Inch Given Mile Taken, But It Stops Here

When we first bought this house, our only immediate neighbour had a great big pile of dirt in their back yard. A pile of dirt that had been dug up to pour the basement for their house, so when I say “great big pile of dirt” I mean a great big pile.

But I’m not really being accurate when I say it was in their back yard. They had it partially dumped on our yard.

We said nothing. It was about… five months before they removed the pile. She and He had split, so She was trying to sell the place for an outrageous pile of money and her father was slaving away to finish things off on a property that then had no landscaping, because She and He had originally bought the lot from the person who sold us our property.

Yes, the woman we bought from had once had a massive property, five lots wide. Our property is 100 x 130 feet. We have a corner lot that backs on to a lane, hence, only one immediate neighbour.

And the one immediate neighbour is enough of a fucking nightmare to make up for ten.

Okay, I’ve grumbled about them before. I remember writing about how they stole our coffee table. Our doggie-diarrhea-infested coffee table. Like I care if they want to put their barbecue down on that and wonder what’s with all the flies, but it doesn’t change the fact that it’s theft.

And, again, I said nothing.

Their kids play in our yard. They leave garbage and toys and when I mow the lawn I have to pick it all up.

And I say nothing.

They play their music so loud sometimes I have to close my office window to concentrate, because they have shit taste in music too.

Oh, and they let their cat run loose. We find it in our shed, in the dog pen, it runs around just out of reach of our dogs, so yeah, guess what? Our dogs bark. There’s a bi-law here about cats running loose. $500 fine for letting your animal run off your property. In the 2.5 years we’ve lived here, I could have phoned them in almost every single day.

But I haven’t.

But that’s about to change.

Last night, it was after 11 pm when someone was banging with a hammer. And then dropping something metal that clinked. Then banging, then dropping.

And you could hear the fire in our bedroom, it was so big.

Kevin said it was the people doing construction a few houses over. And the people across the street with the fire.

Earlier, when he’d been out, it was. But not after 11. It was our immediate neighbours. The fire wasn’t regulation. Shooting embers. Pretty damn fucking close to our trees – we have some beautiful trees that blossom in the spring. I don’t know what they are – to me, they’re just pretty. Sort of sums up my gardening expertise right there…

I finally said something.

And my neighbour didn’t like it.

They kept it up until well past 2 am. It was only because of Kevin that I didn’t report them. Kevin and I are funny that way – we always play opposite to each other. If I don’t care about something, he will. On a different day, it will be me in a rage and him indifferent.

It wasn’t that he was indifferent, either. It’s more what are you supposed to do when the neighbour is drinking, had a huge fire, tools out and is swearing their head off at you?

See, I perhaps not so politely, told them to play with their toys in the morning.

Which launched them into a tirade about my “fucking dogs”.

Oh, that would be my dogs, that bark at your cat when it’s on my property, and bark at your kids when they’re on my property… Well, and I should say, “dog”. Nootka has only once, ever in his 19 months of life barked at someone. He’s a discerning dog, not a barker. But he is a howler. Nootka sings beautifully if I’m late with a meal, but that happens in the basement.

Koona, on the other hand, doesn’t face their property when she’s outside. Therefore, she doesn’t bark at them much – just Chinook.

Who, by the way, would kill a cat. Because before we adopted him, he’d been improperly confined and killed rabbits. It is a husky instinct to supplement their diet with kill. We don’t trust him with our cats, and if he actually caught their cat in our pen, the cat would be dead. We know this. It isn’t rocket science either. The fact the neighbour’s cat isn’t dead already is a bit surprising, because fox and coyotes run through the yard, as well as skunks, loose dogs…

There is only one good thing about this. I’m absolutely itching to start on my Wednesday post for this week, which is already turning out to be very interesting, based on my research for it.

So I needed something I felt like venting about.

But what I really need is a solution. We need to put up a fence, but that becomes a huge headache when you’ve got nutters to deal with. Hence, being here 2.5 years and not having it done.

We really need to deal with it.

Funny, Kevin pulled a title from a self-help book (of sorts) yesterday. “How to stop a runaway horse.” His answer? “Shoot it.” (Yeah, we’re both a bit warped in the humour department.)

I feel fairly confident shooting my neighbours isn’t an option. But they’ve officially reached out and touched my inner bitch.

Thankfully, JT Ellison has been sending me funnies.

*GETTING THE JOB DONE*
*The LAPD, the FBI, & the CIA are all trying to prove that they are the best at apprehending criminals. The President decides to give them a test. He releases a rabbit into a forest and each of them has to catch it.

The CIA goes in. They place animal informants throughout the forest. They question all plant and mineral witnesses. After three months of extensive investigations they conclude that rabbits do not exist.

The FBI goes in. After two weeks with no leads they burn the forest, killing everything in it, including the rabbit and they make no apologies. The rabbit had it coming.

The LAPD goes in. They come out two hours later with a badly beaten bear. The bear is yelling: "Okay, okay, I'm a rabbit, I'm a rabbit."



A woman was at her hairdresser's getting her hair styled for a trip to Rome with her husband. She mentioned the trip to the hairdresser, who responded: "Rome? Why would anyone want to go there? It's crowded and dirty. You're crazy to go to Rome. So, how are yo u getting there?"


"We're taking Continental," was the reply. "We got a great rate!"

"Continental?" exclaimed the hairdresser. "That's a terrible airline. Their planes are old, their flight attendants are ugly, and they're always late. So, where are you staying in Rome?"


"We'll be at this exclusive little place over on Rome's Tiber River called Teste."

"Don't go any further. I know that place. Everybody think s it's gonna be something special and exclusive, but it's really a dump, the worst hotel in the city! The rooms are small, the service is surly, and they're overpriced. So, whatcha' doing when you get there?"


"We're going to go to see the Vatican and we hope to see the Pope."

"That's rich," laughed the hairdresser. "You and a million other people trying to see him. He'll look the size of an ant. Boy, good luck on this lousy trip of yours. You're going to need it."


A month later, the woman again came in for a hairdo. The hairdresser asked her about her trip to Rome.

"It was wonderful," explained the woman, "not only were we on time in one of Continental's brand new planes, but it was overbooked and they bumped us up to first class. The food and wine were wonderful, and I had a handsome 28-year-old steward who waited on me hand and foot. And the hotel was great! They'd just finished a $5 million remodeling job and now it's a jewel, the finest hotel in the city. They, too, were overbooked, so they apologized and gave us their owner's suite at no extra charge!"


"Well," muttered the hairdresser, "that's all well and good, but I k now you didn't get to see the Pope."

"Actually, we were quite lucky, because as we toured the Vatican, a Swiss Guard tapped me on the shoulder, and explained tha t the Pope likes to meet some of the visitors, and if I'd be so kind as to step into his private room and wait, the Pope would personally greet me. Sure enough, five minutes later, the Pope walked through the door and shook my hand; I knelt down and he spoke a few words to me."


"Oh really! What'd he say?"

He said: "Where'd you get that shitty hairdo

Oh, yeah, and a contest question for day #5…

Well, let’s do a little recap.

Day 1. What name would I have given a son if I’d had one? Answer on last week’s Killer Year blog post (Wednesday).

Bonus: tell me what you thought the stupidest thing I criticized about The Book I Didn’t Like was (my Thursday post)

Day 2. Name three of my kittens.

Bonus: Name all four.

Day 3. Name three books by Ian Rankin

Bonus: The title of his forthcoming release this October in the UK.

Day 4: What is the name of my debut novel? I’m thinking about switching it, because The Happy Hooker Goes to Canada had such a nice ring to it…

So… Day #5.

I know. Send me a joke. Because I need some smiles today so that I won’t be Perma-Grumpy Bear.

OR: post a suggestion for what I can do to my neighbours to get even. You can do both and I'll put your name in twice.