From the time we moved into our house, we’ve had an ongoing problem with one individual in our neighborhood. He lives one street away from us and three houses down. He has a little dog named Buster who appears to be a Jack Russell/Chihuahua mix. The first week we were in our house, we introduced ourselves to this gentleman and I asked if he’d like Maxine, who was outside with us, to meet Buster. He informed us that Buster doesn’t get along with other dogs and other dogs don’t seem to like him. Sure enough, Buster started yapping at Maxine who, taking offense, barked back and took an immediate dislike to him. Since then, whenever Buster and Maxine see each other, they act like they want to kill each other.
Obviously, since we do reside in the same neighborhood, it’s inevitable we’ll run into Buster and his dad occasionally. If I see Buster and his master walking, I will, at the very least, walk on the other side of the street, or, if at all possible, go another way while trying to keep Maxine’s attention so she doesn’t go ballistic. The problem is, Buster’s dad will never change his route when walking Buster. One day, I was picking up after Maxine, he turned the corner with Buster and kept walking toward me. I didn’t see them at first because I was bent over, but Maxine saw Buster, she almost pulled me down, and the two dogs started making a ruckus. I was having a devil of a time doing my scooping while trying to control Maxine, but, Buster, Sr. seemed oblivious to my problem and kept coming towards us.
I had to yell at him, “Could you please go another way or wait till I’m done picking up her poop?”
He finally turned around and went toward his street instead of walking down my street. I assumed he was going home from his walk. Actually, I was fairly certain he was going home because every time he walks Buster he insists on walking down our street to our house, then he walks by the side of our house, by our family room, which has almost a whole wall of crank-out windows. It’s quite disconcerting having this guy walking by our windows four to six times a day. In addition, if we don’t see him coming in enough time to control Maxine, she’s at the windows scratching and barking her Cujo bark. Phil was going to talk with Buster’s dad a few times, but, because I didn’t want to create an issue, I’ve, until this point, talked Phil out of talking to him.
The past two months, however, we’re having more and more disturbing encounters with this discourteous curmudgeon. Just recently, I was out weeding on the side of our house with Maxine tethered to me, and all of a sudden Buster’s dad is at the curb at the corner of our property approaching with Buster to walk along the side of our house to go to his street. Knowing how the dogs react to one another, it’s only common sense that he should consider walking a little further out into the field instead of by our house where I was working and Maxine was laying in the grass, but he did not.
He asked, “Is she on leash?”
I told him she was but it was a long lead and that he shouldn’t walk too close. On top of that, I had gardening gloves on that were not very effective at holding the leash when Maxine began lunging at Buster. I was having a great deal of difficulty holding Maxine, yet Buster’s dad continued walking toward us, laughing. I was really ticked off at him that day.
Now yesterday, I was cleaning and conditioning the hot tub cover with Maxine tethered to my waist with her long leash and my back to the field. Maxine was laying down in the shade of our bottlebrush tree. All of a sudden I was yanked completely off my feet, I went airborne for three to four feet, and came down hard on my hip on the cement landscape curbing. Of course, it was Buster and his dad walking by.
This time, I was furious and I yelled, “Why do you have to walk your dog by our house every time you walk him?”
He yelled back, “Because that’s the way I go.”
Then, I shouted, “Well you don’t have to. There are a ton of other ways you could go. Why don’t you walk down your own street or into the field. You don’t have to walk by our house. You know our dogs don’t get along.”
He shouted, “You should keep your dog inside.”
I yelled, “I don’t have to keep her inside. This is our property and I’m doing work out here. She can be out here with me.”
His response was, “We were here long before you were here and this is where I walk my dog.”
I shouted, “Well, we’re here now and you can change your f#&*&ing route.”
He responded, “I don’t have to change my f*%^ing route. Your dog tried to attack my dog.”
I shouted, “That’s because you’re walking by here. It’s like you’re taunting her. There are plenty of other places you can walk your dog.”
He marched off in a huff and I tried to make sure I hadn’t broken any bones. I was and still am sore as hell. I made an appointment with a chiropractor for the next morning (which was this morning).
Around seven o’clock last night, we observed Buster and his dad approaching our house from the opposite side of the field. I watched, expecting him to walk directly along the side of our house as usual. However, I was pleasantly surprised to see him cut down the middle of the field then turn towards his street. I thought, “Hallelujah! If this is resolved, my falling and being sore for a day or two will be well worth it.”
On my way home from the chiropractor today, I saw Buster and his dad near the post office boxes. He stared at me all the way down the street until I turned the corner to our street. I wasn’t home twenty minutes when I saw him without Buster walking over our street. I thought that was odd and looked to see if I had simply not seen Buster because Buster is so small. Buster’s dad was alone. Then I saw Buster, Sr. walk down our driveway to our front door.
“Hmm,” I thought. “Maybe he’s going to apologize and find out if I’m all right after my fall.”
WRONG.
First, Maxine barks the news that he’s at the door. I leashed her and opened the door. As usual, she quieted down and proceeded to sniff him. There was no hello, no friendly face from this old fart. What I got was a finger in my face by this scowling, belligerent old codger saying, “Don’t you tell me where I can walk my dog.” He was moving forward toward me, as if he were going to walk inside the house. I yanked Maxine in and slammed the door harder than I’ve ever slammed a door before causing the walls and windows to shake and locked the door immediately. If I’m lucky, maybe the door broke his nose or gnarly old finger! Although he’s an old SOB, his manner and enraged tone frightened me as much as it angered me. So many people around here have guns that it does cross my mind that he could possibly be one of them.
(By the way, Phil was golfing. Otherwise, Buster Sr. might have been dealt with by him. Of course, that may have been a good thing because I sure wouldn’t want Phil to end up in jail for physically retaliating against this cranky old nutjob.)
This is how a lot of those, “Fear Thy Neighbor” episodes start on Investigative Discovery. Some small stupid irritation blows up into some deadly scene. I sure hope this doesn’t continue to escalate.
[To give you an idea of just a few of the walking possibilities other than right by our house, I’ve attached a few pictures. I’ve also attached a picture of how far Maxine dragged me like a heavy kite until I landed on the curbing. You can see the hot tub, and where I landed, which was the curbing in front of the wound up hose. Yes, I’m still a hurting unit.]
