The Poppy Odyssey: My ongoing, non-vocal battle with my neighbor

I always knew Poppy was an asshole. You know those types: snotty for the sake of it, think they are better than everyone else, like to hear their voice over everyone else's. Of course I'm speaking of Poppy, my neighbor's dog. Once again, what an asshole.

I'm not sure what breed category (besides douche bag) Poppy falls into. He's a lap dog, that's for sure. He's white with long hair and if you can imagine a dog that every old lady in the entire world would like, well...that's Poppy. I've thought about asking my neighbor what type of dog he is, but I don't think I can start the conversation off with "What kind of dog is that little asshole?"

Poppy and I did not get started on the right foot. My first encounter with him was a day after I moved into my new house. Poppy was on the look out next door, and as I often do with animals*, I said "hello dog." Instead of providing a heartwarming confusd stare like Sir Scrapsalot, the neighborhood cat**, Poppy proceeded to bark and snarl. I wasn't scared - he was locked behind a screen door. It was more obnoxious than anything. Here I am trying my best to be nice and make friends and this asshole pulls attitude. For those of you that know me, you know that I've had about enough of that since moving. At his point, I didn't know Poppy's name. I simply called him "the asshole dog next door."

My feud with Poppy reached a whole new level when he began barking at everything I did. Now I don't know if he can see through walls, but that damn dog would bark if I turned a page in a magazine. Brushing my teeth? Hell yeah Poppy, bark! Plucking my eyebrows? Oh, Poppy knew. The clincher was every time I opened my window at night to let in a breeze, Poppy would bark. And bark. And bark.

A few weeks after the first window barking incident, my roommate asked "Don't you just hate that dog next door? He barks at the drop of a hat! His name is Poppy." My enemy now had a name.

The other night, our hatred reached a fever pitch. After opening my window, Poppy began his usual protest. I had reached my breaking point and could not control the emotions that boiled over.

"POPPY! WE GO THROUGH THE SAME DAMN THING EVERY NIGHT! I OPEN THE WINDOW! YOU BARK! I'M JUST OPENING A WINDOW! DEAL WITH IT YOU SONOFABITCH!" I screamed.

Shortly after, I heard Poppy's owner shuffling him into the house, whispering something softly, most likely "Watch your back Poppy. She might be into animal sacrifice."

I haven't heard Poppy in the past several nights. Ideally, he's been neutered and is suffering from the death of his testicles and has implemented a silent protest against the act of making dogs "non-breeders." In reality, he's most likely being kept inside due to the foul weather we've been experiencing in Sydney. All I know is this: I'm saving up my money to put a squirt nozzle and hose to attach to the bathroom sink. The second that dog pipes up, it's water fun time. If I don't blow a non-deadly adoption of acceptance regarding minimal noise making into that dog, I'm going to open up the lines for you reader: How should I silence Poppy (and don't say kill him - I might hate him, but I can't kill an animal (excluding rodents)).

* I only speak to animals when no one else is around, such as Sir Scrapsalot. I'm not talking full-blown conversations, but more along the lines of "Hi Sir Scrapsalot. Did you get any dinner tonight? No? That's a shame because I'm not going to feed you either. Better luck next time."

** Sir Scrapsalot follows me down the street now, due to our friendly relationship. I've explained to him that although I appreciate his company, I am allergic. He respects the boundaries and stays at least five feet away at all times.