This. Means. War.

I had this neighbor, Charlie, as a child who drove my parents nuts. He was the one that when you had a tree, and the leaves fell onto his side of the fence, he'd rake them back onto your lawn. He'd keep a running written tally of which neighbor had what garden tool, for how long, and he'd be reluctant to ever assist you in a project. We've all had neighbors like this - but I swear, he loved me. Doted on me. And when his daughter passed away from luekemia, (I look a good deal as Madieline did) I was the only one allowed in the house.

I kind of thought that Karma would reward me with a neighbor that treated Charlie much the way I did, with patience and kindness, and a healthy dose of cheap, easy jokes.

That's not what I got. I swear, the Hatfield McCoy thing may just be a-brewin' a new.

My next door neighbor loves loves loves to hassle me. He pulls in, and gives me the finger. He's got two ugly, nasty yappy little beasts he calls dogs, an uglier wife, and a desperately bad relationship with anyone in my neighborhood. His trash, on windy days, ends up in my yard, constantly, and yet, I just throw it out. He's planted trees on the property line of MY yard, yells at me about MY dogs, and to retaliate, I've taken to vacuuming (central vac is soooo cool!) at about six am, on the Saturday's when he sleeps with his windows open.

But this time, he's gone too far.

THIS. MEANS. WAR.

One of my (admittedly idiot) dogs had taken a pillow, one of those neck roll ones, which is stuffed with this white, gauzy filler. Enough mind you, to coat, say, a good stretch of the back yard when all's said and done. Being rather late at night when I got a very hungry H home, I fed him, walked the dogs, (2 miles) bathed the child and popped him into bed. In the dark I go out, and attempt to retrieve even some of the offending out of season dog made snow. I got the front yard accomplished, before I succummed to exhaustion, and our first misquito infestation.

The next night, I complete the entire yard. Front. Back. Side. Two hours of raking, bending and swearing, three blisters on my hands, and one on an ankle, and it's done. Success is mine!

I go out an hour later and find more. MORE of this shit. All over the side yard. And I'm thinking: dogs are in house. So is small child. There was nothing left to blow in the wind.

On more careful examination, I now see the pattern - he (Kevin, should you be wondering) took the time to place the fluff in rows on the lawn. Rows. If you go through the trouble of picking it up, why on God's great green Earth wouldn't you just throw it away?

I marched over to his house, rang his obnoxious doorbell, set his dogs to yapping, and asked him. Politely. Well. It was frigidly polite at least. His response? Why should he pay to have the trash guys to take my trash?

Are you kidding me?? Are you fucking kidding me?

I was so flummaxed I simply stared, turned, and walked away. Stepping on one of his precious ON MY PROPERTY wee trees he's got planted, for a privacy screen. Then, I moved the "offending" (his words, not mine) playset, (with the help of my awsome neighbor, who also hates K) into complete line of sight of his tacky little deck. I'm considering further measures, involvoing sugar water, and his foundation (we've a real issue with ants out here, what a pity) but why stoop to his level?

Instead, I've gone one better.

I called animal control. About the out of control barking. (hmmm...should I mention that I'm on a first name basis with animal control? didn't think so either)

I also called the housing athority , about his illegal shed. (yes, we are not allowed to put up sheds that are larger than a certain size, and his is bigger!!) And ratted him out about not registering his dogs with the town.

And lastly. The next time his trash ends up in my yard, I'm sending him a bill. You know, so I don't have to pay for MY trash guy to take out HIS trash.