Can I take a quick break from my Zen to shoot the dog?

Bark. Bark. Bark.

Someone please put a muzzle on the neighbor’s dog. I wonder if the bitch senses exactly when I sit down to relax and decides that is the time to bark the loudest. It’s probably a good thing I don’t own a firearm.

Sometimes my idea of relaxing is to listen to melancholic music. Music to slit my wrists to is what I call it. I can crank the music up but I’ll probably go deaf before I can drown out the barks. Maybe I should listen to jazz and pretend the dog is just another musician, playing his notes in his own time signature like everyone else on the band. No offense to jazz musicians.

Sometimes I cook to relax.  The tears streaming down my cheeks could be either from the onions or from a rather poignant memory stirred by the music to slit my wrists to that is playing in the background.

Bark. Bark. Bark.

Oh, this knife would make a wonderful weapon. The dirge that is playing is the perfect soundtrack to the mayhem playing out in my head.

I am tempted to call animal services. But my neighbor is ailing. The dog is probably his only companion in his old age.

So I bite my tongue. The moment passes. I can get back to focus on caramelizing the onions. And letting the music wash over me, barks and all.