a restless imagination

That dog just won't stop barking.

He was making a noise this morning, when I put the washing to dry on the balcony, and his insistent yapping continued throughout the hours I was tapping away at my pc, mailing project contacts, arranging interviews and drafting articles.

He's a little dog by the sounds of things, probably a little scotty. They usually make that annoying noise. God knows why, because they run a mile if they see anything vaguely threatening. But while they are safe, they like to pretend they're the most impressive dogs in the world. Stupid things.

I wonder if he's by himself. If I were in the same flat as him I'd have got him to shut up by now.

Oh good, he's gone quiet.

No, there he goes again.

Maybe he's been shut up for days because his owner has gone away. Or maybe the owner's dead. Eew, no, or just fallen over, lying in an inaccessible place unable to reach the phone and the dog's calling for help for his beloved owner. That's possible, but maybe he's just at work. The dog's alone and bored. And barking.

Oh dear, he's stopped.

Maybe the dog's dead now.

The owner and the dog lying side by side in the corridor, slowly dying of thirst and hunger. Maybe I should go over there, door to door, checking which flat has the dog. But how would I know which flat? which dog?

This is stupid, I should be glad the dog's stopped barking. He was driving me mad.

He could just give me a couple of yaps though, just to let me know he's ok.

I'd be happy with just one or two, then he could stay quiet.

Oh dear.