*Originally published January 5, 2016.

We changed addresses from the wonderful busyness of a major county road to the bucolic Piedmont section of Virginia. Tall, leaf-abundant trees encircled homes. On one side we were neatly situated house after house with land in front and land behind. Across from us were trees, insistent vines, undergrowth, and deer. I was diligent—and sometimes pestered—into walking our Lhasa Apso one or two times a day.
Each day I was engrossed with nature’s versatility, despite our dog’s pattern of stop, sniff, and pee. I had to be vigilant to curtail him in his affinity for wood and metal mailbox posts; he reluctantly complied with my tugs and “no”.
One down-the-street-neighborhood was reportedly absorbed with his lawn: no leaves were to obstruct the grass. We’d been in town a few weeks when my guard slipped. Preoccupied with my surroundings I didn’t pull him away from the flowers circling the neighbor’s mailbox. From the front porch of the house set well off the road came a shout to keep my dog from peeing on his flowers. I got the message. I was forewarned and didn’t want any further transgressions or reprimands.
We had done a good job of not slowing down for investigatory sniffs in the vicinity of the guarded lawn, until one morning, my mind in the clouds, our dog chose the garbage can of the neighbor to mark the territory. Although I suddenly realized the danger zone, I was too late to stop him. From the porch, masked by roof shadows came an aggressive bark. “Now why would-ya let your dog pee on my garbage can.” That was not a question.
Immediately regretful that I had awakened his ire I apologized.
“Keep him away from my flowers.”
I wasn’t sure what that meant, since our dog was not near the man’s flowers, but I immediately agreed. “I just want to be a good neighbor.”
“Keep your dog away from the flowers and mailbox and we can be good neighbors.” His tone had softened a notch from earlier defiance. Passing cars were drowning out the back and forth yelling. But I took the opportunity to try and mollify him further.
“My name is Louise. What’s your name?”
“Benny. My wife’s name is …” but it was lost in traffic.
I parted with a “Have a good day.”  He reciprocated.