It seemed the neighbors had been waiting for the barking dog’s batteries to wear out. Michael knew about dogs. He knew the batteries would not wear out. He knew about barking dogs, about biting dogs, about dogs you lay your head on during sunny days. This was not one of those dogs. This was a barking dog. The barks would continue to echo through his thick skull for years. His batteries would not wear out; they would wear a hole of shame through his owners who would then take him to the dog pound because he was a bad dog.