Both being creatures of habit, my dog and I always walk the same path on our morning perambulation. Since we almost never deviate from our route, I can say with certainty that a particular tree branch has been on a certain property line for a few months now.
The two adjacent houses both use a lawn service; both have trees in their front yards and a short hedgerow defines the intersecting property line. At the end of the hedgerow, right out on the last three feet of lawn before the curb, lies the dead branch. It is little more than a twig, being only about three feet long in all, having just a few branches and no leaves. A tangle of dry sticks stranded on a grassy shore, no more.
Here’s the curious part: each yard crew nudges the twig to the other property every time they mow. Then the other crew comes along and does the same thing. This passive-aggressive volley has gone on week after week for months.
Think about it. The effort to pick up that stick is completely negligible. At some point, there must have been a convenient heavy-trash brush pile on which to toss it. With a couple of snaps, it could have been dropped in the gutter to wash away with the next rain. But apparently any of those efforts seemed too much trouble to everyone involved; easier to just toe it across the line.
How sad.
And yes, of course, I could have picked it up myself without taking one step out of my way. Bending over is all it would cost me. But I haven’t done that, because I’ve become quite curious about just how long the game might go on. Now I am a participant in the folly, not an unsuspecting bystander.
How human.