Who left that nasty note on my kid’s windshield?

Found out who it was from a nicer neighbor

BEND, Ore. - Last month Mikey found this note on his windshield, and last week I discovered who wrote it.

It’s not like I went searching for the author, but I admit to being curious as to who it was.

This all started when Mikey parked on one side of the street where parking is not allowed. He parked there two or three times, often enough to irritate the guy who wrote the note.

I’ve never seen a housing development anywhere before where you can’t park on both sides of the street. But I get it now - if there’s an emergency, you want to make sure a fire truck can get to the burning house.

Mikey’s not parking on that side of the street anymore so we’ve taken measures to be better neighbors in that department.

The dogs? Well, I believe the guy was right about them too. When we left them alone once or twice, we typically leave a door open to the back yard so they can do their business while we’re gone. I’m guessing they probably went nutball a few times when they saw a squirrel or heard another dog barking or started barking themselves by something going on at the park on the other side of our back yard fence.

So we got some bark-stopping collars from Amazon and plan to have all doors closed when we’re gone from now on.

The other day when I was making some pulled pork on the Traeger, I didn’t have any aluminum foil and figured I’d run to the store to get some, but since I was short on time, I thought I’d stop by a neighbor’s place and see if I could borrow enough to get me by.

Nice neighbor Candi obliged and proceeded to volunteer who wrote the nasty note. She also told me I wouldn’t have to worry about him anymore.

The nasty note writer is going through a divorce and has moved out of the neighborhood.

That probably explains some of what prompted him to write that note and put it on Mikey’s windshield. He’s no doubt had a rough go of things in the last few months and couldn’t take it anymore from anyone. He was probably on edge and bound to go off at any time.

If I were to meet him, I’d tell him: “I get it, I went through a divorce, and by the way, you were right, we don’t park on that side of the street anymore, and we’re addressing the issues with our dogs too. Best of luck with whatever’s next for you. Want a beer? You do? OK, come on in.”

Unfortunately conflicts with our new neighbors don’t stop there. On Monday, the guy next door talked to Kathie about Skye being in their front yard, causing their dog Harley to go crazy while the guy’s wife was trying to work from home.

The only time I can think of that Skye might have wandered into their front yard that day was when she was outside while Mikey and Kathie were washing their cars. And if it happened, it was brief. We’ve really been trying to make sure our dogs stay on our property so as not to piss anyone else off.

That evening I went over and rang their doorbell and told Mikey to listen for me in case I needed backup. At nearly 68 with a bum knee and not being much of a fighter at full health anyway, figured my 21-year-old kid could help me out of a sticky situation.

But I didn’t need him. The guy and his wife were cool. They’re dog people too. And they admitted their dog goes ape shit at everything, not just Skye. Harley barks at people on the street too. So I don’t know, there’s a part of me that thinks we’re being unfairly singled out, but then again, our dog shouldn’t be in their yard.

The guy’s wife probably had an important Zoom meeting that was interrupted by her dog barking, causing mounting frustration that resulted in asking her husband to do something about it.

The guy sounded like me. He probably thought: “Fuck me dead, I don’t want to talk to the new neighbors. But if I don’t, I’ll have to deal with my irate wife. Let’s see, which is worse? Dammit, I’ll go to talk to the new neighbors.”

Anyway, we worked things out. I told them the last thing I wanted to be was a jerk who just moved into the neighborhood. The guy and I shook hands and I hugged his wife, and hopefully that will be that.

Truthfully, these are the kind of encounters I wanted to avoid altogether. I wanted to move out in the damn woods somewhere south of town. I wanted an acre or a half acre filled with nothing but pine trees and juniper trees and no neighbors within a hundred yards.

I think I’m a nice enough guy, but I really don’t want to feel the need to wave at a neighbor when he or she drives by. I’ve always made rural life a 35-point favorite over city life, and that no doubt stems from my childhood in Redmond, growing up with a pasture out front. I loved that. I don’t care so much about what my house is like, I just want plenty of elbow room outside.

Seriously, I want a place where I can pee outside, off the deck, in the weeds, anywhere at all without worrying about anyone seeing me peeing outside and being offended somehow.

Alas, Kathie is more of a city girl so we had to compromise, which sucks for me, but it would suck worse if we were out in the woods and I had to hear my wife complaining all the time about how far away we were from civilization, even if civilization was only 20 minutes away.

When do we ever get to change “happy wife, happy life” to “happy husband, happy life?” I know it doesn’t rhyme, but come on, let’s change with the times already!

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