Clarks live at the end of the street, where it turns. They're fine people. They have dogs. Every night the beagle howls. It's a bark, but it sounds like a howl. If you live near here, you have heard it.
How can a dog carry on for hours? I ask. But I can't answer. Why not howl in the daytime? I ask, not that I would enjoy it then.
What I am saying is that the dog howls for hours on end every night, wee hours.
The other day my neighbor Ron said the beagle was sauntering (not his word and not something I can see a beagle doing, but . . . ) down the street at 3 a.m. and howling, too. Ron's sleep was disturbed, obviously, as mine was last night and has been before. (That is, when I can actually sleep. But that is another story.)
Ron said he didn't want to knock on the Clarks' door at that hour, and I thought he was very considerate of their sleep, but before I could finish the thought, he said, "I didn't want to get shot." Yes, Clarks also have guns.
Maybe I should change the names to protect . . . oh well.
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