Fences, chickens and life in the so-called country

 My neighbor put up a fence yesterday. Not a white picket fence, but some kind of metal post and wire contraption. It's not just a typical fence for your yard. It's a fence to keep the chickens out of mine.

Chickens, you ask? Yes, I asked the same. But first, let me say that I normally don't care what my neighbors do. I have had absolutely crap-tastic neighbors in the not-so-distant past, so living in the woods actually held some (though admittedly not much) appeal. The neighbors seemed fine at first. The guy came over to introduce the dog, who is adorable. I think he did that in case I was one of those jerks who automatically had a problem with dogs. Then the woman came with a plant. She's possibly his wife, most days his girlfriend, who knows.

But then, the father. His father, who clearly has some issues, who seems to hate everyone, who claims the neighbors (read, me) stole his cat. He and his son scream at each other in Spanish daily. And yes, he visits daily. Still, no problem. I'm not home that much. And no, I did not steal his cat.
 

Then the bulldozing incident happened. Straw one. Then the chickens came. Not a problem. They were cute, and the neighbors assured me they wanted them for eggs and bug control only, not to kill. 

Then the cat they claimed was theirs broke his arm. This was clearly obvious, since the cat (who came to eat on my back porch every day, since he apparently wasn't getting food from anywhere else) could not use his front leg. He walked around holding it in the air. For four days. When I pointed this out to them, they grudgingly agreed to bring the cat to the vet. I mean, why would they, right? 
 

Days passed. The cat still had no use of his leg. Long story short, we found a kitty angel to provide the surgery this cat needed. The same day, we found out they had taken the cat to the vet, got a price, decided not to pay it, and let him back outside with a broken leg. Needless to say, they gave up rights to the cat. Straw two. 

And now the chickens are all grown up, and they stroll over and poop on my lawn. Fine. Not a problem. But then they decided to poop all over my back porch. My dog eats it. She tries to kill them when they come in the yard. I don't have time for the drama.

So, after a drama filled day that involved Crazy Father, a shovel, some cursing, and some empty threats about chicken soup (not made by my camp, mind you), we now have a fence. 

Unfortunately, you can still see through it. 

High rise, anyone?