guard goose.

Further Reading

Discussion about this post

Ready for more?