I laughed, thinking she was joking. She wasn't.
Over the next week, I found three separate "friendly" notices stuffed into my mailbox: one about my trash can being visible from the street; one about the temporary American flag I'd hung before getting a proper mount; and one, of course, about Max barking at 7:15 a.m. when the mail truck rattled by. Now, look, Max wasn't one of those nonstop barkers. He barked when something moved past the fence or when someone came too close. That's called doing his job. But apparently, HOA Karen thought otherwise.
At the first HOA meeting I attended, things went from ridiculous to personal. I sat in the back just wanting to observe, but Karen spotted me instantly.
"Ah, our newest resident, Mr. Lawson," she said, her voice loud enough to draw every pair of eyes toward me. "We're so glad you could join us. Though, I will remind you that our bylaws clearly state noise disturbances must be minimized, and several residents have mentioned your dog."
Half the room looked at me with sympathy. The other half looked like they'd been waiting for someone else to get in trouble so it wasn't them.
I raised an eyebrow. "You mean the single bark at the mailman?" I asked. "I'm sure Max will apologize in writing."
A couple of people snickered, but Karen's eyes narrowed. She didn't appreciate sarcasm, especially not in public.
"That sort of attitude is exactly what disrupts community harmony," she snapped.
I leaned back in my chair, arms crossed, and gave her a smile that said, Lady, you picked the wrong neighbor.
After that night, it became clear she had a personal vendetta. She began patrolling the street, walking slower past my house than anyone else's, taking photos with her phone and scribbling notes on a clipboard like she was building a criminal case. Max would stand at the fence, watching her every move, tail stiff. She hated that.
One afternoon, I caught her peering through the slats of my backyard gate while pretending to check the landscaping. I stepped outside, coffee in hand.
"See something you like?" I asked.
She flinched, but quickly recovered. "Just ensuring all residents maintain consistent standards. You wouldn't want violations, would you?"
"Lady, the only violation happening is you trespassing," I said flatly.
Her lips pursed so tightly I thought she might implode. She stormed off, heels stabbing the pavement like tiny daggers.