They wouldn't act.
The barking continued.
I asked the Fort Collins Police Department to intervene.
They wouldn't.
The only animal-noise complaints that they pursued were based on referrals from Animal Control, who had already refused to act OR refer the matter. Apparently, this is a pretty common catch-22 in many cities.
I was stuck.
My health was deteriorating. I was chronically exhausted. My vision was getting worse. It was all but impossible for me to engage in the critically important outdoor pursuits.
As my long-time primary-care ophthalmologist had always said, "Four things will ALWAYS make your vision worse: fatigue, illness, stress, and intoxication." At this point, I had all four strikes against me. I was a medical wreck.
I reached out to the property managers of the neighborhood's Homeowners' Association -- letting them know that this had been going on for eight months, and that all civil, friendly, and reasonable efforts to resolve it, between neighbors, had failed.
I let them know the toll it was taking on my health, and pleaded with her to help.
They promised to help.
But things didn't get better.
Reaching out to the property managers, again, I was told that "the Homeowners' Association does not want [us] to pursue any further action." They recommended that I "contact a Board member."
I was among the last to move into this rather small neighborhood -- one where the close-knit feeling among the residents had a strong appeal. But I quickly realized that this close-knit community was a double-edged sword.
The barking continued.
I asked the Fort Collins Police Department to intervene.
They wouldn't.
The only animal-noise complaints that they pursued were based on referrals from Animal Control, who had already refused to act OR refer the matter. Apparently, this is a pretty common catch-22 in many cities.
I was stuck.
My health was deteriorating. I was chronically exhausted. My vision was getting worse. It was all but impossible for me to engage in the critically important outdoor pursuits.
As my long-time primary-care ophthalmologist had always said, "Four things will ALWAYS make your vision worse: fatigue, illness, stress, and intoxication." At this point, I had all four strikes against me. I was a medical wreck.
I reached out to the property managers of the neighborhood's Homeowners' Association -- letting them know that this had been going on for eight months, and that all civil, friendly, and reasonable efforts to resolve it, between neighbors, had failed.
I let them know the toll it was taking on my health, and pleaded with her to help.
They promised to help.
But things didn't get better.
Reaching out to the property managers, again, I was told that "the Homeowners' Association does not want [us] to pursue any further action." They recommended that I "contact a Board member."
I was among the last to move into this rather small neighborhood -- one where the close-knit feeling among the residents had a strong appeal. But I quickly realized that this close-knit community was a double-edged sword.
Dealing with worsening medical issues since shortly after moving in meant
that I hadn't been able to "join" the community, as I had hoped to, and that
the Homeowner's Association comprised this tight-knit group of friends.
I asked the property manager for the contact information for the Board
members. She gave me only one name: that of the Vice President of the
HOA's Board of Directors.
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