How to Kill Your Neighbor’s Dog
I arrived at true adulthood with the purchase of my first house. My husband and I stretched every dollar we had to quantify for a 30-year adjustable-rate mortgage on a 1500-square-foot cottage just a few blocks from the peninsula edge of California's breathtaking Palos Verdes. After that, we had months of martinis on the patio at sunset until the day our neighbor's beloved German Shepard, Apollo, entered our lives.
Apollo is the neighbor's sweet baby boy and the best puppy from their side of the fence. On our side, he is a terrifying police dog in training that charges the fence every time I open my back door. As a result, all our other neighbors know when I begin my day by letting my dog out, each time I take out the trash, and any other moment that requires me to step foot on my once serene patio. Apollo marks each occasion with his signature snarling chomping bark.
As someone who avoids conflict, I'm willing to lose said patio to prevent tension between neighbors because we all know how these things can escalate. Like a competitive tennis match, the noise complaints will fly over the fence until even the slightest sound is cause for a sharply worded text message. So for the sake of living blissfully in adulthood, I decided to be as sturdy as our fence and block out Apollo's attempts to meet us.
But it wasn't enough because Apollo decided not to wait for my sliding door cue. Instead, he chose to bark at the squirrels, birds, Amazon delivery trucks, and anything else that caught his attention—all-day long, bark, bark, bark. I tried to force my brain to turn his barks into white noise, but the barks were never constant enough. So instead, I constantly experienced that sensation of waiting to see if a nasty case of the hiccups had stopped, only to be disappointed with an inevitable delayed bark.
Then one day, I snapped. Finally, I couldn't take it anymore! My strong-willed determination ended with me exploding from my desk, promising to stop the barks for good. "Why don't the other neighbors complain?" I snarled! Realizing that I was probably the only one working from home made me even madder. Pacing in front of my desk, waving my hands in a crazed motion, shouting every word I've kept in, I caught a glimpse of myself in the reflection of my computer monitor. I saw what I always imagined Apollo to be on the other side of that fence.
At that moment, I remembered my entrance into adulthood and decided to act like one. So I picked up my phone and invited my neighbors over for some wine and cheese to get to know each other. Of course, trying to avoid conflict, I couldn't bring myself to mention Apollo. As the night went on, I learned that their daughter was working her way through her doctoral residency. As a result, she was temporarily unable to care for her beloved dog, Apollo (named after the Greek god of healing.) My neighbors, when on the, describe their challenges with their new roommate because the pup had tons of energy. They explained that Apollo should be outside during the day while away at work but insisted that I text anytime he is barking, and they will come home immediately.
They turned out to be a lovely couple, and while I didn't abuse it, I did text "bark, bark" a few times, and they kept to their promise. I'm thankful I came to my senses (and for my strong fence) because, in essence, I mentally killed the awful dog next door and replaced him with spunky Apollo. So for those of you who read this post looking for the literal answer to its title, it's always better to seek understanding before tossing a steak filled with sleeping pills over the fence.
