“Do not touch my mailbox again.”
Then I walked home.
I expected annoyance.
Not war.
Carolyn began with animal control.
I owned two golden retrievers.
Copper and June.
They were nine and six.
Copper had once barked at a plastic deer.
June regularly became frightened by the vacuum cleaner.
Carolyn reported that “large uncontrolled dogs” had been aggressively approaching Crest View residents near the common boundary.
Animal control officer Melissa Harding arrived on a Wednesday.
She found Copper asleep on his back beside my porch.
June brought her a tennis ball.
Melissa spent twenty minutes throwing it.
“Which one is dangerous?”
“Apparently both.”
June dropped the ball at Melissa’s feet.
“Terrifying.”
Complaint closed.
Then came the fire marshal.
Improper firewood storage creating wildfire danger.
Colorado wildfire risk is real, so I took that complaint seriously.
The inspector measured.
Looked at my defensible space.
Checked the stack.
“You’re fine.”
“Anything I should improve?”
“Move those two dead branches before July.”
I did.
Carolyn called county code enforcement about the barn.
No violation.
Then building department about my porch renovation.
Permit valid.
Then she complained about noise from power tools at 3:00 on a Saturday afternoon.
County quiet hours did not begin until night.
The deputy who stopped by looked embarrassed.
“You woodworking?”
“Replacing porch boards.”
He glanced toward Crest View.
“Yeah.”
He understood.
Carolyn also installed a trail camera on a pine at the Crest View boundary.
The lens pointed toward my yard.
When I discovered it, I photographed the position.
Then removed nothing.
Instead, I sent Crest View a certified letter requesting that any surveillance equipment oriented toward my private residential area be repositioned.
Carolyn replied that the camera monitored HOA property.
It also captured half my backyard.
That was when I decided on the fence.
Six-foot solid cedar.
Not cheap.
Worth every dollar if it removed Carolyn Whitmore from my field of vision.
I hired Thomas Abernathy to survey the boundary before construction.
Thomas was fifty-nine.
Former county survey technician.
Licensed professional land surveyor.
He did not hurry.
People who work with property boundaries learn that ten minutes saved in the field can become ten years in court.
He arrived Tuesday at 7:30.
GPS rover.
Tripod.
Metal detector.
Old plats.
County records.
Aerial photographs.
I showed him the corners I believed were mine.
Thomas nodded.
“Belief is why I’m here.”
Then went to work.
Four hours later, he walked toward my porch carrying a rolled drawing.
His expression was peculiar.
Not alarmed.
Amused in the way professionals become amused when other people have created extremely expensive problems.
“Daniel.”
“What?”
“You got coffee?”
“That serious?”
“Probably.”
We sat at the porch table.
Thomas unrolled the preliminary boundary sketch.
My property formed an irregular shape, wider near the county road and narrowing toward the creek.
He pointed at the western line.
Then at Crest View’s entrance.
“See the gatehouse?”
“Yes.”
“See the entrance road?”
“Yes.”
“It’s yours.”
I laughed.
Thomas did not.
I stopped.
“What?”
He tapped the map.