Dear Henry,

I'm just not sure what to make of you. I mean, you seem okay, for a next-door neighbor. A little grumpy, maybe, but at least you mow your lawn unlike that family down the street, the one with the sinister-looking tree and the somehow creepy assortment of children's toys in their yard. You're downright impeccable with your landscaping, in fact, and even though I know you would totally call the cops on us if we had a party rather than asking us first to quiet down, I can't complain too much. Yes, it took you several months after we moved in to say hi, but we didn't say hi, either--I admit it's a tw0-way street.

I just don't know about you and Bender. I think--I think--you might actually get along with her, or at least you're entertained by her Tasmazian Devil-inspired posturing shows she puts on daily for you at the fence. (As you should be.) When you growl, Get over here, I would swear, though it took me a long while to realize, that you're actually having fun. I stopped calling Bender inside whenever she acts in this freakish manner, because by now, I figure at the very least you're used to her, and frankly it's too annoying to get up 30 seconds after letting her out.

But, I have to ask, what was with the pesticides this morning? You're 85 and although you're crotchety, I don't want to think badly of you. Maybe your aim was off. But were you spraying that junk at my dog, or were you just spraying the bushes, and Bender happened to be there. Please be honest. Because making a dog choke on poison like that on purpose, even if she is a little nuts, is not very nice. In fact, I might be more than a little mad if she happens to get sick.

Your Neighbor, and a Non-Hooligan (I swear),
Penelope