Over the Memorial Day weekend, Mrs. Anthony and I visited her dad, the Famous Russian, and took the dogs for a walk near his house.

On the way back, rounding the corner to his driveway, I spotted a shiny object in the top of his hedge. I reached up and pulled on it and a bicycle popped out and landed at my feet; shiny bright and ready to ride.

This was no ordinary bike, either. A very fancy, newer bike that did not look like something you would normally find in a hedge.

I pushed it into the Famous Russian's driveway and called to him in my best Russian tongue, "Zhdrasvootyi!..Pre Krasni Bicycle..Da!? (Hello, here is a beautiful bicycle, yes?)

The Famous Russian shuffled out on the porch in his gourmet apron and yelled at me, "Vat is the trouble! I am cooking!"

I told him about finding the bike in the hedge and he eyed me and the bike shrewdly, immediately figuring out the problem.

"Scott...bicycle is stolen!" he exclaimed. "The 'zchlatka' who took it must have hid it in hedge for later retrieval when KGB is not around."

"This is BAD 'karushski. We must find the owner!: he shouted, whereupon, he turned heel and went back to creating his superb eggplant baklashan.

This was a wonderful relief for me, for a couple of reasons.

One, I had lost a bike of my own as a boy and to this day I still curse the low-life bicycle thief who took it, and two, standing in the glowering Famous Russian's driveway with a nearly new, but unfamiliar bike, I did not want the attention of the KGB or the bad 'karushski' of a common bicycle thief.

When I was fourteen years old, my folks bought me a beautiful, metallic leaf-green Schwinn 10 speed and it was one of the highlights of my teenaged existence.

I rode it everywhere and one evening I stopped at the high school where my friend was supposed to be at a wrestling meet. I leaned Greenie up against the wall near the rear exit doors and slipped inside to see if I could find my pal. Lots of school kids, plenty of wrestlers, but no friend in sight. No more than three minutes later, I went back out and wham, my bike was gone.

It was a desperate, gut-wrenching feeling for a kid who promised to use his bike lock. Searches through nearby bushes only made it worse.

The long walk back home was agony, too, and this was nothing compared to having to explain my dumb mistake to my parents.

I never saw that bike again, never got another one from my folks, and the bad seed that took it was never caught.

Now, with this opportunity to thwart a criminal and tip the balance a bit toward positive territory for some poor, tortured kid who forgot his bike lock, I am pleased.

And for my father-in-law to instantly recognize and conclude that one of the most iconic elements of childhood must be restored to its proper place, I am also gratified, and my faith in good over evil is bolstered once again.

The Famous Russian has made arrangements at the local Post Office where he put a notice and I agreed to help with this column.

If you know someone who has recently lost a bicycle, or have lost one yourself, please contact me at ScottAnthony@Robinsonnews.com or call your local Robinson Newspapers office at 206-388-1850 and describe the bicycle to claim it.

Spaceeba!