Friday, May 20, 2016
Fence again
They're renters! The neighbors and their giant, giant dogs are just renting. That's wonderful. I walked outside this morning and they were loading up a trailer. Not leaving just yet, but in 10 days or so.
The gentleman next door drives a big truck. Like an F650 or something huge like that. Just starting it up is a seismic event. And it happens that Micah's bedroom is just next to their driveway. And he works nights. Every evening at around 9, just after bedtime, he cranks that sonnavabitch up and our whole house shakes. Then there are the dogs.
I mentioned the dogs before, but they are real. The big one is a great dane, which sounds racist to me all of a sudden. I don't know why. This dog is probably 5 feet tall from ears to the ground and is easily 7 feet tall when he props his big paws on the fence and peers over. The other big one is called a Presa Canario and was developed in a lab to intimidate non-dog people. It looks like a pit bull and a bull mastiff had a steroid baby. The dogs seem sweet. I've never seen them act aggressively, but their size and my limited experience with dogs in general make it a relief they are going.
But now I have to worry about who's going to move in next? How do we conspire to fill the house with old people? That's what we need, quiet old people who keep to themselves. The perfect neighbors. I suppose, once I've stopped celebrating, I'll have to ask the renters if their house is managed through a rental company or if they deal with the owner directly. "I've got a friend looking for a place" I'll say. Then, Ana will ask around at work and we'll find a police officer who doesn't own a motorcycle or have a history of substance abuse to move in next to us. Yes. Things are certainly coming together.
And I'll get to build that fence after all.
The gentleman next door drives a big truck. Like an F650 or something huge like that. Just starting it up is a seismic event. And it happens that Micah's bedroom is just next to their driveway. And he works nights. Every evening at around 9, just after bedtime, he cranks that sonnavabitch up and our whole house shakes. Then there are the dogs.
I mentioned the dogs before, but they are real. The big one is a great dane, which sounds racist to me all of a sudden. I don't know why. This dog is probably 5 feet tall from ears to the ground and is easily 7 feet tall when he props his big paws on the fence and peers over. The other big one is called a Presa Canario and was developed in a lab to intimidate non-dog people. It looks like a pit bull and a bull mastiff had a steroid baby. The dogs seem sweet. I've never seen them act aggressively, but their size and my limited experience with dogs in general make it a relief they are going.
But now I have to worry about who's going to move in next? How do we conspire to fill the house with old people? That's what we need, quiet old people who keep to themselves. The perfect neighbors. I suppose, once I've stopped celebrating, I'll have to ask the renters if their house is managed through a rental company or if they deal with the owner directly. "I've got a friend looking for a place" I'll say. Then, Ana will ask around at work and we'll find a police officer who doesn't own a motorcycle or have a history of substance abuse to move in next to us. Yes. Things are certainly coming together.
And I'll get to build that fence after all.
# posted by joel @ 6:24 AM 
