It Seemed Longer

Don’t know what it was about this past week. On Tuesday, while attempting to mow the front lawn, one of my neighbors chewed me out and claimed I’d damaged her water line.

No proof was offered and I had no knowledge of any such infraction. I was as polite as I could possibly be under the circumstances. She demanded I pay for repairs and excessive water usage. Despite my denial, she continued on.

That same afternoon, my phone service went kaput. It was out until today–Friday around noon. No internet for four days. I wondered for a time, if my crabby neighbor had something to do with it?

It couldn’t have been related, but a visit to a popular Italian-themed, casual dining restaurant yesterday, was a disaster. My piadinas were overcooked. Italian doughnuts for dessert were usually fluffy and light. Yesterday, they were heavy, and still doughy in the middle. Two groups of customers in our waiter’s section walked out in disgust.

Being without internet for four days wasn’t the worst thing that could have happened. It was a reminder of how dependent we are on computers and on the web.

The Neighborhood

Thankful it’s not colder than it is this morning.  Houses in the Deep South don’t take kindly to temperatures below the twenties.  There are no basements.  Water pipes run through attics and crawl spaces.

The Retired Old Farts Neighborhood Dog Walker’s Club, of which I am a member, is normally a peaceful group.  Trouble, when it happens, is usually caused by non-dog owners.

There weren’t any other dog walkers out this morning.  Of course, my spouse chimed in with, “There wasn’t anybody else crazy enough to walk in this cold weather.”  Before I retired, I worked outside in weather much colder than this.

Jack, real name not used, is a notorious, mercurial, neighborhood non-dog owner.  Rocky, however, is a real cocker spaniel.  It was a pleasant January day, when Jack, accompanied by his son, rolled up on his golf cart.

Without so much as a friendly hello–Jack went straight for the jugular.  “Why don’t you people walk your dogs through your own neighborhood?” Jack shouted.  “We’re tired of all the dog crap.”

Sam, blindsided–looked up from bagging Rocky’s droppings.  Rocky, his black cocker spaniel, was gentle, wouldn’t hurt a fly.  “This is a public street,” Sam answered–waited to see where the conversation led.

It was an unfair attack, from the same man that previously attempted to run down an unleashed nuisance dog, from a nearby trailer park, with his car.

Gizmo, the dog in question, was no longer around.  Problems arose when “free-range” owners let their dogs run loose.  Presently, there is a white pit bull, that roams freely after numerous complaints to the sheriff’s office.

Jack attempted to goad Sam into an argument.  Sam, wisely didn’t fall for it.  Jack’s flare-up blew away, just like the previous ones.

 

Someone Named Bob

Talk to “Old Bob” when he first got to work, and a folding chair could be tossed in your direction.  “Old Bob” talked, when his hangover-fogged mind was good and ready.  “Old Bob” was a hard core construction worker and one of my trainers.

Another Bob lives across the street, in my daughter’s new neighborhood.  Whether that’s the crabby neighbor’s name, is not important.  He fits the “Bob” profile.  For clarity, he will be referred to, as “New Bob.”

New Bob has a nice RV, kept cleaned and polished.  New Bob Jr. has a shiny Mustang–he loves the sound of its powerful engine.  New Bob introduced himself by complaining about barking dogs.

Every neighborhood has Bobs.  Bobs make your business their business.    They’re neighborhood crabapples–the get off my lawn people.

Too many Bobs lead to bored pets and pet owners.  Bobs expect to be indulged after late night partying.  No courtesies are ever reciprocated.

New residents find out who their Bobs are in due course–faster, if they have children and pets.  Potential residents would be well-advised to ask the question, “Who are the neighborhood Bobs?” “Are they manageable?”

Old Bobs, New Bobs, Bob “wannabees”–This Thanksgiving, I’m grateful to have all my Bobs in a row.