Suburban Mayhem

19 May

I have been accused before of not being a dog lover. I would like to take this opportunity to vehemently deny this accusation. I love dogs….provided they do not shit in my yard, hump my leg, jam their soggy snout in my crotch and most importantly, they do not bark and bark and bark incessantly, like my neighbours dogs do.

Then I love dogs.

My neighbours own a toy chihuahua named Molly, and a Pomeranian named Benji. If you stand still long enough they’ll tell you their entire doggy history as, in their words, their dogs are their children. In a way I’m kind of glad that they don’t have children because if they yelled at them the way they yell at these mutts they’d probably be growing some psychopaths. The second I step out of my house these little lovelies come flying up to our dividing fence and yap uncontrollably as though I’m wearing a balaclava and carrying a crow bar, instead of innocently trying to hang my washing. Every time. Without fail. Kicking a ball with D Man is a yap-a-thon and a BBQ with friends is conducted to a cacophony of fluffy beasts rabidly trying to beat their way through the fence……then the neighbours begin yelling at them to stop. That’s when it really gets fun. The dogs don’t care…. they sure don’t listen. They flip their owners the bird with their little furry paws and my neighbours scream at the top of their lungs – BENJIIIIIIIIII, STOOOOOP IIIIIIIIIIT!!!!!! This happens most often when I’m trying to rest.

That’s the thing about my neighbourhood. It seems to have an innate sense of when I’m going to lay my weary head down, in the tiny window of opportunity that I have to get some restorative, reviving, revitalising afternoon snooze action. If it’s not a leaf blower, it’s a whipper snipper. If it’s not a whipper snipper, it’s a lawn mower. If it’s not a lawn mower, it’s some bogan revving his V8 engine whilst listening to dance music at 150 decibels outside my house. Death of aural tissue occurs at 180DB so I really can’t believe this dude’s ears aren’t bleeding as he pulls up across the road, windows down, bopping his stupid head to his stupid tunes.

Then there’s the kids…..I usually find the sound of children playing to be quite soothing. The happy noises they makes as they frolic with one another, making up games, changing the rules at will and hitting each other with sticks, but what I don’t get is the second I rest my weary head upon my pillow they pop up outside my bedroom yelling orders at each other in a Lord of the Flies fashion. I’d love to run maniacally out there in my snooze attire (snap side feeding top and undies, dishevelled hair…..very tidy look) and yell at them to go and play in their own yard and get off my piece of pavement, but Mister H says I need to let them be kids and play, particularly as it is the middle of the day, also, I would hate to be ‘THAT (crazy, cranky) WOMAN’.

So, really, I guess what I’m getting at is I need some earplugs. Or a purpose built bunker as I really think, at the moment while I’m waking three hourly to feed throughout the night, regular snoozes will make me a nicer person.

But not to the neighbours dogs. I really dislike them.

PS I tried to get a photo of said devil dogs through the fence yesterday but I got busted – big time – and was too damned tired to think of a single good reason I was trying to photograph their dogs commando style. I’ve been lurking around with my camera this morning but it’s raining and the dogs have not made an appearance. The photo I have used at least shows that D Man does not feel the same as I about mutts.

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