“Dad! He’s at it again!” my son yells, looking out of the window.
Cursing, I race to the back door. The sight I witness is not something you want to see before breakfast. My neighbour’s huge dog has managed to get into the back yard again, and he is squatting in the middle of my garden, tail hovering over my ornamental fish pond, and straining for all he’s worth. I yell, but it is already far too late. His payload has already started to fall.
Looking around the rest of my carefully manicured garden, I see that the dog has been busy. It looks like I’ve been attacked by a plague of moles. There are holes everywhere.
Godzilla, the neighbour’s Great Dane, looks at me with a puzzled expression on his ugly mutt and trots off, leaping the border fence like a gazelle.
The sprinkler system kicks in, which helps to wash away my tears. I am left distraught and alone in the garden in my soggy pyjamas.
I’m at my wits end. I’ve tried everything, well apart from shooting the damned dog, that is. To be fair it’s not Godzilla’s fault. It’s my lazy no good neighbour.
I’ve complained until I’m blue in the face, but the fat pillock next door just ignores me.
I’ve raised the fence, twice in fact, but the dog still manages to get over it. If I raise it any more, my garden will be in perpetual shade, and that won’t help my prize roses one bit.
But I have a plan, and it’s almost ready for fruition. I’ve been working on a way to get the neighbours to move out. I’ve tried all the obvious options, but they proved to be dead ends. Now it was time for something more radical.
It started a couple of months ago. I bought a few fish tanks from eBay and converted them for my purpose. I then started collecting healthy specimens wherever I could find them. Soon, I had an intense breeding program in place. Now, there were literally hundreds of them in there, juicy fat specimens, and tiny wriggly ones that would be a bugger to catch. It was time to put my plan into action.
2a.m. My alarm clock went off. Quietly, I slipped out of bed, so as not to wake the wife. Moments later, I was dressed from head to foot in black, a veritable ninja with a miner’s torch strapped to my forehead. Slipping down to the shed at the bottom of my garden, I collected my arsenal and set off.
Carefully, so as not to wake Godzilla, I prised open the neighbour’s letterbox and propped it up with a stick to keep it from closing. Opening the first of the plastic containers, I looked at my last few weeks work and smiled. They were perfect.
Over the next half hour, I poured hundreds of spiders into my neighbours letterbox. By the end of it, I was sweating like a pig, but I was confident my plan would work. You see, my neighbour suffers from arachnophobia. I felt confident that he’d be gone within the week. Even if he called in the experts to eradicate the spiders, I had plenty more of them lurking in the shed, ready to replace them the following night.