City life can be interesting, for sure. I grew up in a city-burb where neighbors knew the business of other neighbors. Fights broke out periodically over such important matters as: whose job it was to mow the six-inch grass strip or what constituted “too loud” noise levels, be it barking dogs or stereos.
Since returning to city life six years ago–albeit, a different city–my appreciation for neighbors has been mixed. On the one hand, I have a nifty neighbor who likes to raise garden produce and bake bread, as well as occasionally engage me in political discourse–something I enjoy doing, having spent my teenage and early-adult years doing such with my father.
Then, there’s the other hand. The one that tests my belief system, which expects me to rise above small matters and treat those who most anger me with patience and respect. Which, on most days, works relatively well. But, then, I hear roosters crowing and any neighborly indulgences I may have allowed no longer seem permissible.
We built a tall, wood fence to shield ourselves from this neighbor’s successive and unpredictable follies, some of which run counter to our city’s ordinances. Mind you, this neighbor has a farm. On which these and other farm animals reside. Unfortunately, this neighbor likes to run the city (and its neighbors) on her terms, and my city house has been forced to live on a farm run by farm creatures with built-in voice alarms, which run long after everyone has awaken.
Today was the second return of such animals–after a visit from our city’s animal welfare guys. And today was also the second time I played like Kaukab. Only without the Arabic-tinged expressions.
I am not proud of my outburst. Made even worse when the kids tried to coax me back from the back door during the cock fight, my neighbor yelling that middle school-tinged, “Oh, get a life!”
Ego slighty bruised, I reluctantly retreated to my kitchen. My life is full enough without roosters.