The ringing phone becomes the finale of Don’s dream. He opens his eyes, surprised to find it still so dark. He knocks his glasses off the nightstand as he reaches for the phone.
“Yes?” he mumbles, his voice thick with sleep.
“You were sleeping?” asks a high-pitched voice. “How can you possibly sleep through this?”
“Jerome? What are you talking about?”
“The dogs!” cries Jerome. “The fucking dogs. They’ve been howling for hours.”
“What time is it?”
“Almost five,” says Jerome, disgusted. “We’ve been up since three.”
“I’m sorry, Jer . . .”
“How can you not hear them? You told me you were a light sleeper.”
“Which dogs are we talking about?”
“Are you serious?” asks Jerome, his rage palpable. “They’re right behind your house.”
“My bedroom is at the front and I have my bedroom door closed, so . . .”
“But you must be able to hear them now. Jesus, Don. Are you deaf? They sound like rampaging elephants.”
“I’ll go see,” says Don, speaking softly.
“I’m coming over,” says Jerome, hanging up.
Don opens his bedroom door and hears the plaintive whimpering of a spaniel and the anguished howling of a wolfhound. He wanders through his kitchen to the sliding glass door where Jerome is standing with clenched fists—the cries of the miserable dogs resounding in the morning air.
“Here’s the number for Animal Control.” Jerome thrusts a piece of paper at Don. “And the assholes’ phone number. They have their answering machine on, but leave a message anyway. I know they’re there. They’re just afraid to talk to me.”
“I will leave them a message,” says Don, reacting to an upsurge of howling. “This is inexcusable.”
“I could kill them.” Jerome grits his teeth and shakes his head. “I haven’t had a good night’s sleep in a week.”
DON DOES NOT call Animal Control, but he does write a letter that he slips under the front door of the house belonging to the owners of the bellowing dogs.
My dear neighbors,
We think you must be unaware of the volume and persistency of the howling, whimpering, and whining that emanate from your backyard at all hours of the day and night. We are sure that if you were aware of how intrusive and disheartening this cacophony is to your neighbors, you would do something to mitigate these symptoms of your dogs’ suffering.
We wonder why your dogs are so unhappy. We invite you to come to our back door and experience our difficulty in carrying on a happy, productive life in the midst of such heartrending yowling. We are absolutely certain you want to do what’s best for them and your community.
Many Thanks,
Your backyard neighbors
DON IS SITTING at the kitchen table the next morning, sipping tea and writing a postcard to a friend, when Jerome bounds up the back steps with a jubilant smile on his face.
“We did it!” he cries. “Not a howl or a whimper all night.” He smacks his fist into his palm. “Nothing like a visit from the men in blue to strike fear into the hearts of cowards.”
“You called the police?” asks Don, frowning in surprise.
“Well, Animal Control,” says Jerome, nodding emphatically. “I assume they came out right after you called. They said they’d only come if they got multiple complaints.”
“Ah,” says Don, sipping his tea. “And who else did you get to call them?”
“Just you and me,” says Jerome, grinning triumphantly. “That’s all it took.”
