Last night I wanted to kill both Jesse and his fucking mutts for the all-night barking spree they gave me. It started at 8pm. Every half hour or so until after 1am I turned the sound machines off in hopes of finding that he’d returned to shut the mutts up so I could watch a movie. But each time I turned them off they were going crazy. Just what are these fucking mutts trying to accomplish by barking non-stop hour after hour? And why haven’t they figured out that whatever it is they think they can achieve by barking up a storm just isn’t going to happen? It’s not going to bring Jesse back any sooner, and if they’re going crazy because they’re afraid to be left alone, well, anything that may endanger them isn’t going to go away. Coyotes, bears and whatnot were in these woods long before they were and they’re not about to leave just because an Australian Shepard and a Border Collie may want them to.

“Do you at least agree he’s rude and inconsiderate?” I asked my tolerant husband, who having grown up with barking dogs, knew it as a way of life. He nodded, and then I asked why karma seems to visit us if we screw anyone over, but never those who are rude and inconsiderate to us or worse.

“Karma visits people in different ways,” Tom said, reminding me of his dog that got run over and the nice new quiet truck he used to drive that he totaled.

The dog was one thing, but if anything the totaling of the truck was more of a punishment for me than for him because I’m the one who had to sit and listen to the old junky truck he started driving after that which is motorcycle-loud. I don’t hear it as much as I used to, but I hear enough loud vehicles coming and going from his fucking place.

Unless the next people don’t mind (and most people must not since they don’t enforce the barking laws out here much), I hope they have the guts I didn’t have to kill them or at least try to take some legal action to get him to take just as much responsibility for the mutts when he’s out as he does when he’s home. It’s just that that’s been tried before and it didn’t do any good.

Anyway, if I have to put up with this shit when we move, though I suppose it would only be in the daytime, I’m not complaining to anyone. I’m simply going to walk over and kick the mutt to death. If I have to get arrested to get peace within my own damn home, so be it, but at least they won’t be our landlord or anyone else with a hold on us.

Later...

I had a dream last night that we moved, but the place not only didn’t look like a manufactured home, it wasn’t at a mobile home park either. The only room that seemed nice and newer was the living room. It was strange, though, because one entire wall of it was glass. There were no window coverings either, but I wasn’t worried about losing any privacy because there was nothing and nobody beyond the window wall. All I could see were green rolling hills that seemed to lead to nowhere.

One of the bathrooms was so old and rusty that I didn’t see how we’d ever fix it up. In a section of that room was a pile of junk left over from previous owners. There was an old crib (strange thing to find in a senior park) and an old wire cage with a wooden frame that we stuck the guinea pig that we had at the time in.

One of the top two houses I like best has been re-listed. But this time it’s being sold by the owner and not a realtor. It’s still at 10K, though. Tomorrow is when Tom is going to drive through some parks, that one being one of them, and see what for-sale signs he can spot. We still think our best bet is going to be with a park-owned home, but again, those aren’t advertised online. I guess they lose too much money that way and they don’t have time for that anyway.