Fences Too Tall

I know what they say about tall fences making good neighbors. In fact, I'm pretty sure that covers it. Tall fences make good neighbors. And living in the fish bowl that Will and I do, I often feel that way.

However, we're very lucky with the folks who live in our little corridor in this condo complex. They're all really good people. And I believe that we could count on most of them if there were some sort of problem. And I hope that they feel the same.

But, much of the time, when we take the dogs out (because we don't have a yard), we try to avoid our other neighbors. I usually just want the time to mozie and walk in quiet and have the dogs go pee-pee and poo-poo and be done with it.

And, you may remember some of my other neighbors that I've had the pleasure of encountering? Like the slut who called the cops on us and I was literally standing in front of them in RED UNDERWEAR?

Or Oscar, who wants to slip me a roofie and then slip me something else?

Or the other neighbor who always used to attempt to mount her fur-burger upon me?

Remember those ones?

Yeah. Me too.

The other day, when I ran out to get the mail and was walking back with packages, bills, magazines and other crap teetering on the edge of avalanche, I ran into a neighbor that I've seen for years and never really talked with.

She's probably in her late 50's or early 60's and often has purple hair. I'm not sure if it's on purpose or not, but it usually starts a discussion between me and Will. And I'm afraid that we're seldom nice.

When I have encountered her in the past, I'm normally pulling the dogs in the opposite direction away from her and her dog, because ours would like to EAT hers. She doesn't have a little dog, but ours would still fancy attempting to eat it.

So, anyway, I was walking back from the mailbox with everything teetering in my arms. We were going to walk right by one another and so I greeted her and put my hand out for the dog to sniff. I said that I never get to say "hello" to her and her dog because of our ravenous beasts. She smiled and we began talking about how precious our dogs are to us.

We talked about how they give us reason to get out of bed on tough mornings and how funny they are and how they love us no matter what.

We talked about past pets that we've had in another time of our life and you could tell that we would catch glimpses of those times through our eyes as we recounted them for one another.

She used to live on some property up in the foothills and had horses, goats, chickens and dogs. She even nursed an abandoned baby Mockingbird to adulthood and tried to encourage it to live in the "wild". It had no interest in that. Its home was with her and her family.

I told her how I want to live on a farm and have a pig and that Will said that as long as I named the pig "Kevin Bacon", that he'd be cool with it.

We laughed.

Then, we both said how all of our dogs are rescues. Taken from the "shelter". That's some "shelter" if the end result is death.

Then, we both said how they really rescued us.

But, after she expressed it. I sensed something a little more in her recounting that her dog really rescued her.

I didn't need to ask, she continued.

A few years ago, the dog belonged to her fiance. And he suddenly and unexpectedly, died.

The dog ensconced herself under his bed and wouldn't come out for three days.

She took the dog to her home and they've rescued one another ever since.

She was crying by the end of her story.

And with boxes, bills and magazines precariously sitting in my arms, so was I...and I had no interest in moving.

I looked her straight in her eyes, blinking back the tears in my own, hoping that her heart knew of my sincerity in the true sympathy of her loss. I said so. Knowing that no words could EVER ease that pain. But, I hope that my sentiments did in some small way.

Here she is, my neighbor...That I usually make fun of her purple hair (it's not purple right now). And I usually run the other way.

And this time, within minutes, we were exchanging hopes and fears and love and tears.

And I thought about fences and walls that we put up; literally and figuratively. And I thought about how these not only keep others out, but they keep us in.
And I thought about how many neighbors I haven't met over the years.
And I thought about all the missed opportunities.

Because for better or worse, that's what they are; missed opportunities.
To meet each other.
To know each other.
And to grow from that...
And to remind ourselves that we're all in this mess together, whether we like it or not.

And I choose to like it.

Actually...I love it.