A death in the neighborhood

I.
Saturday I talked to my neighbor as her older dog, Buddy, made her anxious interacting with Lilith (as usual). A smallish brown dog with black snout, Buddy had had a tooth out, and that was after he had eye surgery. Buddy was costing her some money. But Buddy's eyes looked better, far less bloodshot, and he didn't seem to be in distress over the missing tooth. My neighbor had her wide-brimmed tan hat on, but didn't answer directly when I asked how she was. On Sunday, she died.

II.

The things we leave behind. This was Charlene's car, she who died on Sunday. Months ago I heard someone honking relentlessly, but not in the way a car alarm cries with utter regularity. I went out and found Charlene in her car laying on her horn. Seems someone had taken her parking space; she thought that honking would draw the perpetrator out of one of the many townhouses around the parking lot. I assured her it wouldn't work. When I glanced in the car just now, I saw an orange and white squirt gun in one of the drink holders. That must have been for Buddy, whose civility she perpetually tried to govern.