The dog that did bark.

I was awakened at quarter to three by barking. It was my wife. 

Wait, I don't mean my wife was barking. I mean that there was a dog barking, and it was keeping my wife from sleeping. So, as any married man will tell you, when you have a problem, you have a problem; and when your wife has a problem, you have a problem.  

Outside a little dog had been barking for a couple of hours. Once my wife woke and heard it, she couldn't get back to sleep. It would bark for a while, maybe five minutes, stop, then start with a few tentative barks, and then a crescendo for a long period. Then silence -- and the process would begin again. I slept through that, but not through her. 

Let's face it -- my wife is sweet on the dogs. And, with her heart still in bandages from the loss of Nipper a couple of weeks ago, all she could think was that there was a suffering dog out there whose owner was too sleepy to let it in. 

Miscellaneous dog in peril, imagined by the Mrs.

So, Fred to the rescue. Let's face it -- I'm sweet on my wife. 

From outside I tried to determine where the dog was, and could tell immediately it was not the little pest up the block. It was actually from a house up the hill, the row whose backyards face our street, the street that can't be reached by road except by the side road. So I started walking. Herein the text exchange with my wife:

Me: It's not the pest. Up the hill
by the apartments.

She: Can the police go check? The poor
thing must be freezing.

Me: I will have a look

She: No, don't go up there!

Me: Why not? Could be on the street

She: No! It's probably in their yard!

Me: Then I will have an address for the popo

She: Honey, I really don't want you up
there in the middle of the night.

Me: The badlands of suburbia

She: You're trying to give me a heart attack
aren't you?

Me: You need sleep and you won't get it
if this poor pup is suffering

She: D'oh! No fair!

Me: brb

<a brief interval later>

She: Where are you?

Me: At the cul de sac. It's one of these houses
but I can't tell which. #37 looks like

She: Call police? You can't ring doorbells
in the middle of the night.

Me: On the way back

She: Okay. I can breathe.

Me: It is not very cold so the dog isn't in danger

She: It's 37 degrees and the dog's been
out for hours now. That's not safe.

Me: Okay. 2000 steps on Fitbit already!

She: Show off!

<I got back to our porch and called the police -- not via the 911 line but by the station's direct number.>

Me: Okay, they're sending somebody

She: Thank you so much love. You
saved its life.

Me: Or the owner having a heart attack
who's out cold.

She: Could be that too!

Me: Could be dead....drunk

So that was my brave expedition in the cold night air. I wasn't too worried walking around, even if a single male with a flashlight could look suspicious. Yeah, I'm white, okay? But I'm also middle-aged. I look askance at young men of any description walking along alone; most men who choose a life of crime are dead or in prison at my age. My wife was afraid someone would call the police on me, but that just would have saved me the trouble. "Glad you're here, officer! Check out house #37!"

Before I got back upstairs the barking had stopped, and didn't restart. Fortunately it is a quiet town at night and the police can take the time to respond to nuisance calls like mine. And with any luck, things will be quieter up the hill in the evenings going forward.