When my mother-in-law Linda moved in for a month during her home renovation, I didn’t expect her little mixed-breed dog, Max, to turn my nights into a living nightmare.
Every evening, Max howled outside my bedroom like a possessed alarm system. I asked Linda to control him, but she laughed: “Sounds like your problem, not his.”
Challenge accepted.
Max’s nightly performances lasted hours—barking, howling, scratching, even throwing himself at the door. I was surviving hospital shifts on three hours of sleep, while Linda sipped coffee and acted clueless. When I finally asked her to keep Max in her room, she said I should be grateful for his protectiveness.
So, I recorded Max’s entire 3 a.m. opera. The next morning, I blasted it back through a Bluetooth speaker against her bedroom wall—just as she and Max settled in for sleep.
Linda exploded. I smiled sweetly: “Just wanted you to hear how alert he is.”
That night? Silence. And the next morning, I woke to the glorious sound of suitcases zipping. Linda announced they’d be staying with Gerald’s sister, who “adores Max.”
Two weeks later, I heard Max had been enrolled in a behavioral program for “nighttime anxiety.” He’s been a perfect houseguest ever since.
Sometimes, the best way to solve a problem is to share it.
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