"County law requires dogs to be restrained. You can't let an animal wander through the common areas."
Emily raised her hand slightly, making the leash easy to see. "I've got him," she said.
The woman glanced at her but barely paused. "Well, he should be with the person who is responsible for him."
"He is with the person who's responsible for him," I answered. "We're both training him."
"Do not get smart with me."
That was when I began to understand we were not really discussing a dog. I walked back to Emily, took a breath, and introduced myself. The woman announced that she was Linda Carver, a board member, and that she took enforcement seriously because residents were constantly testing boundaries. I looked from her to Odin, who was sitting in the correct position and waiting for his reward, and wondered which boundary he had supposedly tested.
"I appreciate people keeping dogs leashed," I said. "We're following that rule."
"You don't need to argue every time somebody reminds you of the rules."
"I haven't argued about the rule. I've told you we're already following it."
Emily touched my arm. She recognized the tone that meant the conversation had stopped being useful. "We're leaving for my parents' house," she said. "Have a good weekend, Linda."
Linda didn't return the courtesy. She looked past us toward the building and asked, "Which unit are you in?"
"Why?" Emily asked.
"For the association's records."
We had not broken a rule, and we were not obliged to conduct a roadside interview. Emily gave a neutral answer about our building, then turned toward the car. As I secured Odin in his travel harness, Linda called across the lot that I needed to learn how to speak respectfully to board members. I closed the car door, walked back far enough for her to hear me without shouting, and gave her the simplest answer I could.
"The dog is leashed. You were mistaken. The conversation is finished."
She stared at me for a long moment, then turned toward our building again. Her eyes settled on the unit numbers beside the entrance. I did not think much about that second look until three weeks later, when an incident I barely remembered turned out to have been the first entry in a file somebody was making about our home.
Emily was quiet for the first ten minutes of the drive. Then she asked whether I had been trying to win. It was a fair question, and I thought about it before answering. I had not needed Linda to apologize or admit that she had been wrong. I had only wanted her to stop threatening consequences for a violation that had never occurred.
"I don't mind being told a rule," I said. "I mind being told I'm breaking one when the evidence is right in front of us."
"I know," Emily answered. "But this is my home. If somebody on that board decides to make us miserable, there are only so many places we can hide."