I'm used
to the summertime noises of children playing hockey in the street (on
roller blades, if you'd believe). I'm used to the sound of sirens from
the firehouse, and to the noise of cars roaring down my residential street,
believing they're taking a shortcut, before they learn about the unmarked
police car that likes to perch at the stop sign.
But any
other sounds, and Una and I go on the alert. We don't like new noises.
We must investigate.
If it's a stranger we just might bark.
This morning,
I was surprised to hear the noise of a lawn mower right outside my house.
I was surprised mainly because my landlord had mowed my lawn and trimmed
the hedges yesterday. So it seemed odd that he would be back so soon.
And then
I heard voices. He was talking to someone? My landlord always mows the
lawn alone.
Una let
out a soft warning bark. It's the kind of noise that you make in class
when you've fallen asleep and you're trying to prove that you're still
paying attention: "I'm awake."
We run to
the windows. She, being too short, can't see out. She ran to the front
door and peered out the glass at the porch. She barked again, for good
measure.
I got a
full view of the action outside: two men, mowing the lawn and pulling
weeds at the abandoned house next door, empty for nearly a year. The neighborhood
gossip is that the original owner died and when his son took over, he
stopped paying the property taxes. The municipality took possession and
was supposed to have a sheriff's sale. The sign sat out front for months
and then was removed. The tenants moved out, leaving behind a smoke-stained,
dirty apartment filled with broken objects they hadn't bothered to remove.
A couple
months later, someone broke a window. The municipality came by and blocked
it with a piece of muddy plywood. I put a rock in front of the broken
screen door, which bangs in the wind. Weeds grew. Grass grew. It began
to resemble the sort of houses my friends would dare me to enter but which
I'd shy away from, afraid of floors caving beneath me.
So today,
I was surprised but pleased to see these two men doing yard work. After
I finished my morning assignment, I took Una outside, for the excuse to
say hi. She stared at them uncertainly, her ears perked up. I asked them
if they owned the place, and they said they'd owned it "for awhile
now" but had finally decided they'd better start fixing it up. They
said that the neighbors would certainly appreciate their efforts, and
I agreed.
I didn't
ask them what their plans were, but from what I've seen it would take
them quite a bit of work to make the place ready for new tenants. Una
and I don't know how we feel about that. New neighbors mean new habits,
new time schedules, new noises.
We may be
running to the window an awful lot.
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