bucolic living let's say. Except that some of Nancy's neighbors weren't friendly. They were deadbeats, lazy and envious people with a psychopath or two thrown in the heap. Nancy and her family's farm was a dairy. Family-owned and operated. They weren't making any millions but they were doing fairly well for themselves. Well enough that some evil-hearted neighbors had been demanding and getting money from Nancy's family for a few years. Finally, Nancy is fed up. She isn't paying those deadbeats another cent and that's it! Their plight is not of her making so it isn't her problem. Well, for one or two of those deadbeats, this decision was a sort of insult to them. Then, not only an insult but a challenge. "We'll see who is the more persuasive, she or us," one of them said to another. On dairy farms we all know that somebody has to get up early, this means like at 4:30 a.m. or 5:00 a.m. and go out to wherever the cows are and milk them. This is every single morning all year, what they now call 24/7. On this particular morning in May of the year 2000, it was Nancy, even though she was married and had several rather big children. Nancy was in her fifties. She's going along to the cows or coming from the cows when she is suddenly grabbed by one of these deadbeats and collared. When I say collared, I mean a bomb was put around her neck. A