When my mother-in-law moved in for a month, I knew it would be a little stressful. What I didn’t expect was that her tiny mixed-breed dog would spend every single night howling outside my bedroom door like some haunted spirit.
I begged her to do something about it. You know what she did? She laughed in my face.
“Sounds like your problem, not his,” she said with a smirk.
Oh really? That’s when I decided… if it was my problem, I’d make sure it became her problem too.
Linda and her husband Gerald moved in because their house was being renovated. I’d mentally prepared myself for a month of awkward small talk, shared space, and maybe a few passive-aggressive comments.
What I hadn’t prepared for was Max.
Max was Linda’s dog—a tiny, shaky little mixed-breed with the attitude of a lion and the nerves of a scared kitten. He strutted into my house like he owned the place, sniffing every corner and glaring at me like I’d broken in.
Linda liked to call Max her emotional support animal. Not because she had a medical condition or paperwork or anything. Just because, well, she wanted to.
“He’s such a good protector,” she said sweetly that first night, rubbing his ears. “Aren’t you, Maxie? You take such good care of Mommy.”
Meanwhile, Max was growling at my coffee table. Literally. Just the furniture existing offended him.
That evening, I got ready for my night shift at the hospital. I tossed a pack of Goldfish into my bag and zipped it up while Linda sipped tea at the kitchen table.
“You really shouldn’t be working such odd hours,” she commented, wrinkling her nose.
I smiled politely. “Emergency surgeries don’t exactly happen on a 9-to-5 schedule.”
She just let out this little “Hmmf,” and went to put Max’s dinner down like I hadn’t said anything worth hearing.
I came home hours later, exhausted, dragging my feet up the stairs. Max growled at me like I was an intruder. I whispered, “Hush,” and he skittered off to his bed.
I climbed into bed next to my husband, finally, finally ready for some sleep.
But oh no. Max had plans.
WOOF! WOOF! HOWWWWL!
I jolted awake, heart pounding like a drum. Max was standing right outside my bedroom door, singing the song of his people.
The barks were loud. The howls were guttural. The scratching at the door? It sounded like a horror movie. Like he was trying to dig his way into my room.
I turned to my husband. Dead asleep. He could’ve slept through an earthquake.
It went on for an hour. Every time I thought Max was done, he found a new note to screech. At 2:17 a.m., I heard Linda’s groggy voice call out, “Max, honey, come back to bed.”
That only inspired him. He barked louder, like she had given him permission to go full drama.
By 3:00 a.m., silence finally returned. I was so relieved I almost cried. But my alarm was set for 6:00 a.m., and I had another shift to survive.
Have you ever worked a medical shift on three hours of sleep? It’s like walking through molasses while juggling chainsaws.
The second night? Worse.
Max started howling right on schedule, but this time he added whimpering and a strange thudding noise, like he was throwing his tiny body against the door.
By the time the sun came up, I looked like I’d been dragged backward through a zombie apocalypse.
I walked into the kitchen like a ghost. Linda was there, humming cheerfully while stirring her coffee.
“Good morning, sweetheart!” she chirped. “You look tired.”
You think?
I poured myself a mug of coffee and took a long breath.
“Linda,” I began, “I was wondering if you could maybe keep Max in your room at night? He’s been, um… really active in the hallway.”
Her eyes went wide. “Active? What do you mean?”
“The barking,” I said gently. “All night. Right outside my door.”
She blinked, then straightened her back. “Well, maybe you shouldn’t be working those hours,” she said coldly. “Max isn’t used to people coming and going in the middle of the night. He’s just protecting his family.”
“Right,” I said, trying to stay calm. “It’s just… hard to work when I can’t sleep.”
She actually laughed. Like I’d just told the funniest joke in the world.
“Well, that sounds like your problem, not his.”
Oh. It was on.
That night, as Max began his usual howling, I didn’t shout. I didn’t open the door. I didn’t beg.
I reached for my phone… and hit record.
I recorded everything. Every bark. Every scratch. Every little yip and soul-piercing wail that came from that furry menace.
And then I waited.
At 6:30 a.m., just when Linda and Max had finally fallen asleep, I placed my Bluetooth speaker against the shared wall between our rooms… and pressed play.
Max’s chaos blared through the wall at full volume. It was glorious. Like giving Linda a taste of her own medicine—but surround sound.
And me? I grabbed my keys, went out for coffee, and enjoyed the most peaceful cappuccino I’d had in days.
When I came back around 9:30, the house was so quiet it felt abandoned. But behind Linda and Gerald’s door, I heard whispers. Sharp, angry whispers.
I smiled and tiptoed away.
That evening, the second I stepped inside, Linda came stomping into the kitchen, her face burning red.
“ARE YOU INSANE?!” she shouted. “You played that awful noise while we were trying to sleep?!”
I set down my bag calmly and smiled. “What awful noise? I was just playing Max’s midnight performance. Thought you’d like to hear how alert he really is.”
She looked like she might explode. “That’s not—That’s different!”
“Is it?” I tilted my head like I was confused. “I thought you said I should be grateful for how protective he is.”
Her mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again. She had nothing.
“This is ridiculous. You’re being unreasonable,” she snapped. “It’s almost like… like you want us to leave!”
I smiled wider. “Oh no, Linda. I thought you were just missing me at night. I figured Max was barking so I’d feel loved.”
She stood there, fuming, absolutely speechless for the first time in ever.
“Fine,” she finally muttered. “We’ll… figure something out.”
That night, for the first time in four days, Max was silent.
No howling. No scratching. No door-bashing. Just beautiful, blissful silence.
I woke up naturally the next morning. No alarm. No barking. Just sunlight streaming in through the curtains… and the distant sound of zippers?
I peeked down the hall and saw Linda stuffing clothes into her suitcase like she was fighting it. Gerald was folding shirts with military focus.
“Leaving already?” I asked, sipping my coffee.
Linda didn’t look up. “Change of plans. Gerald’s sister begged us to come stay with her. She adores Max. And she’s closer to our house.”
“I understand,” I said, with the calm of someone who had finally won a battle. “It was so nice having you here. Really. Very… educational.”
Twenty minutes later, I waved as their car disappeared down the street.
The house felt like a dream after they left—quiet, peaceful, like the air itself was relaxing.
Two weeks later, my sister-in-law mentioned in passing that Linda had enrolled Max in some kind of behavioral training.
“Apparently,” she said, “he had nighttime anxiety that was disrupting the whole house.”
Funny how that worked out.
Max never barked at night again. In fact, the next time Linda and Gerald came to visit, he barely made a sound. He slept peacefully, acted polite, and didn’t throw himself against any doors.
Sometimes, the best way to solve a problem… is to make sure everyone experiences it equally.
