South City Confessions: Begging the dogs in my neighborhood to stop barking!
It's a continuous activity that drills tiny holes in the stress panel of my brain.
Every evening in Princeton Heights, I howl at the moon, or the dogs in our neighborhood, to please shut the fuck up. Pardon my French, but it has reached a point where a maddening chorus emerges, like a rabid score in one of Christopher Nolan's high-tech thrillers. It’s often long and rebellious in its intent.
Remember, dogs can do no wrong according to 95% of humans. They are forever a baby or toddler, innocent of their actions, regardless of the circumstances. Excuses will be made. Apologies will be dished out. Ultimately, the noise persists. I’ve been told it’s their way of communication. That’s great, but they can still shut up. Imagine if human beings stepped out of their back door, saw another person, and launched into a sudden tirade of loud, indecipherable language.
The cops would be called, husbands would be hauled away for a hard night in jail for merely saying “hello” or “what’s up” in a loud voice. Wives and friends would say they’ve seen the signs all along and knew something was coming. Before the cop car drove off, they would hand their husbands a toy or two (aka a beer or two) to play with on the way to the station.
“It’s okay, buddy, you’re only doing what’s in your nature.”
Screw that notion. They can shut up. I have six rescued pets in my house. In other words, my wife and I went to an adoption agency and rescued them from another cold night in the slammer. For pets, that’s their jail. I get it. They’re just lashing out at the big man, or someone. Is it too much to ask that the howling, also known as barking, be kept to a less frequent nature? I’d love to ask the pets if another week in jail would be better than barking less, but they can’t talk, so the subject remains open.
What if dogs could speak English once or twice a day?
Let’s make a clear distinction between small barks and very loud barks. If Marty, the dog across the alley from my house, barked like a soothing voice on your Calm app, the heart of the matter would be different. Marty barks like a lunatic, and then my tiny chihuahua barks in return. Before long, my monstrous pit bull starts to let out a few soundbar-level shouts that can be heard from across the street. Imagine this being repeated at least four to five times every evening, and you should understand the general nature of my complaint.
In the end, nothing changes. My dogs could commit first-degree murder, and my mom would turn into Richard Gere from Primal Fear and get them acquitted. When asked why she would defend murdering hounds, my mom’s response would be swift:
“Well, they were provoked first!”
Remember, my mother took care of sick kids at St. Louis Children’s Hospital for over three decades, so she doesn’t take the act lightly. If it’s a beagle doing the killing, Paul Newman from The Verdict wouldn’t do any better.
When it comes to dogs, they can do no wrong. Cats don’t have the same leeway, but they are so much quieter. My three cats stare at the dogs as if they were suspects from the start. Cats kill you in softer ways, such as pissing on expensive shoes or all over that new couch that just came into the house. What do they have to lose? Like the dogs, they are far enough away from being guilty beyond a reasonable doubt to consider the consequences.
Tonight, the same chorus will begin, and I’ll endure it. Why? They’re my animals, which means they’re my family and will never see that awful jail cell, also known as a shelter kennel, again. That’s the promise you make when adopting one of these noisy bastards. For better or worse, richer or poorer, they will love you to the end.
However, the minute another dog walks down the street, there will be barking. Never mind the fact that there is a wall separating them from the other animal. Someone must hear them ROAR! I’ll be over by the bar in the dining room, pouring a stiff drink. The bourbon requirement isn’t told to adoptees at the time of the rescue. Could you say anything in mean taste to this face?
I’d like you to please consider this latest South City Confessions a tutorial on what to expect.