Dog Days

I love dogs, I really do. They're my favorite animal. I love how my dog is always excited to see me and always wants to play catch. I love when I visit my parent's house and he comes tearing through the yard with a ratty tennis ball in his mouth. I love how crazy he gets before he is fed in the morning and how he sits on one leg while folding the other underneath him. Yes, I really do love my dog, which is why it's so strange that I want to drown my neighbor's dog in the bathtub.

My apartment is small and my building is crowded. Personal space and being considerate take on an all new importance when you live practically on top of your neighbors. I consider myself a pretty good neighbor: I rarely make noise or have many guests over. Therefore, I feel that I am entitled to the same amount of respect from my neighbors, but alas, it is not so.

Emma is the beast's name. She is a small white puff of an animal and, goddamn, does she like to bark. Wait, "'bark' is not the right word for it; yip, she likes to yip. Imagine, if you can, a pig's squeal; that high-pitched, eager whine. Now, imagine someone cutting that pig' throat mid-squeal so that it has a staccato, sharp quality to it. Now, imagine that sound as if it were fired out of a machine gun so that it is loud and rapidly repeating. Or, if that is too hard to do, I can put it another way. Emma is what Fran Drescher would sound like if she were a dog and someone gave her a ton of cocaine. This manic, deafening yip is what I return home to everyday and everyday I dream up a new way to kill that evil little dog.

Worse still is that Emma doesn't just bark at me, she barks at anyone walking down the hall. There must be about forty people who live on my floor and every single one of them gets the same treatment. This amounts to almost constant annoyance and, I can assume, everyone who lives on my hall wouldn't be saddened to see the dog lying dead in the garbage room with a BB in its skull. Being that I share a wall with Emma's owner's apartment, I get the privilege of hearing that screeching white rat-dog in surround sound. I have never hated an animal so much in my entire life.

So, what to do about this? I live about 300 feet above street level and I'm pretty sure no dog could survive that drop. I can see it now; Emma a pulpy mess on the sidewalk below and myself, dancing and laughing in pure vengeful ecstasy. However, I would feel awful if she hit someone on the way down, so that's out. I suppose I could call animal control and say that Emma bit me in a rabid rage. Then she'll be taken away and put to sleep, poison seeping through her veins until her little hyper heart stops beating. But that death would be too good for her. No, she needs to suffer slow and painfully for waking me up at all hours of the night. The kind of death I want Emma to experience is one that will make other dead dogs feel lucky they got hit by the mailman.

Reading over that, it sounds pretty sick. Of course, I would never have the nerve to kill a dog no matter how easy it would be. I can't even summon the courage to knock on her owner's door and complain, so actually killing the dog is far beyond my level of courage. I will, however, do what I am best at: whining. I will whine louder than that asshole of a dog's yip. I will shout things through the wall and laugh when my roommate hurls his shoe at the front door in a futile protest to shut the dog up. I will write about Emma in my column and deny I wrote this if her owners find it. I may even go so far as to lodge a complaint with the my doorman, but that's about it. Mostly I just want Emma to meet a painful demise at someone else's hands. Maybe one of my neighbors will have the total lack of social conscience needed to murder a small dog. Come to think of it, I did see the guy in 2231 masturbating to pictures of dead cattle the other day" maybe I'll go see him about this"