Neighbor + Pet = Bad News

Your neighbor has taken in an unusual pet and it does something unpleasant to your house/yard. Confront your neighbor.

Post your response (500 words or less) in the comments below.

You might also like:

  • No Related Posts

One thought on “Neighbor + Pet = Bad News

  1. kathleenmagner

    The snap of breaking branches woke Sam. Staring at the swirling cedar panels of their bedroom’s ceiling fan, he waited for another crunch, another grind, another press of hooves into soil. Munching drifted through the open window, blending with the perfume of roses and earthy-scent of disturbed mulch.

    “Damn it.”

    Tossing back the sheets, Sam slammed his feet onto the carpet and glared through the honeysuckle curtains billowing before the window’s screen. Rays of morning light poured in, riding a soft bleat from outside. With a growl, Sam rose, stirring the mattress.

    Behind him, Adele shifted, the pillows scrunching beneath her ruddy curls and drowsy squint. “Where are you going?”

    “He’s back,” said Sam, yanking on yesterday’s jeans.

    With a long yawn, Adele curled beneath the sheets. “Let him alone.”

    “I planted those roses for you, not to feed the neighbor’s pets.”

    “Umm hum.”

    While Adele drifted back to sleep, Sam marched out of their shadowed bedroom and jammed on the flip-flops waiting by the front door. Sunlight warmed his face when he plodded outside, down their brick stoop, and along the flagstone path leading into the garden.

    The rose bushes quivered beyond the plot of herbs beneath the kitchen window and Sam stormed forward, his flip-flops slapping, his arms waving.

    “Get out of here.”

    White and grey bolted from the rose bushes’ clipped branches and into the blackberry vines covering Clay’s picket fence. Following the primal dash, Sam dragged the prickled curtain aside, the heaviest fruits splattering at his feet.

    Under the thick vines, a stave swung back and forth, revealing Clay’s brown grass and his backyard’s muddy patches. Flustered chickens resumed their clucking and pecking but Webster’s knowing bark made Sam wince.

    “What is it boy?”

    Sam backpedaled when the bloodhound snuffed over and Clay’s thumping steps approached. Crossing his arms and spreading his near-bare feet wide, Sam waited for his neighbor’s leathered face shaded by his molded ball-cap to appear.

    “Sam!” Clay beamed, deep furrows curving his cheeks. “Morning.”

    “He’s been in my bushes again, Clay.”

    Clay’s caterpillar brows knitted together. “What? Who?”

    “That damn goat of yours.”

    “Sheila?” Clay planted his hoe and glanced over his shoulder. The chickens tittered while the rows of vegetables encased in their wire barricade glistened under a fresh watering. “I don’t see her.”

    “I did,” said Sam. He thrust a finger at the nipped section of bush where the house’s siding peeked. “I saw her right in there.”

    Clay shook his head. “She wouldn’t. She couldn’t. The fence here’d keep her in, like it does my other girls.” He thumped the picket with the end of his hoe. “Solid as a rock.”

    “Not down here.”

    …. Click here to read the rest and feel free to leave a comment.