Independently Speaking By Brent Olson

Neighbor

We have a neighbor problem.

No, no, that’s absolutely not true. WE don’t have a neighbor problem. The little dog has a neighbor problem.

Actually, that’s not true either. The little dog IS the neighbor problem.

We live a quarter mile from the closest road, surrounded by ten acres of trees. In the ordinary course of events, we have no idea what’s going on in the larger world.

In the times we live in, I’m seeing that as a very good thing.

Two things have changed. The leaves are gone from the trees and our neighbor who farms across the road is working on some ditches and tiles in his field.

I completely understand. It’s been a wet year, harvest is over, the weather is still nice, and everyone has a list in the back of their minds of what they’d like to get done before snow flies.

Here’s the thing, though. When the little dog is on her favorite perch, in front of a large window on a cushion on top of a radiator, she can occasionally see the faint glimmer of machinery moving a half mile away.

You can see what a shattering experience that would be.

I’ve explained to the dog, several times, that no one is trespassing, we don’t own our neighbor’s field, and it’s not any of our business what goes on there.

One night before a projected rain, our neighbor worked well after dark so there were headlights moving across the distant field. I thought the poor dog was going to have a coronary.

I do have a little bit of sympathy for her. I remember the exact moment I decided I wasn’t suited for life surrounded by people. When I was 16, a friend and I rode our motorcycles to Dickinson, North Dakota, a few hundred miles west. Nothing to get excited about in this day and age; but then it certainly felt like a grand adventure. We went to Dickinson because he had a gaggle of relatives there – if I remember correctly about six uncles, most of whom farmed. Two things stand out about the trip. We got there in the middle of haying season, and while we thought we were on an epic adventure, what the uncles saw were a couple of healthy teenage boys without enough to do. We lifted and toted hay bales at every place we stopped. I was eager to go home so I could rest from my vacation.

The other thing that happened was one afternoon we were at a cousin’s house in Dickinson, relaxing in the back yard, when their next-door neighbor decided to tune up his outboard motor. He put it in a 55-gallon drum full of water and revved it up about a thousand times.

Now, the neighbor was in his backyard, he had a rare afternoon off, and every now and then you need to overhaul an engine. I’d have done the same thing. But that’s the moment I decided I was going to live in a place where I didn’t need to worry about my choices affecting other people’s peace and quiet — and vice versa. I’ve been fortunate beyond all measure that by and large, my plan has worked out.

I didn’t think to plan for little dogs with good eyesight and a sketchy understanding of property lines. 

But in all honesty, that’s not the only thing I didn’t see coming.

Copyright 2025 Brent Olson