bark bark bark

I could have titled this post Why I Don't Keep a Gun in the House but I thought that might bring down the wrath of the FBI. And who needs that shit?

My days of late have been a cacophony of sound. On the south, I have dogs...barking barking barking.

Another Reason Why I Don't Keep A Gun In The House
Billy Collins 

The neighbors' dog will not stop barking.
He is barking the same high, rhythmic bark
that he barks every time they leave the house.
They must switch him on on their way out.

The neighbors' dog will not stop barking.
I close all the windows in the house
and put on a Beethoven symphony full blast
but I can still hear him muffled under the music,
barking, barking, barking,

and now I can see him sitting in the orchestra,
his head raised confidently as if Beethoven
had included a part for barking dog.

When the record finally ends he is still barking,
sitting there in the oboe section barking,
his eyes fixed on the conductor who is
entreating him with his baton

while the other musicians listen in respectful
silence to the famous barking dog solo,
that endless coda that first established
Beethoven as an innovative genius.

Yesterday, I opened up the bathroom window and glowered at them, whispering, "Go in the house. Go back into the house. You are making me insane." They paid me no attention.

On the west, I have a construction company making hash of my boulevard, my grass, and maybe not my patio although it, too, has their paint markings on it. Two giant vehicles are clawing at the sidewalk, digging portions of cement, dumping them in a waiting truck, beep beep beep.

On the north, I have a neighbor obsessed with lawn cleanliness. He chases five leaves around for 30 minutes to route them into the gutter. He could pick them up and stuff them into a sandwich bag in five minutes. But no, his method requires multiple gas powered machine.

On the west, again, I have a neighbor who does not believe in mufflers. They, in his eyes, must be the work of the devil. His motorcycle sounds like a jet is launching itself down 4th Street. His vehicle sounds like a fleet of John Deere's. His lawn tractor sounds like you should wear ear protection if you live in the next town.

Why am I burdened with this bullshit? It's not as bad as cancer (which I have) or osteoporosis (which I have) but it is a pain in the rear. I pray for quiet.

I am currently hoping my neighbors do not read my blog. Although as Sinclair Lewis said, if they didn't want to be in my writing they shouldn't have been such assholes.