My neighbor is one hundred percent dork, and I have irrefutable proof. Want to see it?
Ain’t she purty? Here is how it started…
Neighbor: “Dude, I made a really frivolous purchase today. You’ll see it when you get home.”
Neighbor: “I have a date coming over later. Gotta run”
And see it we did. Propped up in the side yard for all to see. Basking in the sunlight of what would have been an otherwise beautiful summer day was a dinged up, flat-out creepy looking department store mannequin. I approached it and paused, my jaw agape. My neighbor walked over to join me. After some thirty seconds of silence passed, I looked at him and remarked, “So many things come to mind that I am speechless.” He laughed. I went inside.
Mrs. Author was not amused. She believed that we were certain to make an appearance on Jerry Springer by default. I pondered the possibility. Curiosity got the best of me.
Author: “Just one question. Why?”
Neighbor: “I had to buy it. It was on sale.”
Author: “Ok. You’re crazy. Bye.”
It occurred to me that many bad deeds have been done in the name of “Sale.” Every time I open my closet I run the risk of being crushed by a wall of Mrs. Author’s sweaters, most of them acquired when they were “on sale.” And where I live, there are certain neighborhoods to avoid when cheap beer is discounted.
The day passed without further incident. We avoided looking at the yard. The sun went down. Mr. Neighbor’s date arrived. By the sounds of it, there was much merriment. The music was loud, the wine flowed freely. We went to sleep. Mr. Neighbor’s date departed at 5 a.m.
I awoke refreshed, having temporarily forgotten the Yard Monster. Once the coffee maker was fired up I grabbed the leash (Sola runs free). We walked across the basketball court and I was suddenly jolted by a symphony of howls and screams. Nigel and Sola leaned forward, hackles in the upright position. And they let her have it. If there were an accurate bark translation device I think I would have heard “Son of a…”, and “Your mother is…” or some such language. They wanted her gone, and they made no bones about it.
This pleased me for two reasons. First, Mr. Neighbor chose to plant his new girlfriend right next to the dreaded mudstream that our dogs love to roll in. Now they weren’t going near it. Second, I was pretty sure Mr. Neighbor had stayed up very late, and was due for a desert-mouth, pots and pans banging in your brain, all day toilet session hangover.So I praised the dogs with each bark and howl. Nigel strained at the end of the leash, muscles taught, lips curled back in a snarl. He screamed with force. “Good boy, good boy.” I repeated, and he continued to make one hell of a ruckus. As did Sola, barking away, pacing, keeping her distance. I let this go on for what seemed like an eternity, but was probably three minutes.We all returned to the house. I poured coffee.
Neighbor: “Well, I guess I deserve to be woken up this way.”
Author: “Indeed you do.”
All is well again. The Yard Monster no longer protects the yard from the dogs. Sola’s blood pressure is down. Nigel’s case of the trembles has subsided. Mrs. Author is over her fear of being mentioned on The Blue Collar Comedy Tour. And I am relaxed, assured that no matter what, Nigel and Sola will protect me whenever anything tacky tries to attack.
Nigel: Thank the Lord, the creepy cracker is gone.
Sola: Our neighbor is a dork.