From time to time, I do stupid things. Oh, they don’t sound stupid before I do them—but they end up stupid. Take the last month or so, for example. We decided to paint the outside of our house, which would be awesome, except we have No-no Lulu, the dog from hell. Basically, if you don’t live with her, she will bark at you. And bark at you. And bark at you. Until you are deaf or until you leave, whichever comes first.
And worse, our painter was very thorough. So it took more than 30 days to paint the house. Thirty very long, bark-filled days.
Day one: The painter arrives and makes the critical error of knocking on the door to announce his arrival. After listening to No-no Lulu go off for around 15 minutes, he will not make that mistake again.
Day two: The painter prepares the house to be washed. This involves going up and down ladders and fixing stuff—all of which make No-no Lulu try to bark herself into crazy town.
Days three through six: I have no idea what is going on outside, since I sit in the house with the blinds closed in the vain hope that No-No Lulu will stop freaking the heck out. It doesn’t work. No-no Lulu will not be silenced.
Days seven through 10: I leave the house for a few hours each day. The painter later tells me No-no Lulu spends the entire time running from room to room in the house, following his every movement and barking her fool head off.
Day 11: Actual painting begins. Shockingly, this is very quiet. No-no Lulu doesn’t even know the painter is there until she walks past a French door and sees the painter standing outside. Apparently, this is enough to send her into a frenzy where she tears through the entire house, barking and jumping on all the furniture.
Days 12 through 20: A familiar and disturbing routine takes place where No-No Lulu sees the painter arrive, barks herself crazy and then settles down under the bed, where she is silent until he leaves. After all the barking, the silence is refreshing. And sadly, not permanent.
Day 21: The painter decides to paint outside my bedroom window. No-no Lulu launches herself out from under the bed and hurls her body to the window, barking like she’s never barked before. I’m touched by her protectiveness. I’m also not completely dressed, so when she opens the shutters to bark at the painter, it’s a bit of a shock for all of us.
Days 21 through 28: More barking. Sometimes I even hear her barking in my dreams. I wake myself up at night yelling, “No barking!”
Day 29: The painter is now painting the balcony outside my bedroom. Sadly, I do not know this ahead of time. This makes getting out of the shower a tad difficult, as No-no Lulu has stopped barking at the painter, but is now opening the shutters to get a good look at him while he paints. And when those shutters are open, you can see all the way into my bathroom. Where I’m naked. Fortunately, I was able to get my towel and wrap it around me so all my girlie bits are covered as I exit the shower. So nobody goes blind.
Day 30: I decide to shower in Junior’s bathroom. This works well, until the pocket door on his bathroom gets stuck and I spend 20 minutes stuck inside the bathroom wondering why I didn’t bring my phone in with me so I could call the fire department to get me out of there. Once I get the door unstuck, I am glad I didn’t call the fire department. Because, you know, I’m kind of dressed in just a towel.
Day 32: The painter and No-no Lulu are now fast friends, which of course, means the painting is done and I have gone deaf from constant exposure to barking.
Day 33: I shower in my own bathroom. The house is freshly painted and No-no Lulu resumes her normal routine of barking at strange bugs she finds on the patio and the little white dog down the street for whom she has developed an irrational hatred.
Gosh it’s good to be back to normal.
Laurie Sontag is a Gilroy writer and mom who wishes parenthood had come with a how-to-guide. You can contact her at
La****@la**********.com
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