Tempest in a Teapot (cont.)

Or, what passes for news in tiny Midwest towns, aka RedNeckLand.

Since the melodrama of "FlyBy" has continued even longer, and my lengthy reports on that thread have probably received all the views they're going to, please forgive me if I report the most recent - and I hope final - developments in a second thread. Walter Winchell himself couldn't have made this stuff up.

After a nice lunch and good nap, I walked outdoors again, followed by the dogs of course, and what should appear before my wondering eyes except Old Fart Neighbor walking up his driveway. The bustard had the nerve to wave hi at me. After a second's pause my eyes lit up with a facetious gleam and I pasted my very best fake smile on my evil little mug. Life doesn't give one too many such golden opportunities.

I cupped one hand behind my ear, leaned forward in the near total silence surrounding us, and almost shouted, "WHAT? I CAN'T HEAR TOO WELL OVER THE ROAR OF THESE INCESSANTLY BARKING DOGS YOU SAY I HAVE HERE!" Dorothy Parker herself would've been proud of me.

Old Fart Neighbor gives a slightly sheepish grin and says, "Well, they bark an awful lot at night."

Me: "And when would that be? Since I bring them in no later than 9 p.m. so they'll be ready for a real potty break at 10:30 p.m. when I take them out for the last time and stay with them, and they almost never go out again before 6 the next morning? Just what part of the night are they barking incessantly, to borrow a phrase?"

Old Fart stands there at least looking dumbfounded, so I continue: "Whatever it is you MIGHT be hearing is provably NOT MY DOGS!" (smile sweetly)

Old Fart almost mumbles, "Well, somebody's dogs are barking, and me and the kid on the other side of you agreed it must be your dogs..."

Not that I believe the kid neighbor's alleged complicity at all, but I still said, "Don't you think it's about time you made sure of your facts before threatening to haul an innocent woman into court, no matter what kind of easy target you mistake her for?" Honey, poisoned though it was, virtually dripped from my lips.

Old Fart shrugs and mumbles, "Okay," and then disappears into his garage.

Does anyone else think I'm safe from prosecution at least for awhile? Oh, he'll be back with something else eventually, probably try to blame me for the squirrels scattering acorns on his lawn or something. But I'll appreciate a little breather anyway. If I did make him an apple pie now, I know exactly what I'd put in it, and it would be worse than ExLax. After all, I saw that movie about The Help too. Even read the book.

Do you suppose the City Official I told about in the previous thread saw it too and was really sharing a wicked joke with me? He's smart enough. I really wonder if he talked to the Police Chief who's his buddy and told him how quiet my dogs were when 3 men they didn't know lined up against the outside of my front fence? I did tell Police Chief earlier that he needed to talk to Old Fart before he picked a fight he'd never win with me. Not because I'm mean, but because I'm in the right and will go to the mat to prove it.

Not a leaf rustles in these parts before everybody in town knows it within 5 minutes. That can be used to advantage when need be.

NOW I'm done yelping. Thanks for listening - it helps more than you know.

Meanwhile, Back at the Ranch...

The most delicious karma landed in my lap just before lunch, after what started out a lousy day. Our tiny little burg happens to be a Tree City, and I'd already planted a forsythia tree and 6 Rose(s) of Sharon on the right of way outside my gate, not to mention a thick ground cover of various spreading hostas, flanked on each end by antique painted metal headboards. (I enjoy design.)

Anyway, there was only one potential planting spot left, reserved for a free redbud tree from the city to enhance our Tree City qualification. After such a stressful morning when I couldn't even do my shopping halfway right, I'd barely gone indoors to put away groceries when the phone rang. It was a City Official calling to tell me he was waiting at the gate with my new tree!

What? Hadn't heard a single peep from either dog, both of whom were outdoors already. When I dashed out they had their front paws as far up the fence as they could reach, and City Official plus two helpers were all petting them. I joked about being careful around those loud vicious watchdogs, because it occurred to me to ask City Official if he'd be willing to testify to their basically quiet natures in court.

Of course the poor man had to ask why I was headed to court, and I said, "That old fart (name) wants to drag me before a judge on charges of harboring noise nuisance animals! You saw what a loud row they raised when 3 guys they'd never seen before showed up."

Knowing the nasty neighbor too well to need further explanation, City Official asked, "Have you tried to pacify him with a homemade apple pie?" Maybe he was playing straight man for the occasion, but I rose to the bait anyway.

"Hell, no. I'm afraid I might put something in it that he wouldn't appreciate!" to myself: like ExLax

City Official, laughing: "Well, then don't bake one for us either if you're going to do that!"

Me: "Oh, I wouldn't do that to you folks. You've been better to me than I deserve, not worse."

C.O.: "Really, though... Why don't you try to sweeten him up?"

Yeah, right. As if his targets currying favor hadn't contributed to the man's sociopathy.

Me: "There IS no peace to be made with someone who calls me a dirty commie and tells other lies to get me in trouble."

By that time the tree was planted and the guys and I waved a merry goodbye to one another as they drove off. Now while I don't share the old fart's blanket condemnation of all those on the very, very far left of the political spectrum, he did mean to call me the worst thing he could in RedNeckLand. But most of all I was so thrilled to have 3 new witnesses that my dogs are NOT frantic little mindless yappers. Especially when normally they would indeed have barked at least a brief greeting to my visitors. Sweet Karma, this time they were totally silent.

Before 3 city witnesses. Count 'em - THREE!

This is just a fly-by

But I'm furious enough to chew nails and violate my self-imposed ban on weekday internet use, at least briefly.

Though he's not quite the worst neighbor I ever had, there's a geezer on my south side who needs heavy meds or something. When the chows were alive, I caught him more than once leaning over the fence, waving his arms, and cussing a blue streak at them just to stir them up so he could run indoors and phone in a noise complaint. I had to raise hell about it at a city council meeting in order to get it stopped, and believe me, they're not used to women standing up for themselves around here. At least they weren't until I arrived.

Now that my beloved chows are gone and Molly Maguire (mini-beagle/pom mix) and Brigid (JRT) live here, all of a sudden the old fart's up to much the same business again. I just got another call on my recorder from the police chief saying that there'd been another complaint about sustained barking at all hours of the day and night. I fired back on his recorder that I didn't need to be told who complained and that it's all a damned lie.

As I reminded Chief Bill, my dogs are always in the house when I go somewhere. In good weather when they want to and deserve to play outdoors, I make sure I can hear them if they let out the first peep. All dogs are going to bark at another dog walking past their fence, but the rare occasions it goes on more than a couple minutes, I'm right out there to see what's going on. My dogs are also always indoors all night and during my usual afternoon nap. And I certainly don't turn them loose to roam like most other people do their animals.l

Heck, I even stay up until almost 11 p.m., which I don't enjoy, just so I can give the dogs a final quick potty break that will generally last them until 6 a.m. Only rarely do they need to go out during the night and then I stand out there with them in case they get after a rabbit or something! How many people consider their neighbors that much??????????

Besides, as I reminded Chief Bill, there are so many dogs in this neighborhood that how can his precious old buddy know which one's barking at night? He can't! And if he somehow manages to get a fine levied on me anyway because of his connections, I'll take him to small claims court and raise every single bit of hell I can; believe me, I'm good at it. Who knows, this might even be politically motivated, he's such a damned teabagger.

Just because you don't understand something doesn't necessarily mean it doesn't 'track'

Otherwise we'd find ourselves in a situation where I require outside validation, something that really doesn't 'track' with me!

Regardless, perhaps we can agree that too few publicly prominent lefties support President Obama to the degree he deserves. That apparent fact has no bearing on what I am or am not personally. Although it's a mere construct, I'm stipulating for discussion that Marx represents one end of the political spectrum and perhaps Larouche and company the other. Wellstone was at least close to Kucinich, btw.

My own self assessment - remember I know myself better than anyone else does and therefore might provide the closest mark - reads lifelong ardent ultra-socialist. Make of that whatever you wish. To the teabaggers here in RedNeckLand, I'm a threat to everything they hold dear.

I certainly hope so. It would make a fine epitaph.

I'm sorry you've missed so much fun.

W/o listing all specifications, which may or may not trigger a useless argument - it usually does - suffice it to say for now, left of Kucinich and Wellstone. Right of Marx.

Perhaps it's because I don't represent a formally recognized/organized group of good lefties?

You've not seen or heard of us, other than my protestations, because we are doubtless a minority and no one can know everything about anything. Even if I appear to be a voice crying in the wilderness, I know I'm not alone. Whether we are many or few, I have friends in wide circles even if not a highly visible, widely known, formal FAR left organization to validate me. Which I don't need for my own purposes anyway. I know OFA doesn't fall into that category, but it will have to do as my best known group.

I just can't accept seeing the entire left field smeared with the tar brush that I agree so many if not most deserve on occasion. Neither will I allow another to cancel my card any more than I seek outside validation. As Popeye (the sailor, not the Gene Hackman narc) used to say, I yam what I yam, and that's all I yam.

You're totally correct in large,

though I ask (not just you but also) everyone to remember quietly (I'll try not to keep repeating myself) that the Far Left is no more monolithic than most other groups. We have a strong pro-Obama faction as well. The Far Right appears indeed to be united in their crazed opposition, that I concede.

But I gave my promise to participate in keeping a prayer cover over Our Man and I certainly do. There are very few people on earth for whom I'd be willing to take a bullet (as I might indeed be forced to do eventually here in RedNeckLand), but it would be the greatest honor imaginable whether I appreciated the occasion or not. With any luck I might even get the chance somehow to continue to badger conservatives from beyond the grave. It would make a strong argument for reincarnation or at least haunting. I'll stop fighting those bastards when and only if I cease to exist on any plane.

Did you by any chance mean 'without' the burden of the job?

If so, it describes my lifelong position in general. That's why I can gleefully support someone whose governance happens to be somewhat less radical than my own beliefs, because it won't do anyone a bit of good to hold our noses when we don't get everything we want in total, immediately if not sooner. So long as someone can push the nation in the correct direction, leftward of any particular present, I'll have their back.

After all, that's how you eat an elephant - one chunk at a time.

Another point: Listening to President Obama at any stage of development, trying to gauge his true heart, I've always felt him not only to be a man of character and honor, but quite possibly more leftward than it's currently possible to govern just now. I mean, comparing the electorate to a horse in a race (as opposed to a real race horse), you can kick it in the ribs only so hard and so long before it drops dead under you and you still won't wind up any closer to the finish (goal) line.

Now it's time for me to control myself and resume limiting my summer online time in order to do justice to other pressing matters. I've decided to give myself Saturday evenings or perhaps Sunday mornings to swing by and try to keep up on the reading; but it appears the only way to control my overt participation will be to unplug the keyboard after I log on, or at least after I respond to one thread only. Otherwise I'll continue over-indulging myself at the expense of other obligations. Let's hope that effort at self control will work. Sometimes I have to set up roadblocks which can't actually stop me but might slow me down enough for embarrassment to finish the job.

Murray looks like a great stress buster with that beautiful smile.

I suppose some passersby might not understand our M.O. at home; when bad weather has kept us cooped up too long and we can finally enjoy good outdoor weather, I throw the ball for the girls and they tussle over that as if they're starving and it's the last piece of bread in the world. When I get tired, I sit down in an adirondack chair and Molly Maguire and Bridgid play queen of the mountain trying to evict each other from my lap. In between times both dogs tear around the yard growling and barking and biting like they're trying to rip each other's throat out. They do play awfully rough, but it's still play. Once they're as tired as I am, both crowd in my lap together and start washing faces. The last phase only lasts a few minutes, then they're at it again.

Personally, I think both those hounds are Irish as they come. I never should've told Molly, though, because she blabbed to Brigid, and look what happened. It's really my fault as usual.

Where was Woody supposed to get $ for meds or a therapist WITH NO JOB? Think!