There Goes The Neighborhood 3

There Goes The Neighborhood.

Why did it have to be here?

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I was walking Fluffy, one of our favorite pastimes. And before you start on me, I didn't name him. The little girl who had him before named him that. At the time, it was true. Then he grew up, and I mean grew UP. He weighed about 150 pounds when he stopped. His breeding was a little chaotic, but I'm sure he had some boxer and bully in him. The rest was just an amalgam of questionable ancestry. It seems his mother had gotten around. She had once hooked up with a Great Dane and maybe a mastiff. She reminded me of my ex-wife.

He had the barrel-chested body of a bulldog, big ears, the long nose of a hound, and a long tail that curled up, with curly, almost blond hair. Fluffy grew up to be too much of a dog for the family, and I got him by default.

We hit it off. I didn't date much, and he became my companion. I had a friend who worked for a security company training dogs, and he taught him for me. He'd transform into a slobbering monster if I said the right word or phrase. I let him because my ex's new boyfriend was a musclehead, and he thought he'd intimidate me into giving her more. Fluffy just about ate his ass up when he came over, making threats.

Two weeks afterward, Fluffy was shot, but it was in a shoulder muscle and wasn't fatal. A month after that, a bullet went through the window of my old living room, directly between them, as they sat on the couch. Coincidentally, it landed right between her eyes of the painting I'd done of her.

The house was in a rural area on the second day of hunting season, so they let the investigation die. They asked me about it, and I grinned. "Did anyone die?"

"No."

"Then it wasn't me."

She called me ranting, and I put the phone down while I went to get a beer. When I picked it up, she was still on it. "Livvy? Livvy? Are you still there?"

"Yeah. Listen, it sounds like no harm was done. I know the feeling, though, because some asshole shot my dog a while back. Luckily, he didn't die. People should know where their bullet is going before they squeeze the trigger. Any basic firearm class teaches that. As much as I'd like to chat, your voice grits my teeth and gives me bad thoughts. Talk to you later. Much, much later. Understand?" For some reason, she was crying when I hung up.

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We started very much in love--four years of wedded bliss. Then the Asshole showed up, flexing muscles and hinting about how big his dick was. She ignored him for about six months but went for some after-work drinks with the office workers, and he was there. After a few stiff drinks, he got his first kiss.

It still took him three more months to nail her, but they were off to the races when he did. It went hot and heavy for about six months before his wife dropped the bomb on them. She sent an email from a computer at the public library to me and her father, leading them to the motel where they were currently fucking. I heard it got pretty loud, and the cops had to come. His father-in-law, cliche, cliche, was their boss. He didn't fire them until after the divorces to make it easier for his daughter to get a reasonable alimony and child support deal.

Then he fired both of them a month apart. They both knew why, but they could do nothing about it. She'd gotten the house in the divorce, coming up with half the appraised price to buy me out. The mortgage is pretty hefty. She had Asshole move in, and they lived in unwedded bliss until she forced the issue, and they married. I'm sure it will be a lasting and faithful relationship.

I took the money and looked around, buying a small house in the next town. It was 1300 feet, with two bedrooms and one bath, an 'arts and crafts' house built in 1930. The house needed work, and I got an excellent deal. It took me three years to restore it, about 75%, including cleaning what many thought could be leaded glass panels made by Tiffany. The hardwood floors gleamed after restoration, and the oak paneling and trim cleaned up very well. I even left the antique sink in the bathroom. I modernized the kitchen, but I left the slate floor.

It sat on a two-acre lot with large trees and a fenced-in backyard so Fluffy could amuse himself while I worked. He was a terror to the squirrels, and they liked to tease him from a distance. Then, one got a little overconfident. I found specks of gray fur for weeks. I'm sure he thought it was part of his guard duties.

He usually had a good head of steam built up when I got home, and I'd take him on long, rambling walks, more for my benefit than his. It was the way I got to know most of my neighbors. Their kids would be outside, and they'd be all over Fluffy. He'd be in heaven, playing with the children, letting them pile all over him. I'd grin, wondering what they would think if I put him in protective mode. After everyone got used to his looks, he became a favorite, and some of them would give him a treat or two.

We'd walk and talk across the neighborhood, making a wide circuit before getting home. He had a doghouse outside, but I had a doggie door put in, and he spent most of the time in the house with me, lying on his favorite rug.

We were going by the old Jenkins house. The couple had died in an accident the year before, and it sat on the market for six months before someone bought it. Fluffy suddenly went rigid, and his hackles rose. He sensed danger somehow. A moving van was in the driveway, and people were unloading it. I thought about offering a hand until I noticed Fluffy. I looked a little closer.

It couldn't be! There they were, larger than life. Ex and the Asshole! I was still trying to process it when she looked up and dropped the box in her hands, and I heard China break. Then Asshole came around the truck to see what happened, saw me, and glared. He started charging towards me, and Fluffy let out an enormously loud bark, showing all his teeth. I called it shark mode. He slid to a stop and started yelling. "Get that mutt outta here! He's a danger to the public!"

I just grinned at him. "Hello, neighbors. As far as the dog, sorry, but the sidewalk is public property. Fluffy and I walk by here every day."

Then I dropped the cheerful tone. "If you don't fucking like it, Asshole, leave. This was my neighborhood first. What happened to the 'dream' house she just had to have? We'll walk where we please, and as long as we don't cross property lines, there isn't jack shit you can do about it. Fucked any married women lately? You're a creature of habit, and sooner or later, you will. How about your honey? After all, she has a history of slipping around on her husband. Has she worked over lately? Have you been to any conferences? Girl's Nights Out? Weren't they the lies you two told to get together?"

I laughed. "You know what? You two deserve each other. I couldn't ask for a more perfect revenge. You'll never really trust each other for the rest of your lives; sooner or later, one of you will slip. I hope I hear about it when it happens. Ya'll have a good day now. Fluffy and I will be on our way. See you tomorrow."

I said the last in a loud voice so Mrs. Harkins could hear. I debated warning her about them, but she was the biggest busybody and gossip for blocks. She'd find out soon enough.

When I got back, the twins were home. They lived beside me with their mother and had formed a bond with Fluffy to the point where he'd hop the fence when they called him. I finally put a gate in after their mother agreed. She always had a piece of bacon or two for him. The gate stayed open most of the time.

She was a widow for a while and then remarried. Fluffy didn't like him, and I trusted his judgment. One of the first things he tried to do was remove the gate, but Maggie shot that down quickly. The twins never warmed to him; sometimes, I'd sit outside in the dark and listen to them argue. I had thoughts it wasn't going to end well. Then one night, he got drunk. He punched Maggie, and the twins, ten at the time, jumped on him. He threw Jack across the room and knocked him unconscious. Jill screamed as he came towards her, scared to death. Then 150 lbs of really pissed-off canine crashed through their picture window and went after his ass. He had to have nineteen stitches when he made it to the hospital.

I'd heard the screaming and was on my way over. It was all I could do to get Fluffy to stand down. Then I put him in guard mode over the jerk and called 911. They came out and took everyone's statement. Jill had the female detective almost in tears as she described the attack. He went to jail. Maggie had to go into the hospital overnight, so I ended up with the kids. I helped them gather clothes and pajamas, and they slept in my second bedroom, Fluffy lying between them. I think it was the only thing that let them rest.

I made them breakfast the following day and took them to see their mother. One eye was swelled wholly shut, and she had three stitches in her cheek. The kids paled, but she assured them she was all right and would be home soon. Then their grandmother showed up, and we thought we were going to have to have her looked at when she saw her daughter.

I left the hospital and met the installer to fix their window. My dog broke it, so I fixed it. When their grandmother got to the house, she wrapped me up in one of the hardest hugs I'd ever had, crying the whole time. Then she had to meet Fluffy, crying and hugging him just as hard. He responded by licking her face before running to the kids. Jill was especially tearful as she hugged him. I had dinner with them that night. When I got up to leave, I looked down at Fluffy. "Stay, boy. Guard."

He thumped his tail on the floor and knelt beside Jill. He had his badge of honor, ten stitches where he'd cut himself on the glass. Maggie hugged me hard and kissed me on the cheek. When I left, she was sitting in her rocker, petting Fluffy as he sat beside her.

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Most of the older ladies kept a close eye on Maggie after her mother left, and I habitually walked outside both houses before I went to bed. Fluffy started getting up in the middle of the night and going on patrol. If he barked, I'd immediately be out of bed, pistol in hand. Maggie's husband disappeared for parts unknown after the trial. He'd been in jail for four months before the trial because no one would bail his sorry ass out. He was ordered to pay restitution in hospital bills, given a restraining order, put on probation, and released for time served.

I was at his trial as a witness. To his surprise, I had Fluffy with me, and he gave the guy the evil eye the whole time. One of the reasons I was there was to explain Fluffy was a highly trained guard dog who only did what he was taught. I testified that I had told him to guard them and demonstrated it when I told him. "Fluffy, guard Maggie." He immediately trotted over to her, licked her hand, and lay beside her. The judge dismissed his suit against me for hospital bills and demanded that Fluffy be put down. As soon as he could, he left town, stiffing Maggie for the hospital bill. She was just happy he was gone.

Our turn to host the block party rolled around. Since Maggie and I were single and lived beside each other, we developed a habit of hosting them jointly. I would shut the gate and leave Fluffy in my yard, but that lasted for about three minutes the first time when the kids opened the gate, so we just let the party sprawl out over both. Most of the neighbors were there, even our newest ones. No one knew my connection to them; we were good neighbors by including them.

Ex got pale but worked up the nerve to talk to me. I shut her down pretty fast. "We have nothing to say to each other. I'll tolerate you as long as you stay away from me, but if Asshole gets anywhere near me, it could get ugly."

"Please don't. He's a lot bigger, and I don't want you getting hurt."

"Even after all these years, you still underestimate me. Tell him to try sometime. He might not like how it ends."

After that, they stayed away, but almost everybody caught the glares he threw my way. I'd grin and pet Fluffy. Maggie saw the undercurrent, and the twins stayed close to me. Fluffy was the undisputed King of Morton Street and was treated as such. The kids romped with him, and the parents petted him. Ultimately, he thought his name had been changed to Good Boy.

Maggie asked about it while we were cleaning up. Fluffy was inside, asleep between the kids on the living room floor. "I don't want to broadcast it, but the new neighbors are my ex-wife and the guy she cheated with. I want to keep peace in the neighborhood, and it shouldn't be a problem as long as they leave me alone."

She thought about that for a minute. "I don't think you have to worry about her. She seems scared to death of you. Him, I'd keep an eye on. He was trying to impress me and some other ladies with his muscles. He was talking a little trash about you, which got stopped immediately."

"One of these days, he's going to realize that muscles don't make a fighter, and I'll laugh in his face when he does. I'd love to see the look on my ex's face when I stomp his ass."

She surprised me with her grin. "So would I."

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"Fluffy's got a girlfriend." I looked at Jill, eleven now and going through her puppy stage, long-legged and slender. It was easy to tell she would be a doll when she filled out. Jack hadn't hit his spurt yet and was half a head smaller, which irked him no end.

"Really?"

"Yeah. Mrs. Harper, on the block behind us, has a Great Dane. She and Fluffy seem to like each other."

"You know this how?"

She flamed red. Mrs. Harper had a 12-year-old son, and Jill was crushing on him, so she made it a point to walk the block almost daily and use any excuse to stop and talk. She always took Fluffy because the memory of her stepfather was still fresh. "Greg told me. He said he saw them together a couple of days ago in their backyard, and I saw them this morning in your yard."

"Well, it's good to have friends." She just grinned, old enough to know why boy dogs liked girl dogs once in a while. I thought about keeping him inside, but the damage had already been done.

Two days later, an angry woman knocked at my door. "You need to keep your dog home!"

"My dog is home."

"No, he's not, he's...." She stopped talking when she saw Fluffy and her Great Dane snuggled under my big oak, asleep.

"It would be best if you kept your dog home. I think she's seduced mine. The wiles of the female, no matter what species. It's been the undoing of many a male."

She stuttered for a few minutes before she let out a tremendously loud whistle. Fluffy came erect in complete protection mode while the Great Dane loped over to her owner, fawning like a puppy. She snapped her leash on her and almost dragged her down the street. A little while later, there was a blessed event, and four adorable puppies were born. Three looked like clones of Fluffy, and the other looked like her mother. I got a good earful; she would take them to the pound when they were weaned.

Jack and Jill showed up and begged her for a puppy. Maggie had been stopping by, and they had become pretty good friends. They had a conversation while the kids rolled around with the puppies. "I hope he keeps that randy bastard in his backyard. His owner needs to stay away as well. Something about him irritates me."

"I don't know. Have you looked at Liv? I wouldn't mind him jumping the fence some night when I'm in heat. I always liked doggy."

I heard about the conversation years later. Mrs. Harper went bright red and then nearly choked, trying not to laugh.

My name, thank you, Mom, was Livingston Stanley Herbert. I can't remember how many greats were involved, but we were direct descendants. Yeah, I heard all the jokes. I wanted to go by Stan, but the kids in school called me Liv, and it stuck. I didn't even cringe anymore when I heard it.

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When things went to shit, Musclehead used my name to bait me, calling me Livvy. I grinned.

"That name is reserved for women that are intimate with me. What do they call you? Lacking? Shorty? Bitch? I hope your dick is at least half as big as your ego. Maybe my ex will eventually shrink enough to feel you, but it might take a while."

He had confronted me at the neighborhood bar; most of them knew at least part of the story by now. I hadn't kept my voice down, and a few people heard the conversation. There were snickers and grins around the room, and he went bright red, jumping up and swinging a haymaker at my head. I just leaned back and held my empty mug up. He knocked it out of my hand, but not before I heard the crunch of his knuckles breaking on the thick glass. Dumbass.

He went from screaming about how hard he was going to kick my ass to lying on the floor moaning and holding his hand. The bartender looked at me, and I smiled. I held the empty mug up. "Janice, may I have another? Thank you, you may want to check on dumbass here. He may have broken something. You should call the cops. Too many assaults on innocent beer mugs go unreported. Damn shame, really. Unless they speak up, they'll never get justice."

The waitress was on her way to deliver a tray when she 'accidentally' tripped over Musclehead and dumped it on his head, as well as the heavy pitcher and three mugs. She had suffered through about four innuendoes and an ass grope before she dumped a mug on his head and told him off. After trying to get her fired resulted in him getting barred for thirty days, he seemed to calm down, but she still refused to serve him. He grunted every time one hit, and when the pitcher landed on his knuckles, he screamed.

Beth looked down in mock horror. "Oh! Please excuse me; I didn't see you lying on the floor! Do I need to get you anything?"

Janice had her phone in hand, and he staggered up, clutching his hand to his chest and almost running out of the place. She brought me another beer, still grinning. "You need to quit screwing with him. One day, he may try to take it too far."

"I keep pushing him for that, but the idiot's just too dumb to realize it. One of these days, he's going to give me an excuse to beat him to death. I'll try to ensure it isn't here, but I can't control his actions."

Janice half grinned, wondering if I was serious. I was. and one of these days...

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What happened? Reader's Digest version, they met, flirted, fucked around, got caught, and got divorced.

They worked together. She was in the office, and he was on the floor and had to bring her daily reports. They flirted lightly, which was good fun, but it progressed when they met during the group's weekly after-work drinks.

My ex was a good-looking woman. Not quite model quality, just superficial attractiveness. Maybe she was bored. Perhaps I wasn't paying enough attention. It had been going on for two months, and I was clueless. Then his wife figured it out, followed them, dragged her out of the motel room naked, and slapped her silly. She'd already nutted Musclehead pretty good, so he was in no position to protect her.

It happened at the Fuck Away Motel, a cut-rate spot notorious as a hookup site. The actual name was The Far Away Motel, and no one knew why. It was so bad that at least twice, a husband and wife caught each other by showing up simultaneously with their lovers.