Whose neck do I ring?

It's either Bender or the neighbor, I cannot decide which. (This pic of Bend, by the way is from about 3 years ago. We were both a lot smaller then, and I'm kind of getting a little depressed looking at my beloved Gumby shirt. I wish to wear thee again someday, Gumby shirt!) Anyway, it's previously been established that Bender is a special kind of dork, and one of her dorkiest qualities is her posturing. Literally, she will stand out back by the fence and bark like a wild lady, thrashing her head around Tasmanian-devil style at the neighbors and anyone else who might walk by. She's a lot better about this than she used to be, and when I say better I mean that at least she doesn't do it to everyone, all the time. It's just like, when she's in the mood. But without fail, she will always, always posture to our neighbor to the right, who shall be known henceforth as Cranky Old Guy.

Cranky Old Guy didn't do so much as say "hi" when we moved in next door, and sure, it takes two, but we moved into his neighborhood, so one would think... I mean, I'm the definition of Introvert and not likely to strike up lengthy conversation with anyone, much less strangers, but the nodding and smiling thing--overrated social custom, or just common decency? I vote for decency on this one. I hate playing games, but for god's sake. Don't be fucking rude.

Cranky Old Guy may or may not live alone. I don't think he does, personally, because I've seen pink nightgowns hanging on the clothes line, which he utilizes even on 28-degree mornings. Which is, actually, kind of endearing. My family uses a clothes line, and to be honest, I wish I wasn't such a big fan of the dryer (the warmth, the softness, the wrinkle release...) because it might save us a few bucks every month on our electric bill. Cranky Old Guy also mows the lawn religiously--the yard is overall impeccable. Except, of course, for the occasional spitwad of a wayward tennis ball accidentally tossed into his yard by his Horrible Neighbors, Scott and Penelope. God, they're so LOUD, have you ever met them? And they have this horrible black lab mix, who acts like she has rabies or some other disease, most likely mental. Worst. Neighbors. EVER.

Cranky Old Guy never says anything about the tennis balls, but he also never throws them back, either. Even though they usually land about a foot from the fence (just out of our reach), and tossing them back would be easier than, say, grumbling to oneself and throwing them in the trashcan. The only one he ever does say anything to is, in fact, Bender. Bender Superstar will run up to the fence, growling and doing her Elaine Bennis-like dance routine, and Cranky Old Guy will snap back, "Go away! Leave me alone. Blah blah grumble blah."

I used to be afraid of dogs, and I also didn't like them very much as creatures, for all their messy, drooly exuberance and unpredictability, so I can fully appreciate "shooing" a dog. Even one that's on the other side of the fence with no chance or history of even coming close to leaping over. However, Cranky Old Guy still kind of pisses me off. Because telling Bender to leave him alone isn't the only thing he does. That's only on certain days, let's just say Wednesdays. On other days, like Mondays, he eggs Bender on. He taunts her, and fully encourages the Tasmania. He waves his arms and gets up in her space just as much as she does his, so much as the fence will allow. He says "Get over here! Blah blah grumble blah!" and as soon as I open the door, he stops, and then she stops, and he walks wordlessly away.

Is he just having fun, in his secret Cranky Old Guy way? I can't tell. But for as much as I have to yell at Bender for the way she's acting, because it is so not right, I kind of want to go over there to Impeccable Yard and say a few choice words to Cranky Old Guy, too.