So, the people in the house behind us are the proud owners of Assgoblin, a strange mixed breed dog that hails from a gene pool all it's own. I wouldn't be surprised to learn that Assgoblin is part Hyundai at this point.
The owners are an odd sort themselves. From my limited over-the-wall assessments of their property, (often with a running hose in hand to direct at Assgoblin) I've determined that there seems to be a middle-aged couple and an elderly father-in-law residing there. I decided he was the FIL because the wife seems to regard him as a nuisance and her tone suggests she puts up with him out of the kindness of her heart, not because she has to. That, and he's been relocated to the patio for his TV-watching needs. They have him all set up out there in a wicker chair with a 15" black and white every evening. Often they forget about him and his lodging needs are also fulfilled on the patio. They have frequent debates that we are privy to should our windows be open for that particular session.
Anyhow, these people, The Buttrammers (name has been changed) often take week-long vacations, especially over the holidays. Neighbors are assigned to feed and water Assgoblin. He, in turn, decides that his owners' absence has been perfectly coordinated with his meditation obligations and chooses this time to become one with his feral ancestors. He proceeds to spend the next few days howling, barking, yipping/yapping/yelping, baying, wailing, and bitching, regardless of what hour it happens to be. This incessant racket is only made worse by any presence in our backyard, particularly a presence with a running hose that happens to be peering over the fence.
My mother (don't ask) pulls her hair out over this. I had the misfortune of returning home from the store one night with the wrong god damned 12-packs during the Buttrammer's Thanksgiving Vacation while Assgoblin was hard at work next door. MISTAKE! she wanted Diet PEPSI, not diet COKE for f**k sake! *throws a chair against the wall* She is scratching out yet another note to the Buttrammer family in very large, shaky letters, utilizing her extended vocabulary of colorful metaphors. I have many times been the recipient of one of these letters myself, and I can attest to their reeking of pure evil and uncloaked rage. (I have, for the record, also noticed that regardless of subject matter, this is still the case. If she scribbles that she has departed for the chiropractor, touching the paper carries more bad luck than breaking a very large mirror). This is most likely the third or fourth note to the Buttrammers this year to report on Assgoblin's doings while they vacationed.
She has since made a verbal complaint to the Animal Control department at the county, and they dutifully sent her a form to fill out which requires the plaintiff to know everything about the residence in violation short of what brand of hemorrhoid cream they favor. After three complaints, evidence gathered and other plaintiffs added to the complaint, a court date is set. She rejects this paperwork process; she would rather an Animal Control officer pay a visit with a tooth extractor or perhaps authorize my father to use one of those heat-seeking missiles they store in the garage above the Easter decorations.
The form they send her has been copied more times than the Got Milk? campaign and is mostly illegible to persons over the age of 30. I call the hotline and am told I can download a fresh one off the website instead.
But the funny thing is, the automated hotline instructs you to push a button depending on your particular needs. If you need a dog license, press 1. If you found a stray, press 4...
and...
"If you are calling about a nuisance animal or for dead-animal pickup, press 2."
I wonder if the person at the end of extension 2 receives nuisance complaints that often get moved over to dead-animal pickup request file.
Anyway, I'm not sure of the purpose of this post except to b***h about loud, nerve-grating animals or f**kwit neighbors. Take your pick.
15 Dec 2007, 2:06 am
