Earlier this week while the weather was good, the normal ambiance of the neighborhood was fortified with a collection of audio events that we’ve all heard before, just not on a daily basis.
It started on Monday when the handful of duplexes back behind us began receiving materials which were slated to be deposited to their eventual resting place, some twenty five feet above terra firma.
Editor’s note: Not sure if that word is supposed to be italicized or not. The choice was made to do so because the ending of this time wasting tail (spelled that way on porpoise) is such an eye-rolling exercise in stupidity, the aesthetic of the italics presents the appearance of a certain level of intelligence which will help to cancel out some of the nonsense down below.
By the end of the day, a couple of crews of contractors and constructioneers had liberated the existing rooves from the duplexes and were ready to apply new shingles and whatever else goes up there.
At daylight the next morning, the crews were back up on those rooves in hopes of finishing up before the cold weather arrived. Spoiler alert, they all got done before everything blew in the next day.
By 7 am on that second morning, the contractors and constructioneers were up on those rooves replacing the shingles with their air powered roof nailers (not sure if that’s the correct term, and I’m too lazy to look it up for this particular story).
A rhythmic sound resonated throughout the neighborhood whenever they nailed down each shingle.
“chick, chick, chick, chick”
There would be a pause as they would grab another shingle and arrange its placement.
“chick, chick, chick, chick”
And then again.
“chick, chick, chick, chick”
The master bedroom at the back of our house has a few windows which look into the backyard where we can see the houses behind us. Among those houses are the duplexes which were getting new lids.
As the sun rose that morning, a casual or even concentrated glimpse out the bedroom window would reveal the silhouettes of the contractors and constructioneers walking back and forth on top of the houses behind us.
“chick, chick, chick, chick”
At the time, I was here in the bloggery committing acts of “work from home” for the financial services industry.
“chick, chick, chick, chick”
Faith the TharpSter TreadMill and senior member of the canine contingent had resumed her post on the bed in the master bedroom. The old lady spends most of her days on that bed when she’s not depositing the product of her digestive system in the backyard, or navigating my frequent patrols of the neighborhood.
“chick, chick, chick, chick”
But then, it happened.
A new cacophony emanated from the bedroom. We had heard that noise before, but it’s been awhile.
As I arrived to investigate the source of the noise, I found Faith standing on the bed, looking out the window, and barking. She’s done that before whenever she spied a stray cat or some other undesirable varmint wandering through the backyard. In looking out the window, I didn’t see anything in the yard that would make her demand that I exert any 2nd Amendment rights in hopes of blowing something away.
She continued to bark, even while I was in there to provide whatever undesired comfort she needed.
“chick, chick, chick, chick”
It turns out she wasn’t barking at anything in the yard at all.
She was barking at the contractors and constructioneers across the way that could be seen out the back window.
Furthermore, she wasn’t barking at them as intruders. She was cheering them on in the best way she knew how.
“ROOF! ROOF! ROOF!”
