I wake up early and nudge Rudy from doggy sleep inside his beloved crate where he snoozes like Bill the vampire on True Blood. Rudy stretches and runs immediately downstairs grabbing one of his dozens of tennis balls, some broken. I did not know it was possible to break a tennis ball until we got Rudy. Chasing them and breaking the yellow orbs is his passion.
A never-ending air quality alert is still on so I figure I should throw the ball with him early to get in one of his exercise routines before the ozone sucks the oxygen from our yard.
Here is how this game works: I stand on our deck, fifteen feet in the air and yell, “Go!”
Rudy bolts down the steps across the yard in a well-worn trench he has carved in the grass over eight years while running down probably a million tennis balls. He snags the bounce and turns to look at me, then drops the ball, positions himself perfectly and pees on the ball. I can’t believe it. So I yell, “Hey! Dumb ass!”
What I did not see was my neighbor standing in his backyard, looking across the trees, cup of coffee poised in one hand, enjoying the morning. He abruptly looks up at me on the deck thinking I am yelling at him. “Hey! Dumb ass!”
He stares at me with an unpleasant wrinkle twisting his entire face. I realize how this must look from his vantage point, so I wave and say, “How’s it going, dude?” I would have explained my mistaken yelling, but the damage was done. So I just left it hanging in the air quality alert ozone between us.
A little background here: I have talked to this man about 15 times in eight years, mostly involving one word, “Hi.” I often mispronounce his first name, not on purpose, but by mistake. I know his last name and I recognize him on sight, but we don’t hang out. And he has a simple first name that is easy to forget. If he went by Theophilus, I’d remember it. To be honest, though, I’m not a neighborly neighbor anyway. I once went 3 years without ever seeing my neighbors in St. Louis. So the neighborly relationship I have with this gentleman mostly consists of waves while one of us is mowing our yards or small talk forced upon us by picking up each other’s mail when the other is on vacation. It’s all predicated on a need to know basis. So seeing me on the deck yelling, at presumably him, did not fit inside the pleasant confines of our smiley-faced un-neighborliness.
I quickly slip back inside and look at him through the door glass. He is still standing there, confused, pissed or both. All he sees is me on the deck yelling, “Hey! Dumbass! How’s it going, dude?”
I probably won’t be picking up his mail for the next few vacations.
