Okay, folks. I SO wish I could afford to move. This picture shows what we see whenever we exit our garage and/or turn into our driveway. This lovely light blue truck is just the latest in the variety of strangeness that springs up on almost a daily basis at the house next door since these people moved in a few years back.
I know the family owns a lawn mower; I’ve seen them use it. Just not very often. They’ve let the back yard become a jungle, complete with a hulking black dog that roams through the weeds like Sasquatch. My cats are terrified whenever that creature escapes…and I’m not too thrilled, either.
I’m not sure exactly how many people live there. Once, what looked like an entire family moved out, but a whole other crew remained. Go figure. One day soon after that, we were outside and heard one of the kids yell, “Hey, Ma? Want me to get ya a beer?” Ma, who was laying out on the back deck that borders on the jungle, replied, “Yep. Bring two–and find my cigarettes.”
Then there was the time they backed their pickup truck (one that runs, this time) to the fence out back, built a bonfire worthy of our ancestors who used to sacrifice goats to the gods, cranked up the country tunes, brought out the beer, and danced in the back of the truck. Wahoo! Can you say REDNECK?
My son’s chihuahua occasionally sneaks over there and gets lost in the weeds. I’m not a happy girl. We have covenants, but since our street is just that: a street (well really, a cul-de-sac), we have no neighborhood association to whom to complain. I suppose I could actually approach the neighbors and ask them if they’re related to the Clampetts, but since I have to live next to them I don’t think that’s such a good idea. They might burn down my house.
So I do my best to ignore them…just as long as I can find the chihuahua in the grass.