The Dog That Never Stops Barking

The Hendersons got a dog. A beagle. They named him Biscuit.

Biscuit barks.

Not sometimes. Not occasionally. Not "when the mailman comes." Always. Biscuit barks at the sun. Biscuit barks at the moon. Biscuit barks at leaves. Biscuit barks at the absence of leaves. Biscuit barks at silence itself, apparently offended by it.

The Hendersons leave for work at 7 AM. Biscuit goes outside. Biscuit begins barking at 7:01 AM. Biscuit barks until 5:30 PM when the Hendersons return.

That's ten hours and twenty-nine minutes of continuous barking.

I've timed it. I've recorded it. I have a spreadsheet. On March 14th, Biscuit barked 4,847 times. I know this because I was working from home and I counted because I was losing my mind.

I've talked to the Hendersons. They said, "He's just a puppy! He'll grow out of it." Biscuit is four years old.

I've called animal control. They came, heard Biscuit barking, gave the Hendersons a warning. The Hendersons brought Biscuit inside for one day. The next day, Biscuit was back outside. Barking.

I've tried dog whistles. I've tried those ultrasonic bark deterrent devices. I've tried leaving treats at the fence to befriend Biscuit. Biscuit ate the treats. Then barked at where the treats used to be.

I don't hate dogs. I love dogs. I hate Biscuit. And I feel terrible about it, because Biscuit doesn't know he's ruining my life. He's just doing his job. His job is barking. He's the best employee in the history of employment.