Tempest in a Teapot (cont.)

Or, what passes for news in tiny Midwest towns, aka RedNeckLand.

Since the melodrama of "FlyBy" has continued even longer, and my lengthy reports on that thread have probably received all the views they're going to, please forgive me if I report the most recent - and I hope final - developments in a second thread. Walter Winchell himself couldn't have made this stuff up.

After a nice lunch and good nap, I walked outdoors again, followed by the dogs of course, and what should appear before my wondering eyes except Old Fart Neighbor walking up his driveway. The bustard had the nerve to wave hi at me. After a second's pause my eyes lit up with a facetious gleam and I pasted my very best fake smile on my evil little mug. Life doesn't give one too many such golden opportunities.

I cupped one hand behind my ear, leaned forward in the near total silence surrounding us, and almost shouted, "WHAT? I CAN'T HEAR TOO WELL OVER THE ROAR OF THESE INCESSANTLY BARKING DOGS YOU SAY I HAVE HERE!" Dorothy Parker herself would've been proud of me.

Old Fart Neighbor gives a slightly sheepish grin and says, "Well, they bark an awful lot at night."

Me: "And when would that be? Since I bring them in no later than 9 p.m. so they'll be ready for a real potty break at 10:30 p.m. when I take them out for the last time and stay with them, and they almost never go out again before 6 the next morning? Just what part of the night are they barking incessantly, to borrow a phrase?"

Old Fart stands there at least looking dumbfounded, so I continue: "Whatever it is you MIGHT be hearing is provably NOT MY DOGS!" (smile sweetly)

Old Fart almost mumbles, "Well, somebody's dogs are barking, and me and the kid on the other side of you agreed it must be your dogs..."

Not that I believe the kid neighbor's alleged complicity at all, but I still said, "Don't you think it's about time you made sure of your facts before threatening to haul an innocent woman into court, no matter what kind of easy target you mistake her for?" Honey, poisoned though it was, virtually dripped from my lips.

Old Fart shrugs and mumbles, "Okay," and then disappears into his garage.

Does anyone else think I'm safe from prosecution at least for awhile? Oh, he'll be back with something else eventually, probably try to blame me for the squirrels scattering acorns on his lawn or something. But I'll appreciate a little breather anyway. If I did make him an apple pie now, I know exactly what I'd put in it, and it would be worse than ExLax. After all, I saw that movie about The Help too. Even read the book.

Do you suppose the City Official I told about in the previous thread saw it too and was really sharing a wicked joke with me? He's smart enough. I really wonder if he talked to the Police Chief who's his buddy and told him how quiet my dogs were when 3 men they didn't know lined up against the outside of my front fence? I did tell Police Chief earlier that he needed to talk to Old Fart before he picked a fight he'd never win with me. Not because I'm mean, but because I'm in the right and will go to the mat to prove it.

Not a leaf rustles in these parts before everybody in town knows it within 5 minutes. That can be used to advantage when need be.

NOW I'm done yelping. Thanks for listening - it helps more than you know.