We Hate Our Neighbors

We hate our neighbors. We didn't intend to hate our neighbors. We don't even enjoy hating our neighbors. It was just one of those things that happens late on Friday nights when the bars shut down.

My BFF Sharon and I were sitting on my front porch at 1:30 a.m. when the truck next door swung into its driveway. The truck's headlights must've shown the pair inside the truck that there were a couple of women sitting out, enjoying the night air, and chewing over some life decisions on that Friday night.


Now, for the sake of - that's how life is - my friend had just remarked on how quiet and serene my street is late at night. Yes, it is, usually.


Out of the truck came the couple who live next door. I don't even know their names. That, however, doesn't make me hate them less. I have my own personal names for them. Anyway, they piled out of the cab of their truck and she went up the steps and opened the storm door. He said, from somewhere in the vicinity of their tiny front lawn, "What the f--- are you doing up there?" She charmingly replied, "I'm trying to get the f---ing key in the door. What the f--- are you doin?" "I'm takin' a piss!" he growled at her in the dark. "Stop that in front of the neighbors," she said. "F--- the neighbors," he slurred. She got the key to work and disappeared inside. As he went up the stairs he turned around and gave my friend and I the finger and yelled, "F--- You, Bitches!"


Now, that made me angry. I wasn't upset just because of an unprovocted attack, but it also embarrassed me in front of my friend. She'd come over to spend time talking about some serious things and to enjoy the beautiful evening on my porch. Getting the finger and yelled out hadn't been in her evening plans.


A few nights later almost the same scenario played itself out. I was on the porch letting my dogs enjoy the evening while I read. We were all waiting for my husband to get home at 11:10. The neighbors came home, had a screaming match with each other in the front yard, yelled at me to shut my dogs the f--- up and the male half of the couple gave me the finger again and yelled "F--- you!"


My husband got home a few minutes later and was getting pretty angry at my description of the actions of the neighbors when someone knocked on our door.


At the door was two of our finest, The Hannibal Police Department. Our neighbors had called 911 on our dogs for barking at them too much while they fought on their lawn. I was livid. My husband, Van, was a little beyond livid. One of the officers told him to calm down twice.


While it made Van angry, it scared me. What if the guy decides to get rid of my dogs by throwing a little poison hamburger over the fence, or maybe he'd unlock the gate and let them out into the world and onto the highway.


To cut to the chase, we're getting a 100 feet long privacy fence installed as soon as possible, maybe in the next couple of weeks. I'll feel some safer letting the dogs out alone, in case this idiot does have some sort of vendetta against them. My dogs won't bark at them if they don't see and hear them fighting. I don't think Robert Frost was entirely correct with his "Good Fences Make Good Neighbors," but instead should have been, "Tall fences cause less homicides."


The more people I meet, the more I love my dogs.