Harry
Harry is the first person I met when I moved to this house. The moving truck sat blocking the driveway and the alley while the movers unloaded. While unpacking a box in the kitchen I heard a man yelling profanities at the movers to move their truck out of the way. This guy was LOUD. I tried to hide in the house when I heard him say, "Whose house is this? I need to talk to her!" I went outside and met Harry. Harry is probably 50, lives with really nice people, walks everywhere and shouts at everyone. He has also appointed himself the protector of my house, yard and dog. He stops by to inform me that he scared off a bunch of kids who were harassing my dog or to see if I have any change to get a Diet Pepsi. Last weekend he needed me to haul a stereo from the second-time-around store to his house.

On Thursday I pulled in the driveway and noticed that my recycling bin was chock-full of leaves. My trash bin was full too. After two seconds of processing the full bins and now almost leaf-free yard, I knew that Harry had decided to rake up my leaves (yeah, I know I'm supposed to do this in the fall, but it just doesn't happen). Not much later I heard Harry shouting at me, "Hey, Girl, did you see I raked up all those g.d. leaves? Ya got any change?" I scrounged up a couple bucks in quarters and paid him a little extra for the work.

He's coming back today to take care of the backyard.