Coping

My next door neighbor was the only one left. And now it's over. Every single stupid family in my neighborhood now has a dog. A dog that barks and renders it nearly impossible to enjoy a mid-Saturday nap in my backyard hammock. I have a way of handling this now, a plan at least. When I start feeling upset or violated, I will write down my thoughts on a piece of loose paper. At the end of the month I will collect all of these letters in a shoebox and burn it in my backyard while I enjoy a glass of wine. And then I'll take the ashes, add a bit of water to make a paste out it, and then lace the mixture with some sort of agent that causes canine respiratory failure. Then I will shove that ashy mixture down the throats of each and every dog in the whole neighborhood, one house at a time.