Come Show Me What You Got

A thought occurred to me today while telling a story to the guys at work. I've lived but three places in my adult life. And despite the fact I consider myself an okay guy, a sociable sort of fellow who is easy to get along, in every single place I've ever lived one of my neighbors has hated me.

Funny thing is it's never been my fault. At least not directly.

Let me explain.

House #1 was a dumpy joint out in the country. despite being out of the city limits I lived in a cluster of other houses. Some on wheels. Some not.

I owned a red-ticked coonhound named Rufus.

Rufus was a wandering soul that simply could not be penned. He was also a kleptomaniac. Inn the years i owned him he brought me an assortment of pilfered goods that I had no idea where he stole. A pocketknife, opened up. My guess is someone flung it at him trying to carve out his pillaging eye. Numerous articles of clothing, including lingerie which I presume he plucked off other people's clothes line. Lots of beer bottles, newspapers, doormats, water sprinklers, and anything else left outside.

But the worst was the day my neighbor across the road called to tell me Rufus had jumped up and stolen the shoe right off his granddaughters shoe as he was carrying her inside. He claimed Rufus had absconded with he baby shoe and was now hiding beneath my house. And he was sure enough correct. It sure was embarrassing to crawl under there and back out while my neighbor stood and huffed in my yard. Later the man never would talk to me much.


House #2 was was farther out in the country. it was the place Jennifer and I bought when we got married. We lived there until the joint burned down to the ground three years ago. Again my neighbor trouble stemmed from a canine.

When I said I do I not only said I do to Jennifer I said it to an ancient and grouchy Siamese cat and a slobbering, 100 pound bloodhound, named Bart.

 Bart was good and stayed home unless he caught sent of a female in heat and then he was off to have him some fun. Not long after Jennifer and i settled in a friend got divorced and decided to move down to Corpus Christi. Somehow I got possession of his Chesapeake Bay Retriever Rosey in the deal and man did she love the water. Especially the warm water of my closest neighbor's hot tub. Bart didn't care for the water much but he got excited to see Rosey swim around. And when he got excited he drooled even more.


My neighbor quit talking to me before I had the chance to ask him what bothered him more. A fat Chessie taking laps in the hot tub, or Bart dripping slobber into the water while he watched.





That brings us to House #3 my current abode. These days I live int he city. I have neighbors all around me and mostly they like me just fine, except the one across the street. And nope, this time a dog is not to blame. nor any animal. it's all Nacho Libre's fault.

Let's take a look at Halloween 2009.

Here is one of my buddies in his costume that year.

As tends to happen at parties the house grew warm so Mr. Nacho-for-a-night stepped outside to cool down. I live on a somewhat busy street so 3,4, maybe 5 cars spotted Nacho and honked. My neighbor across the street came outside, yelled at Nacho and another guy dressed as a beer keg and then went back in his own house.

I wandered outside to cool off just after this event and met Nacho and Keg boy on their way inside. They told me about the neighbor and how he yelled at them for keeping his kids awake. Now mind you this was a Friday night and this guys kids were a freshman in college and a high school junior. I doubted seriously either was in bed and as I explained this to my friends another car, or maybe two drove by and honked at the three of us. I was dressed as a magician.

My neighbor came outside at this point and yelled, "Be warned! I know Judo!"
Without skipping a beet Nacho leaped forward about six feet and assumed a wrestling posture as he said, "Well come show me what you got big boy."

My neighbor disappeared into his house and has not spoken to me since.