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I'm sorry, I do love dogs, but my neighbors' are getting to me. Some days it sounds like they've decided to open a puppy mill. For the last couple of months they've had a backyard full of wild, yapping, puppies. While the image seems cute, the actuality is far from it. At any give time for any reason these four-legged piranhas are liable launch into this fusillade of barking, yelping and squealing. I've gotten a bit used to it now. But every now and then a visitor will come over and at some point the din begins. Someone asked the other day how I put up with it. I told her about the fantasy I have in the back of my mind. I'd never put it into words before, but when the little monsters get going really loud, I imagine they're venting their full puppy fury at a huge, slavering, Werewolf that's just about to eat the lot of them, whole. Then, when the barking suddenly stops, as it always seems to, I smile quietly and think to myself: "Bon appetit, Loup-Garou, Bon appetit."
