Sir Blakey, the Royal Rescue Pup of Questionable Lineage, once again ponders the daily racket across the yard. Pray tell, Sir Blakey, what the @#$% is the source of this ongoing noise factory that commands your attention and inspires you to bark, incessantly?
Oh. Of course. This. A rival palatial estate rising skyward.
Sir Blakey, might you explain the current philosophy in real estate? No? Fine. Allow me to do so on your behalf: "If you build it, starting as early in the a.m. as legally allowed; if you get that mutha up in three weeks, maybe four, then finish the interior as quickly as the building inspectors will allow; if, by some miracle, it's ready in under three months, they will schlep to see it, the prospective buyers; they will ooh and awe at the spacious luxury; they will ignore the proximity to neighbors on all sides; they will shrug at the absence of anything resembling a backyard; they will empty their pockets, their their life savings, their future inheritances; they will come in record time, move in, become house poor, and worst of all, invade the holy sacred space of the SJG." Well said, Sir Blakey. Alas, what does the longtime hubby think of this non-stop encroachment on his dog's sanity? "Yeah, they're building something, Blakey. Stop barking and deal with it." Soothing words from his master on a Saturday morn.
So? We have a new one going up on BOTH sides of our domain! There's an ongoing contest as to which team can drown out the other with their boom boxes.
ReplyDeleteYou win Sister P. You win! xo
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