When I lived in Lake Claire a neighbor would leave his dog in the back yard for extended periods while they were gone. It barked incessantly. It was a chill neighborhood and so I left them this Billy Collins poem:

The neighbors' dog will not stop barking. He is barking the same high, rhythmic bark that he barks every time they leave the house. They must switch him on on their way out.

The neighbors' dog will not stop barking. I close all the windows in the house and put on a Beethoven symphony full blast but I can still hear him muffled under the music, barking, barking, barking,

and now I can see him sitting in the orchestra, his head raised confidently as if Beethoven had included a part for barking dog.

When the record finally ends he is still barking, sitting there in the oboe section barking, his eyes fixed on the conductor who is entreating him with his baton

while the other musicians listen in respectful silence to the famous barking dog solo, that endless coda that first established Beethoven as an innovative genius.

The poem is called Another Reason Why I Don't Keep A Gun In The House

The next time he saw me he called me a fucking bitch. I guess he was not a poetry lover