I had learned something during twenty years in the military:
Documentation beats memory.
And paper beats arguments.
But Patty wasn't finished.
Not even close.
Big Tony
I needed a fence.
A real fence.
One that would give Atlas a safe yard and give me some privacy.
I found a contractor named Tony.
Everyone called him Big Tony.
He drove a yellow F-350 that looked capable of moving a building.
When he arrived, he looked across the street at Patty's house.
"So that's the queen."
"That's Patty."
Tony shook his head.
"She once tried to fine my truck because it was too yellow."
I laughed.
"I need a six-foot privacy fence."
Tony looked at me.
"HOA doesn't allow them."
"I don't care."
He grinned.
"Good answer."
There was, however, a complication.
County safety requirements and HOA rules appeared to conflict.
The county required adequate containment for certain animals.
The HOA wanted open-style fencing.
Tony scratched his chin.
"So they're telling you your dog is dangerous and then refusing to let you build the fence needed to contain him?"
"That's what it looks like."
Tony smiled.
"That's beautiful."
The next morning, he arrived with a crew.
A Bobcat.
Concrete.
Pressure-treated posts.
And enough equipment to invade a small country.
Fourteen minutes later, Patty appeared.
Her golf cart screeched to a stop.
"STOP!"
Tony shut off the Bobcat.
Patty marched toward me.
"You cannot build this!"
I pointed toward the GoPro clipped to my belt.
"You're on camera."
She didn't care.
"I will put a lien on your house!"
She stepped closer.