The dog barked at midnight.

Actually she's /still/ out there barking, and my shoulder hurts too much to deal with the door. Stupid big-lipped gallumphing cow-dog. (That would be Cleo.)

When we moved in, the previous owners, who had FIVE dogs here, one of which was a wolf-hybrid (and never mind the fact that there's an ordinance here that limits each household to two domesticated animals), said, rather cavalierly, “Oh, the neighbors are deaf, don't worry about barking.”

But I do. I really do. No matter what I try with this dog – treats for silence, noisemakers, everything – she's still The Barking Bitch of Beelzebub, and it's driving me crazy.

I've contacted Stacy to come and do some AntiBark Training with Cleo, but so far I haven't been able to figure out a good time. Soon, I hope.

Also, while the neighbors immediately to one side are elderly, and pretty hard-of-hearing, the rest of the neighbors, to my knowledge, are perfectly healthy in that respect, and they don't deserve Cleo “serenading” them by barking at trees, wind, cats or – her favorite – NOTHING.