AN ENCOUNTER WITH OUR NEIGHBOR

          In September 2010, when we moved to Kerrville from California, we rented a little "patio" house in River Hill, from a sharp-as-a-tack octogenarian who owns many Kerrville properties, and even has a road named after him.

          Last month we moved to a larger house with a yard. We miss many of our neighbors – our walks, dinners, John sharing his home-grown tomatoes –but we're glad to have more space and privacy.

          A few months ago, during the primary election, I saw that a sign had been stuck in our next-door neighbor's lawn. I knew Dottie was in Colorado so I decided to call her and ask if she'd given permission for someone to put the sign there. I told my husband, John, what I was doing.

          When I spoke to Dottie she said that her neighbor on the other side of her, Sue, had probably put it there and it was no big deal.

          I went outside and found John talking to Hilton, our neighbor across the street. John had the election sign in his hand.

          "It's okay," I said, "I called Dottie."

          "Did she tell you she doesn't like your dog peeing on her bushes?" Hilton snapped.   

          "No," I said, surprised.

          "And he pees on mine too!" he said.

          John retreated.

          "And Parks (he used the last name of the widower at the end of the street) lets his dogs pee all over my plants, too," he said, showing me his manicured little shrubs.  I couldn't see what he was talking about.

          "I’m sorry," I said. "I'll try to keep Walter off your plants. The only time he might do this is when we're waiting to cross the street and there's traffic coming and he can't wait."

          "And you're not supposed to run a business out of your garage!" he fired. "I don't think they should allow rentals in this neighborhood!"  

          His fury shocked me. He knew when we moved in that John has a home office and that I too work mainly from home. As a hobby, John designs stereo speakers and likes to have the garage door open, weather permitting, because the garage has no windows.  No one ever complained. In fact the elderly widow on the other side of us once told him how much she enjoyed seeing him work with wood, because it reminded her of her departed husband.       

          Plus, I'd had lunch several times with Hilton's wife, and two other neighbors. We'd all attended a party down the street. We exchanged Christmas cards. I'd collected his mail and newspapers when he and his wife were out of town. Once, hearing John hadn't been feeling well, he'd even brought over some delicious leftover soup he'd made.

          Feeling attacked, I countered, "Well, you know what bothers me?" I asked feeling my temper rise.

          "What?" he said.

          "That cowbell," I said, pointing up at a giant wind chime hanging from one of his beautiful trees. "When I want to sit outside and enjoy the afternoon it clangs, clangs, clangs!"

          "My wife put it there," he said sheepishly. "Maybe I can move it around to the back," he suggested.

          "That would be a good compromise," I said, and went home.

          What I didn't tell him was that the floodlight he has over his garage (in spite of there being a street lamp right across the street from him) shined directly in our windows.  I hung heavy curtains in the bedroom and put a Japanese screen inside our front door so the light would not shine in our eyes when we watched TV.

          I called Dottie again and told her I was sorry my dog had peed on her bushes and would try to prevent it in the future.

          "Oh, is he peeing on my bushes?" she asked.

          "That's what Hilton said," I told her. 

          A few days after our encounter, when I went outside one evening, I was startled by a blaring radio.  Hilton had installed a motion detector that lit up and blasted loud radio when it was activated. But I was nowhere near his house.  This contraption stayed up for several weeks until eventually he removed it.

          But he never did move that wind chime.

          Now he's called a meeting with the board of the homeowners' association and our ex-landlord. He intends to accuse our ex-landlord of renting to "bad tenants." John will go to the meeting. 

          The day we moved in to that little house in River Hill, I remember the first thing Hilton told us: that the previous tenants were terrible. "They parked their cars all over the street!" he said.

          How glad we are to get away from this busy-body who, when he leaves his corner house, drives slowly down the cul-du-sac to see what's going on. A retired superintendent, I can imagine him lording over school boards. I just wish he'd find some other way to express his need to bully.  

          By the way, in n addition to trying to get the homeowner's board to not allow our ex-landlord to rent his house, that miserable little man is trying to get speed bumps installed on Riverhill Boulevard, even though there are already stop signs on almost every corner.