Off The Record
Our Neighbor Smashed My Son’s Puppy’s House — But Karma Taught Him A Lesson Sooner Than I Could
We never thought that my son’s efforts to save a shivering puppy would lead to a quiet conflict with our pickiest neighbor. However, there are instances when the cosmos intervenes sooner and more perfectly than we could have predicted.
Instant karma isn’t something I believe in very much. I’m more of a woman who prefers to wait it out and let life work itself out. However, what transpired this past fall completely upended that idea. Every time I gaze into my son’s eyes or watch our dog cuddle up in his tiny blue house beneath the maple tree, I still think about it.
Back then, I would have laughed if you had told me that a grumpy neighbor, a muddy dog, and a 10-year-old with a sketchbook could completely upend our world. We rent a modest one-story apartment on the outskirts of town.
It’s comfortable yet unremarkable. The water heater gurgles at three in the morning, as if it’s haunted, and the floors creak as if someone is always tiptoeing through the hallways. Jerry, our landlord, is very strict about the restrictions, and the lease states unequivocally that “No Pets Allowed — Strictly Enforced.”
Instead of renting out a property with chipped shutters and a crumbling porch, you would believe he was managing a government facility.
Dan, my spouse, and I both have full-time jobs. He owns a hardware business, and I work in accounting for a small medical practice. We trust Mason with a spare key and use a video call to check in with him until one of us comes into the driveway because he usually gets home from school twenty minutes before either of us.
He is a good child who doesn’t play with power tools or try to sneak junk food. Until we come home, he simply watches cartoons or curls up with his sketchpad.
When I stepped through the door one Thursday afternoon in early October, I knew right away that something wasn’t right. Mason appeared to have dropped his rucksack in the middle of the corridor while running. Then I heard him.
“Mom! You have to see this!” he said excitedly and frantically from the back porch. I froze at the screen door, following the sound. Mason stood with his hoodie bundled in his arms as if holding something holy, his face heated pink.
I anticipated difficulties.
He told me, “I found him behind the school dumpsters,” as he tore back the cloth. “He was crying, Mom. Shaking all over.”
The saddest, smallest, shivering puppy I had ever seen was inside. Its ribs resembled tiny ridges beneath its skin, its brown fur was covered in filth, and its floppy ears were folded low. He gave me a wide-eyed, uncertain look before letting his tail wag feebly.
I sighed, “Oh, honey,” too. “You know we can’t keep him.”
Mason blurted out, “I know,” and then sniffed. “But he’s just a baby. He’s cold, Mom. He was all alone.”
Dan had just arrived and followed me inside. Mason gave me an expression, “Well, we’re already doomed, aren’t we?” after glancing at the puppy and then at his beseeching eyes.
I knelt down next to Mason and petted the dog. He leaned into my hand after initially flinching.
I repeated, “We can’t keep him,” but this time I was softer. “But we can help him. He can stay outside for now. Just for a few days until we find his family.”
Like a Christmas tree, Mason glowed! He looks like he just won the lotto!
That evening, my son bathed the puppy, hand-fed him supper chicken, and wrapped him in an old towel. Buddy, as he called him, had dozed off before bedtime, snuggled up in Mason’s lap, his little chest bouncing up and down like a delicate drum beat.
My thoughts were, “This is going to be harder than I thought.”
Mason had a mission by the following morning.
Mason even drew the curtains for his notebook-paper layout, which he showed me. It was a whole “luxury puppy home” with windows, a fireplace, and something marked “emergency cookie storage.” “He deserves to live on a cloud,” he informed us….
Dan started giggling when he saw it. “Kid’s got vision.”
So we built it together that weekend. We made use of Mason’s old baby blanket, shed scraps, and unused wood from Dan’s shop. Mason requested that we paint it sky blue with white accents. It took all day, but I swear Buddy grinned when he entered that house and lay down with a heavy sigh.
Mason, too? It was not until Monday that he stopped smiling!
Then Mrs. Henderson, the issue, appeared.
You’re probably familiar with the type of neighbor who gripes about the sound of grass growing.
She lived next door alone in a nearly immaculate house. She wore pearl earrings to bring in the garbage cans, and her rose plants were properly formed and her lawn looked immaculate. She wore a constant grimace, as if she had never recovered from the unpleasant stench she had encountered twenty years prior.
As if they were her children, Mrs. Henderson was constantly out tending her rose bushes and wearing pearls to check her mail.
She scowled so intensely when she first saw Buddy that I feared her face may break. Like she was staring at a raccoon in the wild, she froze at her fence.
She yelled out, “Excuse me,” in a tight, clipped voice. “Is that… thing yours?”
Mason had a great sense of pride. “He’s my friend! His name’s Buddy!”
Mrs. Henderson drew back her mouth. “Well, your friend kept me awake last night. Those squeals and yips — absolutely intolerable! Some of us like the quiet.”
I approached, making an effort to be courteous. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Henderson. He’s only temporary. We built him a house so he wouldn’t be cold.”
She gazed at the small blue building as though it had insulted her directly. “How lovely. Maybe next you’ll build him a drum set so he can practice all night. Or perhaps a recording studio to practice his barking.”
She then turned and disappeared behind her roses.
“Those roses are doomed if karma is real,” Dan mumbled.
However, the roses were not the object of karma.
Mason had to pay a price considerably closer to his heart for anything.
When I arrived home early from work a few days later, I saw right away that Mason wasn’t on the porch. I heard him sniffling next to the hedge as his rucksack was flung by the stairs once more.
“Mom,” he pointed and muttered. “Buddy’s house…”
It was ruined! His blanket was drenched in mud, the roof was smashed in, and splintered wood was all over the place. Mason’s insistence on “emergency cookie storage” was torn out and hidden beneath a stack of splintered wood. The worst part, though?
Buddy had vanished!
I went cold. “What happened?”
The words “I don’t know,” Mason cried. “I came home, and it was like this.”
As we ran up and down the yard and even searched the neighbor’s fence line, we kept calling his name. After forty painful minutes, I was on the verge of tears when I heard a small moan coming from beneath the hedge.
Buddy was huddled up, trembling, his tail tucked in, his eyes wide with terror. He had been frightened, or worse. After picking him up, I covered him with a towel. I was standing when I became aware of something that made my stomach turn.
Near Mrs. Henderson’s side of the fence were many pieces of painted wood, sky blue with white trim. It looked like someone had just dragged panels through the newly disturbed soil.
Dan had been assisting us in our search for Buddy and had arrived a few minutes earlier. As he approached, he also noticed it.
He tightened his jaw. “She did this.”
Mason was still sobbing quietly when I wanted to rush over. With his voice trembling, he said, “Mom. Why would someone hurt Buddy?”
I gave him a head kiss. “Some people don’t understand kindness. But that doesn’t mean we stop being kind.”
I chose to focus my energies elsewhere after realizing that I had no control over our neighbor.
We constructed Buddy’s house that evening. We applied weatherproof paint and stronger nails this time. Mason even included a strong marker sign:
“THIS HOUSE BELONGS TO BUDDY. HE’S A GOOD BOY. DON’T BE MEAN.”
I sent Mrs. Henderson a note. The explanation that Buddy would soon be placed in a new home was made in a kind and calm manner, and we valued her patience. I prayed for the best after slipping it into her mailbox.
She never answered.
However, karma knocked on her door two days later and struck more forcefully than I could ever hope to.
It rained a lot on Friday night, so much so that the gutters overflowed and there were puddles so deep you could lose a boot in them. Dan picked up dinner and left the office before me because I was delayed there late due to a malfunctioning copier and a doctor who was having trouble printing his insurance documents.
As soon as I came into the driveway at around seven o’clock at night, I noticed flashing lights reflected off the damp pavement. An ambulance and a police car were parked in front of Mrs. Henderson’s house, which had a wide-open door and a porch light on.
My initial assumption was that she had reported us to the police because of Buddy.
Dan’s face was pale and his eyes were big as he met me at the door.
Saying, “Dear, you won’t believe this,” “Buddy saved her life.”
I blinked. “What?”
Dan remarked, “She slipped and fell,” “In the garden, while watering her roses after dark. She hit her head on a stone edge and collapsed. Mason heard Buddy barking like crazy, and when he ran outside, he found her lying in the mud. She was barely conscious.”
Buddy must have heard the fall because he began barking frantically. Mason hurried outdoors to investigate the loud, frantic barks. Our son cried out for Dan as soon as he spotted Mrs. Henderson lying there.
Dan had just returned home and dialed 911 as Mason restrained Buddy because the dog wouldn’t leave our neighbor’s side, and I was still at work. She might not have survived another hour out in the cold, according to the paramedics!
Buddy was cuddled up against Mason, who was sitting on the porch, wrapped in a blanket, as I walked out into the yard. He appeared composed despite having moist hair and bright cheeks from the cold.
He said, “She’s okay,” as he watched the ambulance drive away. “Buddy barked so loud I thought something was wrong. He wouldn’t stop until I went out there.”
I gave him a strong hug. “You did well, baby. You and Buddy both.”
He grinned for the first time since the destruction of the doghouse.
Mrs. Henderson came home three days later. Her steps slowed and a bandage showed through her hairline. I was drawn to the little paper bag she was holding, though.
She paused at the fence while Mason was in the yard throwing a ball for Buddy.
She spoke out, clearing her mouth, “Boy,” “I owe you and your… dog… an apology.”
Mason turned warily. “You mean Buddy?”
She hesitated, her eyes softening, and said, “Yes, him.” “Turns out he’s a better neighbor than I’ve been.”
Uncertain, he glanced up at me. I nodded slightly to him.
Mrs. Henderson handed over a tiny Tupperware container after opening the package. “Cookies,” declared she. “For the hero dog. And for the boy who saved me.”
Mason responded, “Thank you,” in a voice that was almost audible above a whisper. Buddy eagerly sniffed the air.
She stayed a second longer. She told me, “I’ve been alone a long time,” while she stared at her roses. “My husband passed five years ago. I guess I forgot what it felt like to have someone care whether you were okay.”
We were silent. Just full, not awkward.
She returned that weekend.
She brought a wrapped package this time. Mason was instructed to open it outside by Buddy’s house after she gave it to him. With a gasp, he pulled back the brown paper.
It was a hand-varnished wooden plaque with carved roses all around. The text says:
“Buddy’s House — Where Kindness Lives.”
I was unable to resist. I sobbed!
Mrs. Henderson also dabbed at her eyes. She added, “You saved me,” in a shaky voice. “Both of you. I needed to say thank you.”
And she did, each and every day after that. As though Buddy were a longtime family friend, she began tossing treats to him and conversing with Mason while seated on a lawn chair outdoors. At times, she even burst out laughing, not just smiling politely.
The following week, however, was the biggest surprise.
On a day when I had requested to work from home in case our neighbor needed assistance, my phone rang during my lunch break. Our landlord was the one.
My heart was already pounding as I went outside. We were going to be evicted, and I was certain he had learned about Buddy.
“Mrs. Henderson called me,” he told her. “Told me about your dog.”
I prepared myself.
He went on to say, “She said he saved her life,” “Said you and your family have been good neighbors. She even offered to pay your next month’s rent as a thank-you.”
I blinked. “She what?”
With a laugh, he said, “She was very persuasive,” “And look, rules are rules, but exceptions exist for heroes. You can keep the dog inside full-time. Consider it a Christmas gift. Merry Christmas.”
I hurried outdoors to tell my kid the wonderful news as soon as I hung up!
Buddy was racing after a squeaky ball while Mason was playing in the yard once more. Before I could finish speaking, Mason let out a cry so loud that Buddy began to growl and twirl around as if he understood every word!
“Inside?” yelled Mason. “Buddy can sleep in my room?”
I murmured, “All yours, baby,” “You two earned it.”
That night, we relocated Buddy’s bed into Mason’s room. With his head resting on a pillow and his tail twitching in his dreams, he dozed off beneath a heap of plush animals.
Months have passed since then.
Stronger than ever, Buddy’s blue house is still standing in the backyard, draped with fairy lights Mason chose from the dollar shop. The plaque shines in the sunlight, as does the small flowerpot Mrs. Henderson gave that is filled with red petunias.
She continues to come. Sometimes it’s just to talk. At other times, she’ll sit down with a crossword puzzle or bring a cracker while Buddy lies on her feet. She now laughs more frequently, and each time I hear it, I am reminded of that terrible day when she attempted to destroy something that had been created with love.
However, she was not punished by karma.
It arrived to instruct her.
Floppy ears, a tail that never stops wagging, fur-wrapped, and a heart that forgave her even when she didn’t deserve it.
Mason and Buddy were snuggled up watching cartoons last night when Mason whispered to Buddy.
He remarked, “You’re not just my dog,” “You’re my best friend.”
Buddy, I believe, was already aware.
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