A $50 Ticket and a Fat Groundhog Head

The notice for our dog court hearing showed up in the mail today. We checked the "not liable" box and will drop it back in the mail tomorrow. For $50 plus a $27 administration fee we can avoid the hearing, but why? The burden of proof is on the crazy next door neighbors, and I'm fairly certain I have proof to dispute any stories they can tell.

Besides, seeing them in public ought to be interesting. That is if they show up. We're taking bets on this one, especially after what happened this morning.

The highlight of my day came when I was sitting on my couch, working on my laptop. Mulligan and Pippin were both startled awake and ran outside and began pacing the length of the common wall we share with the crazy next door neighbors. Mulligan is usually too busy sleeping to do much of anything, so his sudden interest in pacing along side Pippin interested me.

I got up, and very, very quietly opened the sliding glass door. I stood there, watching my dogs pace, and listening to Mrs. crazy speak quietly to her dog, whose dog tags quietly jingled. Suddenly, eerily similar to a chubby groundhog who pokes its head out of its hole, a head popped up over the wall and there she was, looking me right in the eye. Me on my patio, her on a chair or ladder. I can't describe the look on her face when she saw me standing there. Surprise was only one of her wretched expressions.

"I was wondering why they got so quiet all of the sudden," she said.

"So quiet?" I asked. "Did you expect them to remain that way after your face showed up in my yard?"

Her groundhog head popped back down.

"Yeah, they've been barking since 8 a.m." she shouted over the wall. It was 8:25.

"Enough with the lies," I yelled back. But I wasn't done. "You really are a piece of work, you know that? Taunting dogs so you can call the police. What is the matter with you?"

I then went in and grabbed my phone. This was too good not to share with my husband.

I recanted the story standing in the back yard, speaking as loudly as possible so she could hear me. At the end of the story I added as loudly as possible, "I really just feel sorry for her," I said. "Her life is so small."

And that's the truth. But just for good measure I asked O'Malley, the most silent dog ever, to speak repeatedly. He's very obedient sometimes.