Steve Braunias: There’s a Masport lawnmower thief in my bougie burb

When thieves stole Steve Braunias' mower, they stole an emblem of his daughter's life. Photo / 123rf

Not a day goes by that I don’t think of the last time I saw my blue Masport Navarro two-stroke motor mower with a newly restored Briggs & Stratton engine and aluminium body before it was stolen, in broad daylight, by thief or thieves unknown, from outside my estate in New Zealand’s most expensive real estate suburb. I called in the authorities. They left no stone unturned. Police file 230416/1576: “After looking at all the available evidence we have not been able to find out who is responsible.”

I loved that machine. I bought it in 2007 with the advance from my book How To Watch a Bird. My daughter was born that year. She is as old as my Masport Navarro and, when they stole it, they stole an emblem of her life. It mowed all throughout her childhood. And now it mows no more - or it does, somewhere, and I have my suspicions about that. “Unless more information or evidence is found, we can’t proceed any further with this case.”

It was a Sunday. A warm afternoon in autumn, with a light wind coming off the harbour and tickling the leaves of our tree-lined street in our elite postcode of 1011. Nothing ever happens in postcode 1011. That’s the point of postcode 1011. Private security guards patrol it day and night, many of the houses are gated - money doesn’t talk, it sleeps in peace and quiet. I took the Masport Navarro out onto the berm, went back inside to get a can of gas, returned to the berm and filled the tank, then went back inside again to get the catcher. I was really looking forward to disrupting the peace and quiet. “Victim Support is available to assist you if required.”

After it was taken, I was asked by insurance to get proof of ownership so I called the repair shop out on Brick St, Henderson, which had recently replaced the Briggs & Stratton engine. It’s a great repair shop. I’ve been going there for years. They take motor mowers seriously. They always talk me through their repairs and give a detailed assessment of the Masport Navarro. They always talk in absolutes; everything is stated as a fact. The first thing the guy said when I phoned and told him what happened was, “It’ll be a neighbour.”

It wasn’t the neighbour next door. When I went back with the catcher and was shocked to see the Masport Navarro had gone, disappeared, left, ceased to exist in the parameters of my empirical knowledge, I banged on his door and asked if he’d seen anything. He hadn’t seen anything. He was shocked and sympathetic. Well, sympathetic to a point. I told him in a hoarse, shrill voice that I had owned the Masport Navarro for 17 years (a slight exaggeration for dramatic effect) and he replied, “Longer than any of your relationships.”

And it wasn’t the neighbour across the road, although he mistakenly deduced I accused him. He has a lot of cars. He parks them outside my house. I got a felt-tip pen and wrote on a piece of A4 paper, TO THE THIEF WHO TOOK MY MASPORT NAVARRO, PLEASE GIVE IT BACK, then I taped it to the side window of one of his fleet. My thinking was that the thief would see it when driving past, and possibly have a change of heart and return it. Great plan, but the neighbour stormed over to my front door with the A4 paper in his hand, and said, angrily, “Why do you think I stole your Masport Navarro?”

I explained the situation and said I was using his car as a kind of billboard. He left in a huff. He looked the kind of uptight customer who would own a fleet of huffs. But the more I studied the parking of his cars, the more unlikely I thought it was that a passing motorist would even see my Masport Navarro - it was obscured, blocked from view. In which case, I reasoned, the thief was a pedestrian. Like the repair shaman had said: “It’ll be a neighbour.”

There’s a house at the end of the street that never has its berm mowed. And yet a few days ago it had been mowed - without a catcher. I stormed down and knocked on the door. There was a petrol can on the doorstep! I explained the situation to the shifty individual who opened the door but he denied all knowledge or connection with the loss of my Masport Navarro. I discussed it with another neighbour. She said, “You’re just going to have to practise radical acceptance.”