Howling

9:30 the dog howls. Chained to the porch, rain dripping from the links, he howls. Like the Lady and the Tramp dog, he's sad, lonely, dying.
But it's every day. My bed up in the bay window, big white comforter and king-sized pillows and Beach Sand-and-Japanese Maple walls, he intrudes. The outside world comes in. Howling, knocking, crying.