My life has gone to the dogs this week. Literally.
My neighbour’s dogs have been barking non stop. These particular neighbours and I no longer get on. It was all due to me not being able to cope with the all-night parties their three twentysomething kids (who still live at home) had while they were on holiday over the Christmas period. I know it’s odd and selfish of me, but at 4AM I actually like to go to sleep.
Anyhoo, the dogs are barking now. Howling. Clawing at the fence when I hang out the washing. It is what I imagine the Hound of the Baskervilles must have sounded like on the moors, except there is no Sherlock Holmes to save the day.
Nick calls them Cujo One and Cujo Two. He believes he has seen them frothing at the mouth. He suspects they might have rabies.
I have asked my neighbours to do something about it but they just look at me blankly. That is their passive agressive way of telling me they hate me.
I have tried to go all Dog Whisperer on the dogs. Shouting over the fence in a calm, assertive tone that I am the pack leader and they should listen to me. Nick has said in a very authentic Cesar Millan impression that he is not being mean, he is dominating.
It may surprise you to know they are still barking.
Two of my other neighbours had enough this afternoon. There was a lot of shouting and door slamming. The dogs were quiet for about four hours but started barking again when their owners went out. I am keeping fit by running out into the backyard and banging on the fence with a broomhandle.
I think on Monday I’ll be calling the Council.