The Woman in Our Driveway

There is a woman who walks up our driveway almost daily. She is our neighbor, and elderly, and possibly mentally ill. I mean, honestly, who walks up another person’s driveway if they are NOT mentally ill? Also, I have pretty good mentally ill-dar.

I’m afraid of what our dog might do to the lady, as my dog seems to have a thing for mail carriers, garbage collectors and the disenfranchised. And when I say “thing,” I mean he would like to eat them. He is currently on Prozac [tm], which — on another note — means that my dog is taking more medication for mental illness than my mother. But, I don’t think those anti-depressants would do anything to stop the dog from biting a lady in our driveway. For that, he’d probably need a heavy dose of Ativan [tm].

I do not think that the woman in our driveway speaks English. I believe this because this morning, she walked up our driveway and my husband, who was just heading out for a run, met her at the top. They both startled and my husband said something like, “Oh, hello. What are you doing? You’re fine… you’re fine…” And then she smiled, turned around, and left without saying a word.

I always notice her long, grey roots. I also notice that my roots are similarly long, so I don’t want you to think that I’m using her long, grey roots to judge her harshly, because –well — that would just be the pot calling the kettle black, or grey, as the case may be. But while we’re on the subject of grey hair, I’ll ask you this: Does anyone in Burlington, Vermont know about the invention of hair coloring? (Sorry.)

Once, my son was in the basement and saw someone’s feet through the basement window, which is at driveway level, and he called upstairs, “Someone’s here! Who’s here?” But it was just the lady in our driveway. I don’t mean to say “just,” like she’s not as good as other people — more — we were feeling excited that maybe a friend was dropping by, and not a mentally ill someone with long, grey roots who doesn’t speak English. Nothing against mentally ill someones with long, grey roots who don’t speak English.

We think the woman is the mother of one of our neighbors. I have never spoken to her family, although I’ve waved hello when I’ve seen them pulling out of their driveway (which I’ve never walked up). There’s a good chance that our first conversation is going to go something like this: “Hi. My name is Catherine. You may not know this, but your mother walks up our driveway all the time and I’m worried that, one day, our dog is going to feel particularly protective slash hungry and eat her, so we were wondering if you could please ask her to stop.”


Categories: Uncategorized

7 replies »

  1. Burlington—ha!

    I met someone of that description wandering near your house. She was afraid of Grover, but permitted me to walk her to the address she had in her pocket, which was closer to my house. Could it be the same person? My lady is afraid of dogs already.

  2. I totally squirreled on what I was going to say because I’m so jealous that I don’t live in your “hood” because I’d enjoy a chance encounter of a Grover or even your hungry dog.

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