“Dad, he was completely rude to you,” I said angrily.

“He was just busy,” Dad replied mildly.

“He was standing on his private deck doing absolutely nothing,” I pointed out.

“Maybe he was busy thinking about something important,” Dad reasoned, kneeling back down into the dirt.

“A man is allowed time to think.”

That was typical of my father, who would stubbornly find something forgiving to say about a striking rattlesnake.

So when that official notice arrived that Tuesday, I knew with absolute certainty who had filed the complaint with the county.