My Neighbor's Security

I know most of the people who live on my street - which is only somewhat true.  I know most of the people's vehicles who live on my street.
The people who live about a quarter mile away on a back lot just sold their house and moved recently.  I had never actually talked to them, but they drove a PT Cruiser.  From what I could see as they drove by, usually while I was walking one of the dogs, they were older - meaning they may have been around my age or maybe older.  They always smiled and waved.  But even people who probably would not like me smile and wave as they go by.

I don't remember the last time I woke up after the sun had risen, or even as the sun was rising.  I generally find that once I wake up, the best thing for me to do is just to get up - regardless of the time.  As much as it may pain the 16-year-old-me who has long since gone extinct, I am a morning person.
The first thing I do after I get up is put the dogs out.  My younger dog always hear me walking toward the dog room.  My older dog, deaf for years now, usually needs to be woken up.

At one time, we were the new neighbors on this street.  Now there are new neighbors at the house that just sold.  And three doors down in the other direction, new constructions is building another house.  It was early December when I moved into this house.  Coming from an old Victorian house down in the holler that is Main Street of the township, SO and I were enamored with the sunrises and sunsets.  A house out to the west - quite a ways away - has a floodlight of some kind.  This looks like a yellow sodium vapor light that is old enough that it may be starting to dim.  I can only see this light in the late fall through spring.  The house sits low, near the horizon so trees (and probably hateful honeysuckle) blocks the light from view at other times.
I've grown accustomed to that yellow light, but on first moving in, I hated it.  It spoiled otherwise stunning sunsets.  Looking to the west after dark, that yellow light remains defiling the sun's canvas.

I'm really not sure how old my older dog is as she was a rescue dog.  I was told that she was around 4 when I got her, but she was already starting to show some significant grey in the face.  When I told the vet the assumed age, he hesitated, raised an eyebrow, "Um, maybe.  Maybe five, or six."
She is the most aloof, yet affectionate dog I've ever had.  She can no longer go on anything but the shortest walks.  At times she can still jump on the furniture; other times she just puts her front paws up and looks at me.  She tends to look annoyed when I lift her onto the couch.  Aloof but affectionate.  I suspect I'll have the same level of obstinateness when I can no longer metaphorically jump on the couch.

When I let the dogs out first thing in the morning, I often pause to look up in the sky on clear mornings.  Living in a rural area, the stars shine brightly.  Even though I still want to visit an area with very low light pollution - I've never been able to see the painted swath of the Milky Way.  I have been lucky enough to have seen some fantastic meteors first thing in the morning.

The new people on the street have put up a shockingly bright security light that remains lit through the night.  Unlike the house to the west, this is not a dimming sodium vapor light, but appears to be some new-fangled bright white LED.  I have very quickly grown to detest that light.  I'm fearful if I ever meet these new neighbors, I'll instantly say something like, "Ah, the sons-a-bitches with that bright-ass light?"
I'm curious about the intentions and level of fear that necessitated such a bright light to be lit all night.  I suspect a similar reaction as to when someone new immigrant to this rural area complains about getting behind a trundling combine in the fall - what did you move to a rural area for?  Shouldn't darkness be a virtue of a rural area, just like farm equipment or cow poop is celebrated?  Or dogs barking?  Or sassafras trees being destroyed by whitetail bucks overcome with aggression in the fall?  Did these new neighbors come from a suburb, and bring with them the primordial fear of darkness that led primitive Homo Habilis to huddle by the safety of a fire at night?

I worry about my older dog.  She has been diagnosed with cancer and is approaching borrowed time.  Along with her hearing, her sense of smell is diminished to the point it is difficult at times to get her to eat.  But it doesn't take much to keep her happy.  Make sure she has water.  Give her a few treats per day.  Help her on the couch even if she groans about it.  And let her out every few hours.  The neighbor's lights don't seem to bother her at all.