My back fence neighbors have moved. A couple in their 30s, they had two boys of middle school age. When not working long shifts in a factory, he and his buddies would take ATVs into the woods and drive. He found a property near his preferred off-road haunts, and packed up for the country.
My back fence neighbors have moved. A couple in their 30s, they had two boys of middle school age. When not working long shifts in a factory, he and his buddies would take ATVs into the woods and drive. He found a property near his preferred off-road haunts, and packed up for the country.
They seemed nice. Still a bit shell-shocked from the divorce when I purchased my house, I stumbled one day into the backyard, where my back fence neighbor extended his hand in welcome. We did not have a lot in common, but he knew how to be neighborly. To meet him and remember his name made me feel less lonely in my new situation.
He had two pit bulls. They were extremely wary of me at first; their master speculated that the lawn crew hired to keep the weeds down on my formerly bank-owned land was sometimes unkind to the dogs with their trimmers. Thus, even though I wasn't using power equipment, the dogs would rush the cyclone fence and bark fiercely whenever I would get near it.
With a deep affection for doggies, I tried to make them more comfortable, cooing in a soft voice whenever near the property line, and initiating the ritual of Treat Time.
Whenever I’d see the pits in their backyard, I would approach the fence and give them each a premium dog treat. Based on this daily transaction, we became pals in just a couple of weeks. The male would sit on my command, gently take a treat as I reached over the fence, and let me pet him on the head as he crunched away.
The female was always a little more standoffish. Respecting her body language, I would offer her biscuit through the chain-link opening. She, too, would mildly take the snack, her muzzle rubbing lightly on my fingertips.
They no longer found it necessary to charge the perimeter and challenge my proximity. The girl might give me a couple of guttural snorts as I pulled weeds, but a few quiet words would calm her. She and her dog brother took to quiet observation, lying in the grass while I worked in the yard.
Watching by the back fence became their habit, waiting for my car to pull into the driveway. Their greeting of wagging tails and big faces felt good. And in the comparative isolation of my new residence – no children or spouse or long-term neighbors to interact with – these dogs were a profound comfort. I will miss them, as will my dog, Charlie, who dearly loved galloping up the fence line and back, barking with delight as the bigger canines chased after him.
My departing neighbor told me the new owners have two dogs. I hope they are open to the idea of the back fence neighbor being their pal. Going to stock up on premium dog treats and get ready to introduce myself.
Pat Grimes, a former South Bay resident, writes from Ypsilanti, Mich. He can be reached at pgwriter@inbox.com
