So a few days ago there was a story up about a barking dog and The Voice's creative solution. Some found it funny, others found it cruel and felt the punishment was more fitting for the owner than the dog. It also reminded me of a similar incident from nearly a decade ago, and by request from several respected regulars, I am relaying the story.
A verbal map for those not from the Metroplex: Going from west to east on I-30 it goes Fort Worth -- 15 miles -- Arlington -- 20 miles -- Dallas -- 15 miles -- Mesquite
In January of 2001 I began working for the newspaper in Mesquite while living in Arlington and dating a girl in Fort Worth. After breaking up with Fort Worth Girl (which is another Fanpost in and of itself) I decided to relocate to Mesquite and eliminate a long commute. I found someone looking to rent out part of a house 5 minutes from my office, $400 a month, all utilities included. Obviously I couldn't pass that offer up, but in hindsight I should have.
My roommate was a 40-something year old woman whose parents owned the house but had retired away from the city. This woman needed a little help with rent and bills because she worked at the Texas State Fair. That's right, she was a freaking carney who from time to time would receive collect calls from an incarcerated boyfriend. Bad combination.
Another bad combination was her stupid loud dog in the backyard and the old bitchy next door neighbor. At about 11:00 on my very first night living in Mesquite the dog sees a squirrel on a phone line and goes ape-shit. After about 15 minutes Old Bitchy Neighbor starts pounding on the door. I know what she wants, but I'm not going to deal with her because it's not my dog. Carnie Roommate also knows what she wants and won't answer the door. So after 10 minutes of constant barking and door-knocking, I finally get up, put on some boxers and go to the door and have the following exchange:
Old Bitchy Neighbor: Your dog is barking.
Me: Yeah, I can hear it.
OBN: That dog is too loud.
Me: It's a dog, that's what dogs do.
OBN: I'm calling the police.
Me: Go ahead, it's not my damn dog. (Shuts door).
So I go into the back yard to try to calm this idiot dog down. After a few minutes he stops barking, and I prepare to go back to bed. Unfortunately, the back door has locked behind me. Knocking does me no good because Carnie Roommate won't get her lazy ass up. I go around to my bedroom windows, but they too will not open from the outside. I decide to hop the 5-foot chain link fence in the hope that the front door is still unlocked from when I opened it.
I hop up onto the fence, still in my underpants, and right as I am perched on top of the fence preparing to drop harmlessly on the other side, I, of course, get the police light in my face. My response: Oh crap! I live here! I live here!
Being a reporter for the local paper, I am aware that at this time the Mesquite PD had more shootings per capita than any other city in the greater Dallas-Fort Worth area. Fortunately, this officer allows me to hop down slowly. We go to the front door where he announces himself as a police officer. This finally gets Carnie Roommate to the front door where my status as a resident of the house is confirmed. I can finally go back to bed, and Carnie Roommate receives a noise citation.
About a month later I get the hell out of there and into my own apartment.