Territorial

I remember once when we were up at our mountain cabin, my family encountered strangers walking through the woods. We were immediately suspicious, since we were not used to running into anyone as we strolled about our property. What were they doing there? What did they want?
"You re here to steal from our garden," my brother cried. We had a fine crop of lettuce that had just grown big enough to harvest.
"You probably smelled the cookies my mom was baking," I said with a raised eyebrow.
They began to stammer and protest. We didn't listen. Of course they would deny the actual purpose of their interloping. They must be there for some nefarious purpose.
We set on them and took them, struggling, back to the cabin where we shoved them into a curtained area between the two bedrooms: the spot where our chemical toilet used to be. Then we began our deliberations. How best to deal with trespassers?
Outside, we began to hear cries and calls. Someone was looking for these "hikers." I went out on the porch and shouted into the coming darkness that we had found spies wandering in our territory and we would let everyone know when we were finished dealing with them. Even as the shouts became louder and more intense, we held our ground and guarded our organic garden. We would not be rushed to judgement.
Wait a second. That wasn't me. Or my family. That was Iran.