Birthday Bash

About half of the houses on our street are for sale or for rent (Yay for the housing crisis in the ghetto!), and we've grown accustomed to being neighborless.  It's kind of nice.  Quiet.  Calm.  We use their recycling bin when ours runneth over.  Nice.

But all good things must come to an end, and now a family has moved in two houses down from us.  They seem nice, actually, and they have two little girls who seem to be glued to their Big Wheels, but in a cute way.  They also have a dog, a furry cute black dog named Toby who is about Mitch's size. 

Toby's also pretty cute, but he whines a lot.  He's probably whining because he's aware of the fact that he now lives two houses away from the greatest dog on the planet, and he wants to play with Mitch.

Oh, we've also had the windows open a lot lately because it's been so nice outside.

So here's what happens:  windows are open, Toby is outside whining, Mitch hears Toby whining.  At this point Mitch will do one of two things.  He'll either beg to go outside, at which point he will then howl and howl and get Toby to howl along with him.  OR, he'll stay in the house and howl and howl and get Toby to howl along with him.  It's not annoying at all.

In an attempt to stop the insane howling, sometimes I just let Mitch go in the yard of the house between our two houses (nobody lives there, either) and run over to the fence to say  hi to Toby.  This solution has seemed to work a little. 

Until today.

Here's a view of our carport  (remember the Beeeestro?).  That gate that you see belongs to the next-door neighbor. 

And that pole to the right of the gate?  Well, that pole is really hard.  It's especially hard when you slam your own face against it.

I learned just how hard the pole was when, after allowing Mitch into the neighbor's yard, I went to bring him back in.  I'd neglected to bring a leash, and was just going to have him run back to our door, which he does ninety-nine percent of the time (it's that one percent when he chases a kid down the street and onto the hood of a car that's the problem).  And right as I opened the gate, I heard the little girls on their big wheels, and I didn't want Mitch to go apeshit and chase them (Kids and bicycles?  Well, that's an enemy on top of an even bigger enemy in Mitch's mind.). 

So I yelled out "to the house," pointed, and began to corral him toward the door.  And then, before I knew it, I'd slammed my eye against the pole.  F'ing wonderful.

So there's a good chance I'll be ringing  in year twenty-nine with a black eye.  (Apparently the universe mistook "shiny things" for "shiner.")  This is just like the time I was missing a toenail on my weddin' day! 

 Shit.