The Yappy Dog

I was relieved to hear the yappy dog one morning. It’s been awhile since, but not too long since this happened. If you dear reader don’t know what a yappy dog is, I will try to explain. It seems that the intent felt by the yappy dog and it’s decided purpose is to bark at all times. It could be the bark of a dog happy to see it’s master or the bark meant to console it’s lonliness in missing it’s master. It could be a bark or happiness or a bark of sorrow. But it is always a bark as it’s sole means of communication. What makes a dog yappy vs. just barky has to do with the size of the dog and the timbre of it’s voice. A yappy dog is usually smaller. The chihuahua is a prime example and the stereotypical yappy dog. At least in my experience.

In this case the yappy dog lived somewhere in an apartment below me. I could hear it all day long, from morning to night, presumably missing it’s master all day then continuing all night for whatever reason a yappy dog might have to continue to make a ruckus even after it’s emotional needs had been met. It should be noted that the rental agreement for my building explicitly states that no dogs are allowed. And it had before occurred to me that the reason for this rule originated with this same dog. It’s hard to believe that the even more nearby neighbors have not complained repeatedly about this dog’s existence and it’s incessant yappiness.

Still I was glad to hear this dog one morning not so long past,  as I thought before that I had accidently killed it. Due to my divorce, I was forced to move from a 3 bedroom apartment where I had collected most of a lifetime of things into a much smaller one bedroom apartment. The problem was then, where to put my children who would come to visit me regularly. A solution to this was to buy and order a bunk bed and set it up in the bedroom as a place for them to sleep when they  came over. The instructions on the assembly of the bed explicitly said that it was a two person operation. But me being just one person, I attempted assembly by myself. This became a bit of a balancing act as I tried to make one major piece after another be supported by the wall or another part of the bed frame. This operation went fairly smoothy until one part, fully half of the front of the frame came crashing to the floor. Then immediately after that crash I heard another sound that I recognized as the sound of the ceiling below me coming loose from its lathe and crashing to the floor in the apartment below. At that moment I stopped hearing the yappy dog and I presumed that the crashing plaster had killed it. I clearly pictured a chihuahua dead being buried by a pile of ceiling plaster I had caused to fall when a part of my kids’ bunk bed fell to the ground. I did not hear the dog for several days after that and presumed that I had killed it. Until one morning, when I heard the dog again, as yappy as ever. The dog was still alive and I felt a little pang of relief. 

That happened some time ago, and now it’s time to disassemble the bed along with everything else. And it’s time to think about my new adventure. I’m leaving NYC.

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