A neighborhood stroll is no walk in the park

Published in The Fauquier Times-Democrat Weekend, Feb. 18th, 2011


This is the first in a three-part saga.

This tale involves flowers and candy, but not on Valentine’s Day. It began with my teenaged son taking a walk in the neighborhood and ended with him buying and delivering flowers and chocolates to a neighbor lady – a married one, at that!


I will not name this son of mine because every once in a while, I like to think about my children’s feelings. I don’t let this happen too frequently, because that could impinge on my parenting skills as well as my liberty to share with you embarrassing scrapes they get into. But he actually gave me permission to write about this. This happened well over a year ago, and so my “broadcasting license” on this one is just a tad stale, but you don’t really expect me to try to renew it, do you? First of all, I’m writing this at 4 am. Secondly, what if he were to change his groggy mind? I don’t want to lose my license any more than you want me to.


So I don’t implicate which particular brown boy of mine was involved, I have created a Writers’ Protection Program. In writing this piece, I will call this boy of mine ‘Fred.’ It doesn’t matter what I call him, actually. I don’t know about your children, but mine don’t respond to any of the names we agonized over before their birth. When you’ve roared that unique, amazing, and etymologically significant name of theirs four or five times, that’s when they start thinking about possibly responding to that clever name you gave them. Only when your face is contorted and red, and when your ugly uvula is exposed like some sort of maniacal cartoon character, do they respond. Might as well call the kid Fred, after all.


Also, because our pre-named shelter dog features in this, I shall obscure her name as well. The canine will be referred to as Letty Boo. See how clever I can be in the predawn hours?


So, this is what happened last winter:


I came home one evening to the news that a neighbor had recently descended upon our door with a complaint about Fred’s behavior. This was a novel experience for me, and novel does not necessarily mean nice. It was tinged with embarrassment. We all have these great expectations of our children; we pour our very souls into them, and then they become the taint of the neighborhood. Nice.


My husband had earlier dispatched one of the older girls to trudge up the neighborhood with our son so that he could offer his apology, but they were unable to find the house, and the woman’s name had been garbled in the message. We weren’t sure which neighbor had been offended, or where she lived exactly, but there was offense in the air in our neighborly little community.


It was just getting dark. My mood was getting darker. I may botch some details here, but you’ll extend me a little license too, right? My memory is not what it used to be.


And let me exonerate myself in case I should botch any details: I may tend to repeat or omit details. After all, my memory is not what it used to be. Or did I just tell you that?


The facts of the matter, as retold by my fuming Fred, were something like this:


Fred and Letty Boo were innocently and congenially taking a walk up the street in our neighborhood. Fred was most assuredly carrying a bag to collect any deposits that Letty Boo might decide to make, even though who can imagine a perfect pooch doing such a thing? He had probably waved to neighbors and friends and helped old ladies cross the street. Furthermore, Fred may even have filled up the bike tires of struggling small children along the way. And the birds, of course, were undoubtedly chirping.


Suddenly, out of nowhere, two vicious Pekingese attack dogs bounded into their own yard next to the sidewalk occupied by this young model citizen and his canine compatriot. That particular yard has an underground electric fence, and although Fred knew that these two rabid animals could not possibly cross onto the sidewalk and into their realm, unfortunately, Letty Boo did not. Not being privy to this vital bit of engineering, Letty Boo began snarling, snapping, lunging, and drooling at her two furry, snack-sized foes.


Stay tuned for the second part of this tale.