Now what you hear is not a test; Landlord’s new puppy is filling our
airwaves with rhythm-less all-night-long crying.  Sunday night was almost
tolerable.  The young German shepherd-black lab mix broke into
lonely-night-in-a-cage dirge just twice, at midnight and 5:00 a.m. (followed by
the bustle of mess mopping?  who knows…I was half-asleep).  But last
night, the sorrowful pup yipped and whined all night long, like he was staging a
concert for the dead.  I tried to wrap my head in pillows, tried to block
out the excruciating sound, even wished for a Sugar Hill Gang earworm, and not
because I was still thinking about B. Midler (an all-time low at EWM mentioning
that song "did I ever tell you you’re my…"  geez.  Hope
you’ll forgive me for that.), but because I would go for just about anything
that would make it stop.    Not only am I going to really
struggle to like the dog, I’m also struggling to think of this as a very
suitable living arrangement for as long as the dog’s yapping fills my ears when
I should be sleeping (ironic that L’lord has two dogs now and we have a no pets
clause in our lease).  Lest I go far enough to upset or offend anyone (en
route to becoming the first blogger to be evicted for posting living-space
critique), I’ll stop here, relieved to know that puppy so exhausted himself in
the nighttime hours that the quiet suggests he’s finally resting soundlessly
this morning.