Welcome to your new home, Fluffy.

When we moved in, we had a very loud, very unhappy couple across the hall who fought all the time, whose baby cried all the time, and who slammed doors at all hours. I'm not completely convinced they ever slept.

They moved on to other housing. Fortunately.

They moved out, what? Around Thanksgiving? Christmas? Since then, it's been nice and quiet.

Until this morning.

I'm not entirely sure who lives there now. I mean, there have been people going in an out all morning like clowns in a Volkswagon; a really skinny, really tall guy, a guy with a big beard. Three women. And one. Very. Yippy. Dog.

I love dogs. I love little dogs. I love medium-sized dogs. I like big dogs from a distance.

But little tiny yippy dogs and I are not friends. I'm hoping it's Mom's dog. And I hope Mom doesn't live there. Oh, my. I went down to get the mail, and I heard it. Everywhere. It was upstairs. It was downstairs. It was in the elevator. It was in the hall. I've seen it only through the peep hole, when I thought the dog was barking right outside my door. It was. Then it disappeared for a little bit. Now it's back. You think the dog would get tired, take a nap. Get a sore throat. Stop barking. Please.