The house stood strong year after year, generation after generation. One generation, marriage, kids, new generation, marriage kids. And the house stood strong and still. Until that ugly day when the next of the new generations moved in next door.

The beauty of Brooklyn remains that among the many possible Brooklyns, there is just one King Brooklyn. When King Brooklyn is disturbed it reacts with words, with fights, with conspiracy, with tragedy.

All was well in Brooklyn until that new generation stepped-in. They hadn’t kids yet, and followed in the footsteps of the previous generations. Here next door, the usual difficulties and plagues were at play, but it wasn’t until that next new generation showed up that King Brooklyn was disturbed. Violence anger an ugliness had entered the kingdom. Blame had taken the place of pressured compromise, name-calling had taken the place of the type of strained polite-greeting customary in close quarters.

It all started with the kind of lie that pleases all of the senses and gasses-up the mechanism that makes close quarter compromise possible. Easy-going and non-confrontational were the promises made and they struck home as that most quintessential of all King Brooklyn rules, live-and-let-live.

Then the moon sank, and as it prepared to sink again the new generation made its entrance. The girl led a quiet charge, ostensibly because that easy-going non-confrontational hyphenate was true to his billing. As she spoke the strained politeness turned to threat. Pressured compromise took hold as King Brooklyn exerted its worthy muscles and tragedy was averted, if only temporarily.

Then came mother’s day and here next door most of the family was out while grandmother was planting flowers and loving the two year-old who laughed and sniffed at her direction. Next door the ugliness was brewing. The brother introduced his third to make the dogs a pack. This new introduction was the ugliest thing yet, which says a great deal in the dog-heaven section of King Brooklyn.

Before the full-blown beginning was the close compromise curiosity necessary for safe-passage to the next moon sinking. And then the barking. The barking began increasing the strain part of curiosity. Then came the moment of truth, would the ugliness be compromised or would it live. The brother exited, looked-up to the two and sixty-eight and swore, and cursed, and threatened and made that living singled out from that “let-live” King Brooklyn demands. The countess of New England called out this ever decreasing slime of Brooklyn. “There is a child here” echoed sufficiently to call the bitch next door to call in the dog and the pack.

Upon the return here next door, the tale was laid bare to the shock and consternation of this first generation, and then came the realization that King Brooklyn’s rule to live-and-let-live was broken. As previously noted this was the dog-heaven section of Brooklyn so here next door was adequately represented. It was walk time and with leash attached the front door was opened, the representative was led out and down the stairs in hopes of passing the pack fenced in and circling on the other side of the fence. With a little effort the leashed representative was led down the stairs and onto the street level section called the front yard. Upon arriving the next door pack jutted noses through the fence and bit our representative. A pull back occurred on both sides, but then the dog began to yell. He yelled ugly and vile things, and as the broken rule had turned to this, this was met with less vile, but still ugly remarks.

After a few choice phrases the uselessness of yelling became apparent on this end and the walk began anew. Neighbors were shocked, but seemingly glad the walk continued as that dog kept yelling. It seemed part of the strained compromise required, even though followed only by half. Then came the queen and the prince from here next door. What is this, what is the yelling and similar questions were posed. Then the ugliness returned. If the ugly and vile opening were not enough, the ugliest and most vile were saved for the Queen. A particular brand of hate spewed from the dog’s mouth, a hate that impugned the Queen and a large number of King Brooklyn’s inhabitants. It then added the mouth-gaped seven year-old to the tirade and as the volume raised the walk was abrupted and the King reconfronted the dog.

All had taken to their quarters, it had ended.

Silent strain hovered over 11^th Street. Some neighbors wanted to sign to help rid the dog. Some warned that distance was the preferred method. Then came the next of the exquisite days. An intergenerational group walked toward here next door, and stopped-in at the dog pack house. This King stared them down, an almost meaningless gesture until brother dog came out with similar ugly and vile commentary. This was met with a directive toward the older generation, “apologize!” The same craziness that allowed those most ugly and vile thoughts to meet the dog’s tongue in the first place now took hold again and were hurled over the fence. This hurling was coupled with violent gestured, violent language and threats of a type that start wars, and do nothing but up the ante until the opponents cannot afford to play any longer.

As the King’s knights in shiny blue amour heard the King’s tale the rule of King Brooklyn was morphed from live-and-let-live to live-and-die by the ugly dog as pride is more important than life. “Forget that most vile word, that is nothing, but when the mother was called a whore all bets were off.” Nothing to do with the child having heard this, nothing having to do with the child having head worse, the blue called the aged King to task for failing to meet the gladiator on the gladiator’s terms. Ah but that is why blue is blue and king is king, and why gladiators all die in the end.

Time passed as it had before, under the silent strain of close quarters. Here next door the King could not order the peace of the seven year old Prince, he had to grow it, slowly as he had done before. The king could not order his canine representative calm, but he insisted on standing tall, walking straight and fearing nothing. All complied.

It was time to walk again, so the leash was affixed, this next door opened and the exit an descent began. The circling dog pack was next door in front, as was that house’s dog, from the first and the third, not the second incident. He exit and the walk occurred and the re-entrance was at hand. The King bore the common plastic bag in hand with his representative leashed as he entered his kingdom and lifted the top to the can. “Drop.” In went the bag and the top was dropped back to its place.

As the falling top revealed what it hid, that third in the the pack, that ugly one had jumped the fence, landed on the falling top and leaped off attached its jaws to the beck on my representative. The King held firm and screamed for weapons while trying to unclench the unclenchable. The bitch from next door screamed and her dog attended to the unclenching. The dog caused the dog to bite the dog and when that unclenching occurred the dog tossed the dog back over the fence and it was over, for now.

Surgery, pain, fear, medication, annoyance, inconvenience, sadness took hold here next door. Yet still there was no apology from the dog. Instead the dog put up a sign lauding his dog as the real dog, and sinking the King’s representative as weak. And until the act resumes, the kike here next door sees the sign hanging as a tragedy on 11^th St.