Twilight barking
A peaceful new home was just what she needed. But a noisy nuisance next door makes Sylvia begin to wish she’d never moved
“Oh, not again.” Sylvia clapped her hands over her ears, exasperated. “Should I bang on the wall, Joe, or would that be rude?” Sylvia and Joe had bought No7 Chestnut Close for its peaceful location. It was also close to the park, which would be perfect for when their daughter Pam came to visit with Timmy, her energetic fouryear-old son.
But within a few days of moving into their new semi-detached, Sylvia was already unhappy and wishing they’d never moved.
Their elderly neighbour, whose name was
Mrs Archer, had a black labrador which barked incessantly whenever she went out.
Sylvia had arthritis and walked with a stick, though she was only 46. She worked three days a week at the library, but the other days she stayed home and rested. At their old house, she’d enjoyed listening to audiobooks while working on her hobby, embroidery. But here it was almost impossible to hear the narrator, and she kept making silly mistakes, distracted by the dog’s barking.
“Oh, bother.” Sylvia unpicked her stitches, realising she’d used the wrong silk again. “That dratted dog.”
Joe didn’t understand. “Dogs always bark, love. There’s no need to fuss.” Out at work most of the day, the noise didn’t affect him so much.
Weeks passed in this way, with many days spoilt by noisy episodes of barking. Finally,
Sylvia decided to do something about it. She made her signature coffee and walnut cake and walked next door with it, her stick in one hand, cake tin in the other. She hoped a tasty treat would sweeten the pill when she eventually broached the topic of barking.
“Hello,” Sylvia said with a smile when
Mrs Archer came to the door. “I thought I’d come round for a chat, get to know you better. I hope you like cake.”
“I’m allergic to nuts,” her neighbour said flatly, eyeing the walnuts Sylvia had pressed into the coffee icing. Somehow, her disapproving tone reminded Sylvia of a teacher at school who’d always picked on her. At that moment, her dog came bounding down the hall, tail wagging enthusiastically at an unexpected visitor.
“Down, Caesar!” Mrs Archer snapped when the labrador jumped up at Sylvia, nearly knocking the cake tin flying. But he paid no attention.
Her nerves in shreds, Sylvia demanded, “Can you please stop your dog from barking all day?” She hadn’t meant to be so blunt, but the words just tumbled out. “It’s driving me crazy.”
Not surprisingly, Mrs Archer looked offended and shut the door.
When Joe got home that evening, he wasn’t very sympathetic.
“I told you not to make a fuss,” her husband said over dinner. “Still,” he added, with a wink, “I don’t mind if it means more cake for me.”
“It was worth a try,” Sylvia insisted, taking out the dirty plates. But she knew she’d made a mess of things.
In the run-up to Christmas, her daughter
Pam came to visit, bringing her husband Michael and little Timmy. Her heart bursting with joy, Sylvia gave her grandson a big hug, and then showed him the colouring books and crayons, and some other little toys she’d bought specially for his visit.
“You’ll spoil him, Mum,” Pam complained, but she was laughing.
While Timmy set to work, earnestly colouring in a picture of a space robot, Sylvia and Joe sat down with their daughter and her husband.
“How are you getting on with your new neighbours?” Pam asked.
Joe rolled his eyes. “Don’t get your mum started.”
“It’s not funny, Joe.” Feeling self-conscious, Sylvia launched into an explanation. But before she had finished, there was a live demonstration as Caesar started barking. “Oh, there he goes again.”
They waited for him to stop, but the hysterical barking continued for a full hour with no sign of abating. Even Joe looked grumpy by then.
“Perhaps we could all go for a walk,” Michael suggested tactfully,
after observing how wound-up his poor mother-in-law was becoming.
Sylvia jumped up. “Good idea.” She grabbed her coat and scarf, and once everyone was warmly dressed, they set off to the local park. Timmy had a great time, kicking through damp leaves and playing on the swings. By the time they got back, it was getting dark.
The lights were off next door and the dog was still barking.
“That’s odd,” Sylvia said, frowning. “Mrs Archer is never usually out after dark.”
She began to prepare the family’s dinner, but Caesar’s barks had turned into howls of despair by then.
“Something’s definitely wrong,” Sylvia said, worried now.
Feeling a bit awkward, she and Joe went next door to knock at the door and look through the windows with a torch.
“Mrs Archer?”
Peering through the letterbox, Sylvia saw
Mrs Archer, lying at the foot of her stairs. “Oh no,” she exclaimed, horrified. “Quick, Joe.
Call an ambulance.”
To her relief, the back door was unlocked. Inside, she found Mrs Archer conscious but in excruciating pain, having twisted her ankle falling downstairs. Thankfully, she didn’t seem to have done herself any serious damage.
“Don’t worry, Mrs Archer,” she said. “Help is on the way.”
Caesar, who’d stopped barking as soon as they found his mistress, sat and thumped his tail with an idiotically pleased expression.
“Yes, you noisy article,” Sylvia told him, laughing as she patted him. “For once, you did the right thing by making such a racket.”
Mrs Archer, sitting up and wrapped in a blanket, also tried to laugh but was in too much pain.
“Thank you for coming to check on me,” she said, adding meekly, “I’m so sorry about all the barking. Caesar’s a rescue dog, you see. He gets stressed on his own. That’s why he barks. But I can’t take him with me when I visit my brother at the care home.”
“Oh, poor thing,” Sylvia said, instantly contrite. “Next time, why not leave him with me?”
She grinned at her husband’s expression. “Well, if it stops him barking…”