My bedroom window looks out over the tiny little backyard of the duplex I live in. Beyond the official yard is a line of trees, and beyond that is extensive wetlands. When I first moved in I took a walk around the first little bit of the wetland. I was so overcome with dread and abstract fear that I actually fled back to the safety of the duplex.

One night I saw bright red and purple lights emanating from the backyard. It was bright enough that it lit up my bedroom even with the drapes closed. The neighbor’s dog barked so fiercely that the whole neighborhood awoke. They rose such a calamity of shouting that no one even noticed that the dog was gone until the next morning. The dog house was overturned and there was a thick, slimy trail of foul smelling goo. Oddly, there were two distinct, perfect circles of pulled dog hair left behind.

While everyone who saw the lights shuddered at the implications, my neighbors have informed me that they plan to buy a new puppy.