Albert gardened for Gloria. He had a green thumb … and a
mean streak. And he hated dogs.
Gloria lived next door, but she never came out of her house,
and no one ever mustered the gumption to ring her bell
. (Except maybe
Albert.)
Truth be told, we were terrified of Gloria, even though she appeared quite frail and advanced in years. Once, she might have shrieked at Bobby Billinger. Another time, she may have swerved towards Sukie Jameson on her tricycle. The stories grew from
there, veiled in as much mystery as the dusty lace
curtains that swirled across her dark front windows.
. (Except maybe
Albert.)Truth be told, we were terrified of Gloria, even though she appeared quite frail and advanced in years. Once, she might have shrieked at Bobby Billinger. Another time, she may have swerved towards Sukie Jameson on her tricycle
. The stories grew from
there, veiled in as much mystery as the dusty lace
curtains that swirled across her dark front windows.
When we went trick-or-treating, we skipped Gloria’s house,
certain that she would put razors in her apples, cyanide in her chocolates, or
hemlock in her popcorn
balls
. Perhaps she would not answer
the door at all.
. Perhaps she would not answer
the door at all.
Gloria’s gardener Albert was even worse.
We were never actually sure how Albert fit into the whole
Gloria equation. Clearly, he puttered around in her yard and garden. We had
heard he received mail at her house. Stories
swirled around the neighborhood, pointing at more, but no one got close enough
to ask any untoward questions.
at her house. Stories
swirled around the neighborhood, pointing at more, but no one got close enough
to ask any untoward questions.
Anyway, this elderly fellow faithfully manicured Gloria's
lawn and gardens. As we played in our yard, we would often peek through the
bordering shrubs and watch him hunch over her pachysandra and pluck weeds from
her plantings.
We would dare each other to sneak up behind old Albert and
snap his suspenders, but I'm pretty sure no one
ever did.
, but I'm pretty sure no one
ever did.
As kids, we romped all over the neighborhood, in and out of
every yard. Every yard except Gloria’s.
We would run and jump and tumble with Panda, our family dog
of unknown heritage. Occasionally, the ball would fall in Gloria’s yard, and we
would play “Rock-Paper-Scissors” to determine who had to muster up the courage
to fetch it. Even the dog seemed afraid to cross the border.
Rumor had it that little Jimmy Jacobsen from a few blocks
over stepped off the sidewalk onto Gloria’s lawn. Although his sneaker missed
her front garden bed by more than a foot, Albert supposedly looked up and
growled at the kid.
One autumn weekend, as I helped my dad to rake
leaves in our yard, we discovered a surprise. My father lifted some branches in
the bushes between our property and Gloria’s. Nestled in the fallen leaves, we
found something shiny.
“What is this?” Dad asked.
He bent and pickup up a zippered
plastic bag, filled with dog droppings. Puzzled, we continued raking and
unearthed more than a dozen bags, all filled neatly sealed and filled with dog
doo.
Albert had neatly packaged it up and launched it into our
yard. Perhaps Panda was braver than we thought! From that day on, we kept a much closer eye on Panda. She
never entered Gloria’s domain again. Who would dare?
Images:
Brown Dog –
ABSpic public domain photo
