I'm Lindsay Ferrier, a Nashville writer with a passion for family travel, exploring Tennessee, and raising kids without losing my mind in the process. This is where I share my discoveries, along with occasional deep thoughts, pop culture tangents and a sprinkling of snark. Want to get in touch? Use the CONTACT form at the top of the page.
January 4, 2010
>As neighbors go, Muffin and Eclair typically don’t give me too much trouble. They keep to themselves, mostly, and mind their own business. But occasionally, they’re a little on the noisy side.
Yes, like so many of us in suburbia, I may not know my backyard neighbors’ names, but I sure know the names of their dogs. They are small, expensive creatures, let out only to do their business in the neighbors’ small backyard, which is visible from my kitchen window. Someone always goes out with them, which led to one memorable incident last year when it snowed and Hubs and I took the kids out in our own backyard for a little sledding. One of Muffin and Eclaire’s teenage owners was outside with them on their side of the fence. Once they were done, Eclaire ran back inside. Muffin, however, was mesmerized by the snow.
“Come on Muffin,” she called. The dog ignored her and continued sniffing at the ground, ten feet away from her.
“Come on Muffin,” she said again. “Come on. Come on, Muffin. Come on, Muffin. Come on, Muffin. Muffin, come on. Come on, Muffin. Come on. Come on. Muffin. Muffin! Come on. Come on, Muffin. Come on, Muffin. Muffin. Muffin. Come on. Come on, Muffin. Come on, Muffin. Muffin. Muffin! Muffin! Muffin! Come on. Come on. Come on. Come on. Come on, Muffin. Come on, Muffin. Come on, Muffin. Muffin, come on. Come on, Muffin. Come on. Come on. Muffin. Muffin! Come on. Come on, Muffin. Come on, Muffin. Muffin. Muffin. Come on. Come on, Muffin. Come on, Muffin. Muffin. Muffin! Muffin! Muffin! Come on. Come on. Come on.”
“Just pick up your damn dog,” I muttered to Hubs after about 15 minutes. “Pick it up and go inside. For the love of Pete!”
After about 30 minutes, the Muffin Monologues proved to be too much for us. We gave up on our sledding and as far as I know, our teenage neighbor was out there trying to convince Muffin to come on for the remainder of January.
I hadn’t seen or heard much our neighbors since until a couple of weeks ago, when I was cleaning up the kitchen and heard barking in our backyard. I looked up and saw Muffin and Eclair standing on my back deck.
That’s odd, I thought. They must have crawled under the fence. I scanned their back yard and deck, but didn’t see any signs of their owners, which was doubly weird. After a moment, I went on with my business, figuring that they’d realize soon enough that their dogs had escaped and would lure them back through the fence with luxury doggy treats or whatever it is that floats Muffin and Eclair’s boats.
But the next day, I noticed that the dogs were in our backyard again. And the next. And the next. I was always busy and they were never in our yard for more than a few minutes at a time, so I didn’t think too much about it.
But on the morning that we all came down with Swine Flu, Hubs was home and spotted them for the first time.
“What are those dogs doing in our backyard?” he asked.
“Oh yeah,” I told Hubs, “They’ve been in our yard every day lately.”
“That’s strange,” Hubs said.
“You know what? I said, after thinking for a moment. “It is. Why would the neighbors suddenly abandon the dogs outside like that, after years of watching them every single time they let them out?”
And then I had an A HA! moment.
“Wait a second,” I said slowly. “I think they’re watching them from inside now and just letting them poop over here while they pretend not to notice!”
Hubs sighed. “I guess I’ll have to go out there and patch up the fence,” he said. I looked at Hubs worriedly. He had a fever of 102.
“I don’t think so,” I said. I fixed our neighbors’ house with an evil glare, suspecting that at that very moment, one of them was probably watching us through a slat in the blinds. “I’ve got another idea.”
I went out to our garage and opened the door that led from the garage into our backyard. Then I opened the garage door. Then I stepped out into our backyard and made a grand, sweeping gesture toward the Great Big World that awaited Muffin and Eclaire outside our garage. I saw the curtains rustle at my neighbors’ house and went back inside. “I think that ought to take care of that,” I told Hubs.
Sure enough, the dogs were quickly called back in by their owners. I haven’t seen them in our yard since.
I still don’t know my neighbors’ names, but I’ve taken to calling them the Hatfields.
Today on my Style blog: Leopard Print: Do You or Don’t You? Will You or Won’t You?, What I’m Wearing, and Where I Got It and A Chic Hollywood Hairstyle You Can Pull Off in Under Five Minutes.
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