When my mother-in-law, Diane, moved in for a month during her home renovations, I expected some tension. What I didn’t expect was her dog, Buddy, turning my nights into a nightmare. His endless barking and scratching outside my bedroom door left me exhausted. When I asked Diane to control him, she laughed and said, “That’s your problem.” So, I came up with a simple plan to make sure she felt the problem, too, and it worked like a charm.
I love dogs, but Buddy was a jittery little pup who growled at everything—my couch, the walls, even me. Diane called him her “emotional support dog,” though she had no official reason for it. When she and her husband, Tom, arrived, I made dinner and chatted politely while Buddy sniffed around like he owned the place. Diane fussed over him, saying he was just getting comfortable. I nodded, hoping he’d calm down soon.
I work late shifts at the hospital, so I need my sleep. That first night, I came home drained, only to hear Buddy growl as I climbed the stairs. I shushed him and fell into bed, but at midnight, he started a howling frenzy outside my door. His barks and scratches were so loud I thought the house was shaking. My husband slept through it, but I lay awake, dreading my next shift. The noise stopped at 3 a.m., leaving me with barely enough time to rest.
The next night, Buddy upped his game, adding whimpers and thuds like he was slamming into the door. By morning, I was a zombie. Over coffee, I asked Diane if she could keep Buddy in her room. She smirked, saying he was just guarding her and I shouldn’t work such odd hours. When I said I was barely sleeping, she laughed and called it my problem. That was the moment I decided to fight back.
On the third night, as Buddy’s racket filled the house, I recorded every sound on my phone—every bark, whine, and scratch. The next morning, while Diane slept, I placed my speaker against her bedroom wall and blasted the recording. Then I went out for coffee. When I got back, Diane was furious, demanding to know why I’d played “that noise.” I smiled and said I thought she’d enjoy hearing Buddy’s hard work. Her jaw dropped, and she promised to fix it.
That night, the house was silent. The next day, Diane announced they were moving to Tom’s sister’s place. I waved them off, thrilled with the quiet. Later, I learned Buddy was in training for his “nighttime issues.” Now, he’s a model guest during visits. Sometimes, the best way to solve a problem is to make sure everyone shares it.
