21
Mar

ruff

We have barking dogs. Oh, yes we do! And when I say barking, I really mean B!AR!K!I!N!G!

We started out having only Daisy, a gift to Stephen when Blythe was three. Stephen’s dog, Slingshot was shot [no, not by a slingshot, but a rancher’s rifle] and Blythe had it in her soft little heart to share her dog with her uncle. So, so sweet. That was 13 years ago.

Since then, we’ve had Bo, several Belles, Petty, who Hubby called Teddy, a blue-healer-mix named Pax and now Mikelle and Logan’s Titan. Boy Howdie. Or, should I say Dog Howdie!

Last month the Huzb ordered a couple of shock collars from Cabellas. Holy Money, Batman! Close to $400. The problem is, the batteries run out very quickly — like every other day. They have to be recharged. So, the dogs have figured out they can bark as much as they want on Monday, Wednesday and Friday.

My poor neighbors!

They have two Huskies they let out every single night between 5 and 5:30. Of course, our dogs go bezerko. Their dogs go bezerko, too. I am out holding the remote with my arms flailing in the direction of the dogs, pushing the dumb shock-collar button and yelling my fool head off, but do you think they listen to me? Surely not on Monday, Wednesday and Friday! And, on the other days, they whimper for a minute and head for the garage, until I go back in the house. Then they are back at it.

I think all we’ve accomplished is to raise their pain threshold.

I asked my other neighbor a little further down the road if our dogs were bothering them, too. She said, “Not too bad, but there sure is someone in the neighborhood that yells a whole lot! She should get a muzzle!”

Um. Hello. That might be me.