The neighbors’ dog keeps barking.
And barking.
And barking.
I wonder why it barks so much.
I wonder why my neighbors won’t make it stop.
I wonder why I don’t feed it rat poison when no one is around. Or beat it to death with a baseball bat. Or shoot it. Like Old Yeller. That would be fitting, as the two dogs share a very similar temperament.
Except Old Yeller used to be a very nice dog – exceptional, really. Until he got sick. It wasn’t his fault. Like someone with cancer. Or an alcoholic.
My neighbor’s dog was never nice. And so I have very little sympathy for it.
I just want to back over it with my car
as I crash into the side of my neighbor’s house, collapsing the entire ruinous mess like the House of Usher.
If my neighbors read this, I think they would find it most surprising
that I mention Usher because they would assume I meant the singer
and would be confused.
About as confused as if they were to come home to find their house leveled,
a car amidst the rubble repeatedly backing up and driving over a red swathe
with a leash attached to it.
The Neighbors’ Dog
Omnes 