"Dragons Hate HOAs"

A Fourth of July Story

Jul 02, 2026

I put the wrappers in the trash and turned to leave the kitchen, then froze as a low, distant rumble began. My muscles tensed from previous experiences, and I darted under the doorframe.

“Brownie!” I called to my dragon friend. “Earthquake!”

He didn’t answer.

Dragons live a long time, and while Brownie wasn’t as old as some of the dragons I’d come to know, he likely had more experience with these situations than I had. He’d know what to do.

I hoped he’d know what to do.

The rumble grew louder, almost like the engine of an approaching car. The dishes in the cabinets rattled, and the floor shook beneath my feet as the rumble grew to a roar. Then it all stopped, and the stench of dragon flatulence wafted through the open windows.

Brownie’s face appeared at one of them. “Sorry about that, Hatchling!”

“My fault.” I coughed. “I was the one who suggested those tacos for lunch.”

At least it had happened after he’d entered my backyard to check out how much space was available for the gathering he was planning for next week. If he had farted in the house…I didn’t want to think about that. After opening a few more windows to let in more air (which wasn’t the smartest thing to do, but I wasn’t thinking straight), I froze again at a loud, impatient knocking.

I returned to the kitchen window. “Someone’s at the front door. I have to go answer it.”

Brownie frowned. “Why, Hatchling? You don’t have to open your door because someone knocked on it.”

“If it is who I think it is, I’d better.” I closed the blinds even though I knew Brownie could make himself invisible when he needed to, then left the kitchen and crossed the hall to the front door.

I checked the peephole before I opened it.

Mrs. Nitterbicker and her husband.

Steeling myself, I unlocked the door and swung it wide. “Well, hello, how nice to—”

“And just what were you doing?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Whatever you were doing caused a noise clearly in violation of our rules for neighborhood noise levels, not to mention a tremor, though I have no idea how.” She wrinkled her nose. “And it also caused a smell.”

They’d felt what happened. Brownie must not have been invisible to the rest of the world, and he must not have had time to become so. Who knew tacos could be so problematic for dragons?

Her husband huffed. “If this is your version of barbecuing—”

“I was not barbecuing, sir. Ma’am—”

“Mrs. President.” She skewered me with a glare. “You know your grandfather is quite a respectable and respectful man, but it appears living with him did absolutely nothing for your manners.” She fanned herself. “Oh, if only he’d sold this house instead of renting it out to you. Perhaps our neighborhood wouldn’t have become so—”

“Now dear, your blood pressure.” Mr. Nitterbicker patted her arm.

She sighed. “Yes, you’re right.” She smiled at him, then fixed her eyes on me again. “Which brings me to your other problem. Your grass is a full centimeter over regulation.”

“Oh. Okay. I’ll cut it to an appropriate length.”

“Make sure you do it today.” She spun on her heel and stomped off the porch, Mr. Nitterbicker trailing her. He paused at the edge of the property to shoot me a smirk, then followed his wife to their home two houses down.

I closed the door and exhaled, grateful she hadn’t insisted I cut it right that instant with her watching to make sure I did it correctly.

My Saturday had been going so well—there was a gentle tapping at the kitchen window. I hurried over and pulled the blinds up. “Is something wrong?”

Brownie looked sympathetic. “Who were those people?”

“The Nitterbickers. Mrs. Nitterbicker is the president of the HOA.”

“HOA?”

“It stands for Homeowners Association. Basically, they tell me what I can and can’t do with Grandpa’s property, and they told him the same when he lived here.”

“Oh, that sort of HOA.” Brownie frowned. “Dragons hate HOAs. They are ridiculous and un-American.”

I smiled. “I agree, but unless I want to move, there isn’t anything I can do about it.” I knew how un-American that sentiment was too, but to put it bluntly, I had nowhere to go. Letting out a sigh, I backed away from the window. “I better attend to that lawn.”

By the time I’d gotten the old electric lawn mower plugged in and ready to go, Brownie had made his way to the front yard and was studying the grass. “Hatchling, if you mow this lawn it will be too short. How can anyone run around or lie down on it if it loses what little length it has?”

“Around here, lawns aren’t for doing things like that.” I kept my voice at a whisper in case any of my neighbors came out. The last thing I needed was for them to see me apparently talking to myself. “They’re for looking presentable.”

“This one won’t look presentable if it gets cut again,” Brownie muttered. “What is a lawn for if not to look lush and green and to be available for fun?”

“Don’t use the f-word around here. It violates regulations.”

At that point a sonic boom hit me. Or at least that’s how it felt when the Nitterbickers’ speakers came on.

Brownie’s wings came up over his ears. “Ow! What is that?”

“The Nitterbickers having one of their summer pool parties.”

“What?”

I raised my voice and repeated it. “And it’ll be even worse next week, when they have their Fourth of July party.” I shuddered. “I don’t even want to think about how bad it is for their next-door neighbors.”

“How is this not a violation of regulations?”

It felt like there was static in my chest. That always happened when my neighbors blasted their music. “Actually, it does violate the rules for neighborhood noise levels, but it doesn’t really matter.”

“Whyever not?”

“Mrs. Nitterbicker and her husband like to throw loud parties.” I looked down. “Technically, it disturbs the peace. I could call the police, and maybe get their speakers confiscated, but…I don’t know what they’d do to retaliate.”

“What a miserable atmosphere under which to celebrate America’s independence.”

I shrugged. “I don’t usually celebrate that much anyway.”

“We must do something about that, Hatchling. The Fourth of July is the birthday of our country—and the birthday of liberty within it. It is something that should be celebrated more than once a year, but this year is especially a time to celebrate, with America turning 250.”

I sighed. “I know. I just…” Unhappy holiday memories flashed through my mind.

Brownie placed a front foot on my shoulder, bringing me back to the present. His eyes softened even more than usual. “I know, Hatchling. I am sorry.”

“Thank you.” I looked at the mower. “I guess I should attend to the grass.”

Brownie shook his head. “No. You should not try to mow the lawn in these conditions.”

“But—”

“You can mow it later when it is quieter.” Brownie rubbed one ear, then the other. “When it does not feel like the sound is going to drown us.”

I’d never met anyone who felt the same loud music-related discomfort I did. “I’m sorry.”

“Thank you, Hatchling. I’m sorry for you. I can tell you feel it as painfully as I do.”

Hearing him put it that way made me blink hard. When I was younger and made the mistake of telling Grandpa the neighbors’ music bothered me, he’d said I was just too sensitive. I unplugged the mower and looked at the dragon. “Want to go for a ride in the Mustang?”

Several minutes later, we were cruising surface streets in my blue 1986 Ford Mustang convertible, the sunshine warming our faces and the summer breeze sweeping over us. With the top down, Brownie could extend his wings almost to the trunk. I made a right at a light and glanced at him. “Where to?”

“Let’s stop at the Dragon Library.”

“Okay.” I smiled and changed lanes.

The Dragon Library looked like any other library, and for most of its visitors, it was, with one exception: the Dragon Library also offered chocolate snacks.

We entered the building and were greeted by a rush of cool air from the air conditioning and a blessed, speaker-free silence.

Regular patrons roamed rows upon rows of bookshelves or paused to collect a chocolate bar or two from one of the bins near the librarian’s desk completely unaware of the various dragons doing the same.

I passed an older man perusing a book and discreetly nodded to a large blue dragon browsing the shelves behind him.

Brownie and I ended up in the Classic Mysteries and Thrillers section of the Dragon Library, which included works by such authors as Erle Stanley Gardner, Maxwell Grant, and Rex Stout. Brownie began reading a Perry Mason mystery while I examined the section’s latest arrivals.

“I haven’t read either of these.” I held up a Perry Mason and a Nero Wolfe. “Which one should I check out first?”

“Check them both out, Hatchling.” The dragon closed the mystery he’d chosen. “You can check out more than one book, you know.”

“Right, thank you.” I was always waiting for something to happen to the books I borrowed, and so I hesitated to check out more than one at a time. A single book might escape danger, but any more than that felt like pushing it.

I decided to read at least one of them there.

We stayed at the library for several hours, and then drove back to my house. Evening had fallen, and the neighborhood was quiet as I pulled into the garage. “I guess the Nitterbickers decided to end their party early.”

“Thank goodness.”

“I better mow the lawn while I can.”

Brownie entered the house while I cut the grass. He’d checked out a large stack of books that he hoped to read in the following week, and he planned to finish at least one before he fell asleep on the sofa in the living room. I’d offered him a bed, but he preferred the sofa.

I finished mowing and cleaned up. When I came downstairs from my room, I found Brownie had left the books I’d borrowed (he’d convinced me to check out a second Gardner) on the coffee table in the living room and put the chocolate we’d brought home in the kitchen.

After we had dinner, we ate some of the chocolate and read our books for a couple of hours. Then I headed upstairs to bed while Brownie closed his eyes on the sofa.

I was asleep for maybe four minutes when the music started. Loud, blaring, impossible-to-sleep-through-even-if-you’re-exhausted music. I dragged myself off the bed and went downstairs to check on Brownie.

He was sitting upright when I entered the room, his eyes wide. “They are having another party? This late?”

“I’m sorry.” I sat on the floor. “Do you want to fly somewhere else for the night?”

“I want to do something about your neighbors.”

“I don’t think you ca—wait a minute.” I rose. “Grandpa left his speaker system in the garage. We could use it and see if we can bother them.” I headed in that direction, and the dragon followed.

Grandpa had used the system enough I still remembered how it worked, so it only took a few minutes to set up. “Ready?” I held up the remote.

Brownie nodded, smiling. “I like your idea, Hatchling.”

I smiled back.

We took shelter on the other side of the house, and I leaned around it to push the start button.

“Sick of It” by Skillet roared into the night. It felt apt.

With Grandpa’s speakers going, it felt like someone had inserted a tuning fork into my already staticky chest, sending electricity dancing up and down my ribcage. I guessed Brownie was experiencing the same thing.

After a couple of songs, I was about to ask him if we should stop and save our ribs from at least our sound waves when I realized Mrs. Nitterbicker was storming across the lawn toward us, her husband marching behind her. I mouthed Nitterbickers at Brownie and then went to meet them.

Mrs. Nitterbicker put her hands on her hips. “What is the meaning of this?” She had to raise her voice more than usual.

“It’s just a party,” I answered.

“In all the years you’ve lived here, young man, you have never had any friends visit. How on Earth are you hosting a party now?”

That stung. “I can’t enjoy music by myself?”

“Shout Your Freedom” by Skillet started playing.

The Nitterbickers frowned at it. Of course I’d already spent years having to learn their taste in music and knew they wouldn’t approve of mine.

“Turn your speakers off!” Mrs. Nitterbicker ordered. “You are in violation of the neighborhood noise-level rules.”

“So are you,” I retorted, and her eyes got wide. She wasn’t used to that from me. “If you can violate the rules which you as the president of the HOA are supposed to uphold, then I can do the same. And another thing. From now on, my grass is fine the way it is.”

“You—I—I”—her eyes got huge as she stared past me.

I looked over my shoulder to find Brownie standing with his wings unfurled and his lips pulled back in a snarl that revealed daggerlike, reptilian teeth.

The music wasn’t loud enough to cover the Nitterbickers’ screams. Mr. Nitterbicker fled across the lawn, and Mrs. Nitterbicker stood as if transfixed, her eyes enormous, her mouth gaping. Then she too, turned and ran.

Brownie smiled at me, and I smiled back. The Nitterbickers ran into their house, and a few moments later, their guests came rushing out to their cars. They raced out of the neighborhood, and I smiled again as I went to turn the music off. Silence greeted me afterward; apparently, the Nitterbickers had turned theirs off too. It was a quiet, peaceful night after that.

The following Monday, Brownie left to meet his family and friends. He came back with them for the Fourth of July, and we gathered in the backyard with food they’d brought with them and food I’d prepared. I would not be having a lonely Independence Day that year.

“No loud parties,” Brownie observed. “It would seem some of your neighbors know how to play their music on a reasonable volume.” He offered me a bowl of potato salad.

I shook my head. “No thank you.” I’d never liked potato salad. “But yes, things have changed since Saturday night.”

“I saw the Nitterbickers have a ‘For Sale’ sign in their yard?”

I nodded. “Since Monday, when Mrs. Nitterbicker stepped down from being HOA president. After seeing you. I heard she and her husband are in therapy now.”

A blue dragon scarfing corn stopped and cocked his head. “Brownie told us about the HOA. Who is the new president?”

“I was, temporarily.”

“Really?” The blue dragon smiled. “That seems strangely sensible.”

“I was surprised too—uh, no thank you”—Brownie was offering me corn on the cob—“so as the new president, I moved to dissolve the HOA. Everyone agreed to it.”

The dragons cheered.

My face hurt from the grin that crossed it. I’d never imagined I’d be part of getting rid of the HOA—let alone the catalyst of it, in a way. I still didn’t believe it.

“Then you can let your grass grow to a reasonable height now.” Brownie shoved corn into his potato salad. “Excellent work, Hatchling.” He beamed at me. “I hope whoever buys the Nitterbickers’ house is a better neighbor to you than they were.” His eyes grew serious. “If they are not, tell me.”

“I will. Thank you, Brownie.”

“Happy Independence Day, Hatchling.”

Thank you for reading “Dragons Hate HOAs.” I hope you enjoyed it.

Note: Everything I write is written without AI—even if I do use a lot of em dashes (and some semicolons).