bill was a sharply dressed man who wore a hair net at the dinner table because he'd always wanted to bring a lawsuit against a restaurant for finding hair in his food, and damned if he was going to lose his case because of a technicality like finding out that the hair was actually his. he had a gun collection - mostly colonial period muzzles, yet he had a pair of old colt .45 pistols that he kept above his mantle. they sat barrel to barrel atop a confederate flag shaped like a crest. he had, in fact, fired the pistol on the right 3 times at intruders that came through the vulnerable window with the busted lock in the kitchen. since the bodycount remains zero to this day, we will go no further with that. bill's hobby, if one wishes to refer to it as such, is building sand castles. he used to make the 3 hour trip to the nearest beach every other weekend to sit in the sand and construct these temporary monuments to modern architecture (he actually made out blueprints). upon winning his first case against an italian restaurant in 1986, bill decided to build his own sandbox behind the garage. it was actually almost more like a sandlot in that it measured a whopping 50 square yards. however, this unsightly 'laboratory', as bill liked to call it, was quickly ruined by the neighborhood cats who, through no fault of their own, felt that sand was the best place to dispose of their digested food. and so bill was left at the beginning - alone in a crowded restaurant picking through his chicken and potatoes with a pair of tweezers and a highly magnified monacle (he needed both hands). a fence would be his solution. a fence or a dog. though the cartoonish tales of dogs and cats had been found by bill to be greatly embellished, and since he had never once witnessed a dog and a cat fighting, he decided that the fence would be his wisest option. but he would invest in both just to be sure.