As the summer temps rise, so do tempers. Now get off the phone and listen to me.

Temperatures were already at 90 degrees that morning last summer as my dog and I squeezed in a short walk before the carpet cleaner arrived. My dog is 16 years old, barely over five pounds, healthy but frail. In the silence of the late summer morning in our suburban neighborhood, he performed his duty expeditiously and without complaint as he decisively tried to pull me back to our cool house.

I will admit, I was multitasking. My sister was on my cell phone. We were in mid-conversation about a personal matter. Our chat was intense but brief, since she too was watching the clock. Her shift at work was to begin within the hour, and she had to head out.

As my dog and I turned into the driveway, the phone still to my ear, I heard my name. It was peculiar, as I saw no one on the street, but I looked around, hearing my name repeated a few times more before I spotted my neighbor standing in the shade of his porch about 200 feet away.

“What! Are you on THE PHONE?” he called out incredulously. I nodded, assuming he would stop yelling in my direction since I was otherwise engaged. My sister stopped talking. She heard him too.

“YOU ARE WORSE THAN GINA!” he shouted.

Okay. So a little clarification. Gina is a lovely and kind neighbor who maintains her phenomenal physical condition by walking many miles a week in the neighborhood. She most often walks alone, for an hour or more, but always has her phone with her. She is likely to use it while she makes the monotonous trek around our somnolent, manicured community. And why wouldn’t she?

I shrugged at the neighbor, who I will hereafter refer to as Mr. Lewis, and started walking toward my front door. Clearly, I was in the middle of something.

“I NEED you to sign nomination papers!” Mr. Lewis shouted as he unhurriedly climbed down from his porch and moseyed across the street.

My poor pup wheezed and sat down on the hot driveway. He had surrendered.

“Using my phone as a portable desk, I quickly signed the papers for a political candidate I do not know. I was heated. I did not look directly into the Mr. Lewis’ round red face. I returned his papers, put my…