Neighborly aversion

I hate my neighbor.

My friend Susan scolds me when I use such language, stressing that “hate” means “want dead.” Over the years I have tried to mellow out my tone, instead saying things like, “I strongly dislike” or “I feel extreme hostility towards” my neighbor. The truth is I don’t want him dead. I just want to strangle his fatty neck a little bit. (And by “strangle” I mean “yell at him with my horrible coffee breath” and by “a little bit” I mean “for a good 15 minutes.”)

This whole thing goes back to about a week after we moved in. Our three dogs bark. I get that. The neighbor called the animal services (AS) department and complained. I felt horrible about annoying our new neighbors and tried to do things to stop the barking: had the kids take the dogs for a walk after school; then have the dogs loaf in the house until bedtime.

This solution worked well… until we got another complaint. I was dumbfounded. I’d been keeping such a close eye on them and they were absolutely docile by 6:00 p.m.! That’s when I learned that the barking issue was not an evening event, but a daytime one. D’oh!

Mortified, I looked into solutions and ordered a sonic anti-barking device. It’s a simple contraption: Plug the box in; each time a dog barks, the box emits a high-pitched-only-dogs-can-hear-it sound that dogs hate. Pavlovian behavior control. Eventually they stop yapping. While not a fan of such things, I had no way of personally keeping them silent while I was at work. Far as I knew, it was my best option.

I then went around the neighborhood and apologized to all those nearby—most of whom didn’t have an issue with the dogs. In fact, only one family admitted to being bothered. Whatever. I apologized profusely and sincerely, took full responsibility and swore to fix the situation. The sonic box was supposed to arrive soon and take up to 3 weeks to have an affect. I begged for their patience. Then I called AS and repeated my mea culpas; I begged for their patience, too.

Later that night a different neighbor, Mr. Nice Guy, came to our house to warn me about that complaining family: “The sheriff’s in town,” he said. I was confused; he clarified: “Look out; (the grandfather) will (grouse) about EVERYTHING.” He then tallied the whole host of that family’s flawed-personality traits. I tried to take his warning in stride while apologizing again, but he waved it off. He was fine, he said. Just watch out for Old Grumpy.

When the sonic devices arrived, I set about checking on the animals on my daily lunch break. They appeared incredibly calm, borderline docile. It was amazing how great this thing worked!

..Except that the next week we got another slip—this time with a fine assessed. GULP! I called animal services again. They understood my plight. Attempting to enhance my credibility, I told them the story Mr. Nice Guy told me: apparently I’d moved into an area with Old Grumpy on watch. AS understood—they’d experienced a whole host of Grumpys over the years—and kept trying to work with our situation.

“Keep the dogs on one end of the yard,” AS suggested, “away from the complaining neighbor’s yard.” So we did. Or tried to anyway. Didn’t matter. The complaints rolled in. Soon I was on a first name basis with a gal at AS, receiving personal phone warnings whenever Old Grumpy complained. “The problem is the big dog,” she said. “The little dog is fine.” Next we did a checklist sort of thing: Sonic bark device on? Check. Tested? Check. Dog kept away from the northwest corner of the property? Chec—what? Wait. Old Grumpy lives near the southwest corner of the property. The northwest end backs up to--

And then it hit me. Mr. Nice Guy was a big, fat liar. He was the one who complained. He went out of his way to blame Old Grumpy. Worse, HE was partially to blame for his own misery! Instead of keeping the dogs away from his yard, I’d fenced them closer to it!

Animal services was frustrated. At this point, 2 dogs became day-time indoors pets. This guy had called and complained-- NO JOKE-- 17 times since we’d moved in. Mr. Nice Guy hears a bark from anywhere in the neighborhood, Mr. Nice Guy points his accusatory finger at us-- even when it was impossible. Each time AS had to come to the neighborhood to listen for 15 to 20 minutes. They had given me written warnings during the times they actually heard something. The other 13 times… nada. The next complaint meant a $200 fine.

...That complaint came yesterday, when someone accidentally forgot to bring the big dog into the house after her morning wee. Else, to my knowledge, it’s been weeks without issue. Didn’t matter. All those times they came out and there was no issue? Taxpayer cost. Mr. Nice Guy can complain away-- and not have to pay.

And while I do agree with Susan and I’m not a fan of the word “hate”… I currently feel extreme aversion for Mr. “Nice” Guy.