Shut That Dog Up!!

Every night as I gently slip into those first moments of peaceful slumber, I am awakened by a constant piercing high pitched yap! yap! yap! I’m beginning to think that my neighbor watches my house to see when the lights go out so he can let his dog out.

The other night the dog was yapping outside until midnight. I was so angry that, even after the barking stopped, I couldn’t calm down enough to fall asleep until after 1:00 AM.

After walking around in a sleep deprived stupor all day, I retired to bed last night at 10:00 PM. My husband fell in a few minutes later.

“Maybe we can fall into a deep sleep and we won’t hear the dog barking when they let him out at 11:00,” he said. But within a few minutes, the barking started.

Yap! Yap! Yap!

“But it’s too early to let the dog out,” he said, confused, looking at his bedside clock. “It’s only 10:15.”

“They’ll probably let him out again at 11:00,” I said.

“But he’s out now. Why would they let him out again in 45 minutes? He couldn’t possibly have to go again that soon.”

This absurd conversation about my neighbor’s rationale and his dog’s poop patterns continued for about ten minutes until I jumped out of bed and began pacing the floor.

“What are you doing?” my husband asked.

“I don’t know. Maybe I’ll walk over there in my pajamas and ring his doorbell. Do you think I should get dressed first or go over there in my bathrobe just to make a point?”

“He’ll stop barking soon,” my husband said as he reached for his ear plugs.

I stood in front of the window for 20 minutes, peering through the dark night, trying to locate the yapping mutt, wishing I had a high powered bb gun. Would I shoot the dog or shoot the owner, I wondered. When you are sleep deprived, all sorts of vicious things run through your mind. With no weapon at hand, I did the next best thing. I kneeled down in front of the window, lifted the screen up and leaned out into the dark night screaming, “SHUT THAT DOG UP!!”

I was even more frustrated now, hearing the rotten hair ball yapping away showing no fear from my sudden outburst.

“What should we do?” I asked my husband, pacing.

He answered me with a sleepy, “hmmm?”

“Take those ear plugs out! Why should I be the only one suffering here? What should we do??!!" I repeated.

“Don’t scream again,” was all he could offer.

“Let’s call the police. What are we paying all these village taxes for? There must be an ordinance about barking dogs.”

“OK,” he said, “Call the police.”

“You call them,” I said, dialing the number and handing him the phone. “You’re the man; they'll listen to you. They’ll think I’m just some hysterical woman.”

I stood in front of the window, watching for the police car that never came. They were just humoring him when they told him they would drive by and take a look. I could just imagine them laughing it up at the station. Just wait until I get another envelope from them asking for a contribution.

“You should have sounded meaner, been more forceful. You should have told the cops that this mutt barks every night, not just tonight. This can’t go on all summer! We have to get up early for work and we need our sleep! Why didn’t you tell him all that?” I realize I’m ranting, but can’t stop myself.

On our 5:30 AM morning walk, today, my poor husband was tripping over his own feet. I was still angry and the adrenaline made me walk even faster than I usually do. My mind was also racing, thinking of strategies.

Do I pay a visit to our neighbors at this wee hour of 5:30 AM, ring their doorbell and say something pithy like: “Sorry, did I wake you up?”

Do I ask my son for his bb gun? Should I get a laser pointer and shine it through the window on their foreheads at night? Maybe I’ll bang some pot lids outside their windows just before sunrise?

I’m trying to remember a Seinfeld episode. What did Elaine do with that yapping mutt in her apartment complex? Did she hire someone to get rid of it?

Should I write a letter to them? My husband did that with another neighbor several years ago, when their sprinklers woke him up every morning at 4:00 AM. The letter was not received well and they have remained aloof, but the sprinklers were reset to go off at a later hour and the problem was resolved.

I wouldn’t care if the neighbors never talk to us again as long as the yapping stops at night. I thought about submitting an editorial to my local newspaper, signed anonymously, of course, hoping they read it and see themselves in it.

My husband says we should just go outside when we see them and talk to them about the dog.

“You do it,” I tell him. “I hate confrontation.”