Sir Barks-A-Lot

One of the neighbour’s dogs has taken up a habit – barking. And when I say habit, I mean it more in the heroin sense than in the building model airplanes or collecting Beanie Babies sense. The dog is addicted to barking.

Day and night, he barks. And barks. And barks. He is a new convert to The Church of Our Lady of Perpetual Barking.

The worst part is that he has one of those barks that is nearly impossible to ignore. It’s the exact pitch that has been laboratory tested to cause intense headaches in stressed-out, unemployed writers. Just when you think you’ve tuned him out, he changes frequency. He is not a dog that you can ignore – he makes sure of that.

Anyone who knows me knows that I love animals. Leaving my dogs was one of the most difficult parts of the move. As much as I love animals, having this dog’s annoying bark pierce my concentration throughout the day makes me want to go find him and tie his tongue to his tail. I’d never do anything like that, of course, but it gives me a certain grim satisfaction to think about it.

Today, he had a friend joining him in the yip-yap chorus. Then I got to think about tying both dog’s tongues together, so they’d be forced to go through life as bizarre conjoined twins, a warning message to other dogs to use their barking power wisely lest they run afoul of an edgy unemployed writer, hopped up on caffeine and twitching from rejection letters and bills.

As much as I am dreading winter, I’m hoping that the closed window will block out Sir Barks-A-Lot. For my sanity, and his safety.