Journeys of Jack Tripper

When I was 21, I bought a house. It was an old house, and a small house, but it had lots of room and I spent the next three years making it a nice house. I tore out the carpet and restored the hardwood. I painted everything inside and out. When I moved to Florida, it looked something like this.

That thing to the left is the apple tree in my front yard. You can also see my arbor vitae along the alley side, and the bows above the steps and each window.

Two years to the day I sold the house, I happened to find myself in Zanesville, and I decided to drop by and see how my house was doing.

It broke my heart. I don't know what troubles me more: that they tore out my apple tree? The hedge? The bushes along the porch? That they tore out my front door and hastily replaced it with a steel one? That the bows are gone? That there's a nasty "BEWARE OF GUARD DOGS" sign stuck to the front of the house?

I think the fact the hedge has been replaced by chickenwire hurt me the most.

Here's a view from the back. I had about five trees of various species in the backyard, as well as a hedge that continued all the way from the edge of the house to the property line (from where this picture is taken). Note that all vegetation on the entire property has been torn out. Note yet another "BEWARE OF GUARD DOG" sign. Note the door (one with beautiful plane glass, the original door) in back has been replaced with yet another grey steel door. Note the enormous doghouse made of scrapwood and the crap on the back porch.

*sigh* What makes someone think they need steel doors and guard dogs at a house that looks like a complete piece of sh*t? I almost went knocking on the door to confront the people I sold my house to about their horrible treatment of it, but I was afraid of having a guard dog or two rip off my manhood.

People suck.