When my mother-in-law moved in for a month, I thought the biggest challenge would be sharing space with her. I had no idea the real nightmare would be her little mixed-breed dog, Max — a tiny tornado with fur who thought my hallway was his concert stage. It all started when Linda and her husband Gerald came to stay while their home was being renovated.
My husband helped them settle into the guest room, and I tried to be a good host, making small talk and serving a nice dinner. Max, on the other hand, strutted through my house like he owned it — sniffing, growling, and glaring at everything as if the furniture had insulted him personally. He growled at the coffee table.
He growled at a shadow on the wall. At one point, he growled at a throw pillow like it had looked at him the wrong way. Linda, of course, thought it was adorable.
“He’s just getting used to everything,” she said sweetly, scratching his ears. “Aren’t you, my precious boy? You’re such a good protector!”
I forced a smile.
I love dogs, but Max wasn’t just a dog. He was one of those yappy, high-strung little guys that thought everyone was a potential threat to his queen — Linda. And Linda?
She insisted Max was her emotional support animal, even though she had no official paperwork and wasn’t dealing with any condition where an ESA was even necessary. After dinner, I grabbed my bag and got ready to head out for my night shift at the hospital. I work long hours and strange times — emergencies don’t exactly wait for a convenient hour.
“You really shouldn’t be working those odd hours,” Linda said, eyeing me as I packed some snacks. “It’s part of the job,” I replied, trying to stay polite. “People don’t schedule emergencies.
They just happen.”
She let out this little sniff of disapproval, then calmly placed Max’s fancy organic dinner in front of him like royalty had arrived. I ignored her and headed out the door. When I got home hours later, bone-tired, Max greeted me with another growl.
I whispered, “Shh,” and thankfully, he scurried back to his bed. I crawled into mine next to my husband and passed out almost instantly. But just when I started to drift into a much-needed sleep…
WOOF!
WOOF! HOWWWWWL! I sat bolt upright, heart pounding.
It sounded like someone had unleashed the literal hounds of hell right outside my bedroom. Max was out there throwing the world’s angriest tantrum — barking, howling, scratching, even whimpering dramatically like someone had stolen his soul. He scratched at the door like he was trying to claw his way to freedom.
The story doesn’t end here — it continues on the next page.
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