A Ruff Welcome to the Neighborhood: a story in 60 seconds

You can pick your house, but you can't pick your neighbors

Freddie pulled the car into the driveway and killed the engine. “I still can’t believe we’re homeowners,” he said, glancing over at his wife.

Abby stepped out and arched her back. “Well, we didn’t have much choice,” she said mid-stretch. “Willie gained like 30 pounds this year, and that tiny apartment just couldn’t hold him.”

She moved around the car and swung open the rear door. A golden labrador shot out of it and immediately started digging up their front yard.

“Willie, stop that,” Freddie commanded, but the dog ignored him.  

Someone shouted from the other side of the street. The couple turned around and saw a man moseying towards them.

“Saw you guys move in last week,” he began, “but I figured I’d let you get settled before introducing myself.” The man had a full head of white hair, with a few strands peeking out from his ears and nose. He extended a thick, calloused hand. “Name’s Otto.”

“Freddie,” he said, shaking the hand. “Pleasure to meet you. And this is my wife, Abby.”

Abby smiled and offered a short little wave.

 “And who’s that?” Otto asked, pointing toward the dog.

“Oh, that’s Willie. But don’t worry about him; he won’t cause any trouble.”

“I’m sure,” Otto muttered, watching the dog dig another hole. “Well, my old lady insisted I invite you two over for dinner tomorrow night. You know, to welcome you to the neighborhood.”

Freddie glanced at his wife. She shrugged.

“Six o’clock good for y’all?”

“Sure,” Freddie answered. “Thanks. That sounds great.”

Abby nudged her husband in the ribs. “I thought we were going paint shopping,” she whispered.

Freddie sighed and turned back to Otto. “How about 7:30?”

Otto grinned. “Even better...”

It was closer to eight when Freddie and Abby finally pulled up to the neighbor’s house. They rang the doorbell and waited.

“I was getting worried about you two,” was the first thing Otto said as he answered the door.

“Yeah, sorry about that. Deciding on a color for the living room is pushing our marriage to the brink.”

Abby rolled her eyes.

Otto motioned them inside. “It’s no matter, son. Food’s still hot. Betty Anne made her famous roast for tonight. And if you don’t like it, well, that just means your tongue don’t work.”

They walked through a small hallway and into the dining room. The table was set for three.

“Unfortunately, Betty won’t be able to join us this evening,” Otto confessed. “Her sister took a turn for the worst and she had to leave town this morning.”

“Oh, that’s awful,” Abby said. “Should we just reschedule?”

“Nonsense, you’re here already. And the wife still managed to prepare the roast.”

Abby glanced at her husband. He shrugged. So, the three of them sat down to dinner.

Otto served the food right away.

“This is phenomenal,” Freddie said between mouthfuls.

Abby nodded in agreement.

“Why, thank you. I can’t take the credit for it, though. It’s all Betty Anne.”

The three of them chatted about some things but spent most of the night discussing Otto’s work history, which included positions as a line cook, correctional officer, contractor, and road layer. By half past nine, the dishes were already cleared.

“Well, thank you for the warm welcome,” Freddie said with a handshake.

“Yes, everything was wonderful,” Abby added.  

 “Pleasure was all mine,” Otto said kindly, showing them out.

The couple stepped into the muggy summer night and walked across the street to their new home. They unlocked the door, flicked on the lights, and set their shoes by the door.

Freddie looked around. Abby did the same. They listened quietly. Then, in unison, they asked: “Where’s Willie?”