A Note to My Neighbor, Alison

*NOTE: THIS IS A SHORT STORY. IT IS NOT REAL*

August 25, 2025

Dear Alison,

I’d like to start this email by saying that it’s a joy to have you as my neighbor in our cozy little duplex. When I first moved in, you were kind enough to give me a basket of “welcome goodies” to our neighborhood and introduce me to Hanson’s (my favorite wine bar hangout where Toby and I spend every Friday for date night). And when little Annie was born, you were kind enough to send me an invitation to his baptism (the card with the little pentagrams was so cute!) And, of course, the sugar skull cookies you make every Halloween are absolutely to die for. (I often find myself craving them all year around!)

I’d like to think I am a good neighbor as well. I never have people over or have big parties. I tend to my little garden and our shared front lawn to keep our homes presentable. And Toby has been nothing less than amazing taking care of the rat infestation (even though they keep coming back, and now the snakes!)—which is part of the reason I felt so hurt when I received your email about his barking.

Dogs bark. That’s just a reality. But I’d like to remind you, Toby doesn’t bark without just cause. He only loses his cute furry little terrier head when strangers walk down our sidewalk or up to our building. So yes, he barks at mailmen (and mailwomen) who only come once a day. And yes, he barks at the Amazon delivery people who come four (or five! sometimes six!) times a day to drop boxes off, not at my front door, but yours. (Perhaps consider shopping/buying local, which is what I do.) And yes, I admit, he barks at your friends, but usually only when they bring pigs, goats, or other livestock to the backyard to be sacrificed in your little “rituals”.

So yes, Toby barks—as all dogs do—to protect his/our home from intruders.

I’d like to remind you that last year when that unhoused man was stealing mail all along Everly Drive (and destroying the mailboxes in the process, I might add), it was Toby’s barking that alerted me to the thief’s presence so I could call the cops and have him taken away. And then there was the time last month, when that mentally unwell woman tried to break into your home (again!) to murder your child before he “brought on the apocalypse”. And who was the one who woke us all up? That’s right. It was Toby. In a sense, Toby (such a good boy) saved all of us, including your little bundle of joy with that adorable little 666 birthmark behind his ear.

That is why it was so devastating to receive your email this morning… communicating that you found Toby’s barking “shrill”, “never-ending”, “beyond annoying”, and “completely unacceptable”.

I am the first to admit that I love Toby more than anything, and as a single woman of a certain age, I may be in a codependent relationship with my fur baby. But I hardly think it’s fair (or kind) of you to call him a “dumb, ugly mutt”. Toby is my companion of twelve years, and while yes, he is an animal (technically, so are humans), he lives here too. You and Craig have a lovely and beautiful baby in Annie. And I have never—not once, not ever—complained about his screaming at all hours of the night. I don’t even complain about the “guests” you have over on full moons and solstices and equinoxes in their weird cosplay robes and all the chanting and eventually the screams of one of them being stabbed to death. (Talk about "“shrill”!)

I’d like to consider myself a peaceful and polite neighbor. I have been in therapy for twenty years, go to yoga every afternoon, read everything that Thích Nhất Hạnh writes, and finally found an ideal cocktail of anti-depressants and anti-anxiety medication to help me be the compassionate and non-confrontational person that I am today. But I have to say, I was very hurt by what you said in your email. First you attacked my dog, and then you attacked me… I’ve explained this to you twice—and apologized both times!—that I only called 9-1-1 because I thought the house was on fire. I didn’t know that Annie’s teething could be accompanied by uncontrollable pyrokinesis.

My sister and her husband were lucky enough to be blessed with four wonderful children (I love being an aunt!). That means I am familiar with newborns who keep their young mothers awake for days (sometimes weeks!) at a time. And not only are you raising your first child, but you told me in confidence that you cheated on your husband with Satan and are now raising the anti-Christ. That has to be a LOT of extra work. If I were you, I would be exhausted too! I can’t imagine not getting my ten hours of beauty sleep every night, so I suspect you are exhausted and—perhaps (I don’t want to make assumptions)—taking out some of your frustration on me… which isn’t fair.

I am a grown woman, and an adult, and I can let bygones be bygones. But when you write me an email saying if my dog keeps barking, you’ll feed him to (your) Lord Beelzebub… well, it just rubs me the wrong way. When you told me last month your choice for Annie’s familiar would be a mountain lion, I supported your choice. When it viciously murdered that old man from Animal Control, I said nothing. And when you buried that old man in my rose garden and threatened to do the same to me if I told anybody, I nodded my head and told you you had nothing to worry about. And you don’t.

Your business is your business.

I’ve never told a soul about you opening that gate to the Underworld and letting out all those ghastly wraiths who—in case you forgot—ripped apart and devoured the bodies (and souls!) of 87 children at the Christian Summer Camp. I even lied—lied!!—to the authorities when they were trying to discover who unleashed that malevolent fire demon that destroyed most of downtown Des Moines. Over one hundred and twenty thousand people were slaughtered and I said nothing. Some of those people were my coworkers and friends! And still, I said nothing. I think that entitles me to a civil face-to-face conversation if my sweet, sweet Toby is upsetting you in anyway.

I mean, Alison, come on. Let’s face it. Your son, Annie (short for “Annihilator of Souls and Dark Prince of the End Times”) Johnson-McCall (btw, good for you for making sure your surname came first) is going to single-handedly bring about the Apocalypse…that is, if he hasn’t already done so simply by being born. So for you to attack me about stepping in Toby’s poo—one time!!—well, I just don’t think that’s very nice...

…especially after all the blood I’ve washed off our front steps. Or all the dead ravens I’ve cleaned from our lawn after they fall from the sky any time Annie cries for a diaper change. Or after holding your hand (for nineteen hours!!!!) while you gave birth—in my dining room—to a four-armed, two-headed devil-human hybrid with antlers. And let’s face it—those black gore stains are never going to come out of my rug, no matter how hard I scrub. (I inherited that rug from my great-grandma, and now I think I’m going to have to get rid of it.)

So, Alison, to wrap this up… after everything we’ve been through, all the ups and the downs, I feel like I have been a rock in the midst of the storm that is your life. I feel… no, I know! I’m not just a good neighbor. I’m a good friend.

So if you have a problem with Toby’s barking, please, please come talk to me. Don’t send a nasty email. I much rather us sit down and talk it out.

All of that said, I am sorry that Toby barks so much.

(And if I’m being honest, his barks are a little shrill.)

But at the end of the day, please remember that the only reason I got Toby in the first place is because I was lonely… after you murdered my husband.

I love having you as a neighbor. I really do. So let’s not fight.

Yours truly,

Maggie

P.S. I really do love your Halloween sugar cookies. You’ll have to give me the recipe before we all die.