“Your chimney.”
“My chimney passed inspection.”
“The smoke is a nuisance.”
“I burn seasoned hardwood.”
“Residents have complained.”
“Which residents?”
She looked toward the street.
“I am not required to disclose complainants.”
The Homeowner pointed toward the bucket.
“What is in that?”
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then a smell drifted down.
Even in freezing air, he recognized it.
Animal waste.
Thick.
Rotten.
Foul.
The Homeowner’s face hardened.
“You brought manure onto my roof?”
The HOA President gave him a thin smile.
“Maybe now you’ll understand what your smoke does to everyone else.”
The Homeowner stared in disbelief.
“You are standing on my house with a bucket of pig manure.”
She turned toward the chimney.
“Move away from the ladder.”
“Do not put that into my chimney.”
“You were warned.”
“About smoke?”
“Yes.”
“That does not give you permission to destroy my heating system.”
The HOA President grabbed the bucket with both hands.
The Homeowner’s voice sharpened.
“Stop.”
She tipped it.
A thick stream of brown slurry poured toward the chimney opening.
The Homeowner felt something inside him go cold.
Not rage.
Not yet.
Disbelief.
She was actually doing it.
The manure disappeared into the flue.
Steam rose faintly from the warmer brick.
The Homeowner pulled out his phone.
Started recording.
The HOA President saw.
“Go ahead.”
Her confidence returned.
“Record it.”
“You just poured manure into my chimney.”
“You’re finally documenting an HOA correction properly.”
He almost laughed.
“Correction?”
“Your chimney repeatedly sends foul smoke toward neighboring homes.”
“So your solution is pig manure?”
“Your solution should have been compliance.”
The Homeowner lowered his voice.
“Put the bucket down.”
She dumped the last of it.
Then shook the container.
Thick residue splattered over the brick.
The Homeowner glanced toward a small camera mounted beneath the garage eave.
Tiny green status light.
Recording.
He had installed three additional cameras the previous month after somebody dumped rotten food beside his woodpile and left a violation notice on top.
The HOA President had denied involvement.
He had no proof.
This time he did.
She set the empty bucket beside the chimney.
“Now maybe you’ll replace the entire system.”
The Homeowner stared at her.
“You think you can make me replace a chimney by contaminating it?”
“You should have done it months ago.”
“It passed county inspection.”
“County minimums are not neighborhood standards.”
The Homeowner’s jaw tightened.
There it was again.
She had used that phrase repeatedly.
Neighborhood standards.
Sometimes written.
Sometimes invented.
Always treated as though her personal preference automatically became community law.
He looked toward the roofline.
A small metal service vent sat several feet behind her.
His chimney system had been modified the previous winter after a soot buildup problem.
A professional company had installed an auxiliary maintenance exhaust used during cleaning and inspection.
Normally disabled.
But after recent threats, the Homeowner had left the monitoring controller active.
His phone vibrated.
AIRFLOW OBSTRUCTION DETECTED.
Then: