Tonight at 9:30 my husband and I returned home from the movies (we saw Argo – it was GREAT by the way). About 5 minutes later, there’s a knock on the door.
“John,” I say, “It’s the police?” This is a question/statement, because I knew it was the police (I saw the car) but my mind was scrambling trying to piece together what they might want.
“Hello miss,” the officer says, “Do you have a dog?”
Somehow I feel the urge to deny this even as Dulci and Delicious’ grinning faces are poking between my knees, “Perhaps,” I answer, “Is something wrong?”
“We had a complaint today.”
“A complaint? But they haven’t gotten out. We have an electric fence, they haven’t left the yard, they are friendly dogs and wouldn’t bother anyone.”
“Well I had a call from a neighbor who complained about the barking. Mr. Yellen said – ”
“Mr. Yellen,” pointing, “He lives right over there,” he says pointing into the woods, “At first I thought he meant your other neighbors across the street but-”
“Oh no it’s us,” I sigh, “He hates us.”
“Well he was complaining about he noise.”
“He HATES us,” I repeat with the most sincere expression I can muster while struggling not to roll my eyes, or laugh, or scream, or both, “He’s our neighbor but we don’t have anything to do with him. We don’t go on his property, we don’t even look at his property, if my kids ball rolls onto his property they know they’ve lost a ball. If he called in a complaint to the police about anyone in this neighborhood I can guarantee you it was us. He calls the cops on us about every six months, so we’re about due,” I pause, “This is the first time he’s complained about the dogs though. That’s a new one.”
“Well,” says the cop smiling, “Try and keep them under control.”