Bring it on!

Like hell it is.

You will recall the alleged ball-over-the-fence incident on Saturday before Father’s Day.  If not, read the story here.

Sunday (Father’s Day) was quiet.

On  Monday, my husband convinced me that we needed to talk to the Town Police about what happened, in light of the fact that I had told the patrol officer on Saturday that I had not heard the neighbor pounding on my door for 15 minutes, when in fact, I had.  On Saturday, I was so afraid that he would break the door down that I decided not to admit having heard it, for fear he would get back at me for dissing him.  Thus, we went to the police station and relayed this information to the desk sergeant.  We were advised that should it happen again, to tell the neighbors that they are not welcome on our property, which includes the front steps, porch, driveway, front and back yard, and that if they did not leave immediately, we would have them arrested for trespassing.

Monday evening was quiet.

Tuesday – after work, we took Cody for her usual walk.  Upon arriving home, we discovered a heavy basketball in the middle of our backyard in an area where it could only land if it had deliberately been tossed over the fence while standing on a ladder.  The ball had not been there earlier.  Within 2 minutes of our entering the house, a pre-teen was knocking on our door.  This was a kid we had never seen before who did not live in our neighborhood, but apparently was visiting next door – and the poor kid wound up being sent over as the sacrificial lamb.  My husband was not happy.  He became The Angry Adult.  He told the kid in no uncertain terms that the police had told the neighbors not to throw crap in our yard anymore and to go back next door and tell the adults that no one is to come knocking on our door ever again – but that we would throw the ball back when we were ready to do so.

Which I did, about 20 minutes later –  unfortunately, the only part of the fence where it is easy for me to toss balls back is right in the “jungle” side yard where my neighbor hasn’t mowed in several years.

Yes, those are maple trees growing from spinners that landed in my neighbor’s un-mowed site lot. We have since cut those branches back on our side of the fence.

Sure enough, not too long afterwards, Psycho Dad from across the street was knocking on my door.  I was just getting out of the shower, so my husband waited for me to come down before he would answer.  Psycho Dad got pissed when we didn’t respond IMMEDIATELY, and began pounding on the door.  I started dialing 911, but then hubby decided to open the front window and confront Psycho Dad that way.  Hubby merely told Psycho Dad that we had already thrown the ball back, and then closed the window.

I was not happy.  The police had advised us to read the riot act to the neighbors, and hubby had not done so.  Hubby and I had words.  I took Cody out into the backyard.

Photo by Helena Ericksson (click for link)

Hubby followed, then went to the front gate and called Psycho Dad over (Psycho Dad had been next door playing with Ho-Mommy’s son and his friends).  The conversation started off amicably enough – male bonding type handshakes, exchange of first names, etc.  Then, hubby said, “Listen, I received a report that you were pounding on my door when I wasn’t home on Saturday and upset my wife.”  Psycho Dad began twitching, his eyes began skittering.  The conversation went downhill rapidly:

PSYCHO:  Report from whom?  From her? (pointing to me standing a few feet behind my husband.).

PSYCHO (to me): You can come up here, you don’t need to be afraid of me.

ME:  I’m not afraid, I’m a witness.  (I then joined my husband at the gate).  I heard you pounding on Saturday, it sounded like you were trying to break my door down.

PSYCHO:  You heard?  So you lied to the cop?

ME:  No. I said I didn’t hear it because I was scared.  But then we went to the police station Monday evening and told them what really happened.

Psycho Dad wasn’t thrilled to hear that.

Psycho Dad began to rehash the whole what-are-we-supposed-to-do-if-a-ball-comes-into-your-yard discussion that we had on Saturday. I reiterated that they could wait until we threw it back, but that we would eventually throw it back.

Meanwhile, Psycho Dad’s eyes were flashing and he was bouncing on his toes like he was about to enter a boxing ring.

Finally,

ME:  Listen, the long and short of it is – you are not welcome on our property.  If you so much as step one foot past that front sidewalk, I will have you arrested for trespassing.

PSYCHO:  Oh, I’m not allowed on your property?  Well, then I’ll just send the kids over.  You can’t stop them from knocking on your door.

HUBBY:  That’s endangering the welfare of a child.

PSYCHO:  What do you mean?

ME:  Failure to supervise.

Now, granted as you’re reading this, it probably seems mild and somewhat civil, but you weren’t there.  Psycho Dad was yelling and waving his arms and twitching all over.  I reiterated that if he comes onto my property ever again, he will be arrested for trespassing, and that goes for Ho-Mommy and the kids as well. (And no, I did not refer to her as Ho-Mommy, although I surely was tempted.)

PSCHO:  Oh, you’re going to call the cops?  I’m a cop.  I have friends on the force, and no one’s going to come when you call.

[Psycho Dad is a customs officer at one of the international bridges – a peacekeeping position, but not a true cop.  He only has limited authority on the bridge itself, unlike real cops who risk their lives every single day.]

HUBBY:  You’re not a cop.

PSYCHO DAD:  Well, what do you think I do?

ME:  You work at the bridge.

PSYCHO DAD (speaking to me as if I’m a 2-year-old):  And what do I do at the bridge?

I swear at this point Not CM, or the devil himself, took over my personality because my response was:

ME: You’re a toll collector.

Photo by Alvaro Tapia (click for link)

Psycho Dad went absolutely ballistic.  He began screaming, “You people are assholes, and you’re going to have a really bad summer!”

Hubby and I looked at each other, and we both pulled out our cell phones.  Which one of us would call 911 first?

Psycho Dad (who claims he has friends on the force, so why is he concerned?) immediately began speed-walking back across the street, screaming “You people are assholes!” the entire time.  Not CM (or the devil himself) made me call after him, “That’s nice language to use in front of those kids.”  He screamed “Fuuuuuuuuck  yooooouuuuu!”, went inside his house, and turned all the lights off.

This is a guy who has a federal job in which he is required to carry a gun.  Should we be concerned?  I certainly think so.

We immediately called 911.  A very nice patrol officer arrived.  At the point where we told the officer that Psycho Dad claimed to have friends on the force, the patrol officer simply stated, “Well, I don’t know him, and this is going to be finished tonight.”  We told the patrol officer that we wanted no contact from any of those neighbors, but that should a ball come over, we certainly would throw it back the next time we were out with Cody, which usually is every few hours.

Ho-Mommy and Psycho Dad were advised of our wishes, as was evidenced in the police report (“Neighbor acting in threatening manner – ongoing problem – neighbors advised that complainants wish no contact.”)

Just in case, this isn’t the end, hubby went and spoke with the DA who covers our town.  The DA reiterated that should there be any future incidents, we should immediately call 911, at which point Psycho Dad will be arrested and the DA can step in.

I’m feeling much better now.  Things have been quiet the last few days.

What started out as a big game of “Lets harass the old people so that they’ll move and our friends can buy their house cheap” didn’t work out the way it was planned.

Never piss off Cordelia’s Mom – it usually doesn’t go well.

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I love to hear from my readers.  You may comment on this post, comment on m Facebook or Twitter pages, or email me at cordeliasmom2012@yahoo.com or notcordeliasmom@aol.com

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Top image and side yard photo by Cordelia’s Mom.  Click on other photos for credit links.