When my MIL moved in for a month, I had no clue her tiny mixed dog would spend each night howling outside my bedroom. I asked her to handle him, but she just laughed and said: “Sounds like your problem, not his.” Oh really? That’s when I decided it was time to make it her issue.
I expected it to be tough living with my MIL for a month while their house was getting redone, but I never thought her dog would be the biggest nuisance.
I adore dogs, but Linda’s little mutt, Max, was one of those anxious purse-sized ones who think anyone looking at their owner too long is dangerous.
And Linda was the kind of person who insisted Max was her emotional support dog, even though she had no papers or any real condition that would need one.
Linda and Gerald showed up on Sunday.
My husband led them to the guest room, and I made small talk about their trip while we had dinner.
Meanwhile, Max crept around my house like a tiny commander checking out his new space.
Every now and then, he’d growl at absolutely nothing — a table leg, a moving shadow… the offense of me existing.
“He’s just adjusting to everything,” Linda said while rubbing behind his ears. “Aren’t you, sweet boy? You’re such a strong little guardian!”
I just nodded and smiled.
After dinner, I got ready for another long night shift at the hospital.
“You really shouldn’t work such strange hours,” Linda said as I threw a pack of Goldfish crackers in my bag for later.
“It comes with the job,” I answered. “People needing emergency surgery don’t wait until morning.”
She gave a sharp little “hmmf” and placed Max’s dinner on the floor.
I let it go and left for work.
When I got back hours later, Max growled as I made my way upstairs, but ran off to his bed when I softly told him to hush.
I collapsed into bed next to my husband, worn out.
It felt like I had barely closed my eyes when an explosion of noise jolted me awake right outside my room.
WOOF! WOOF! WOOF!
I sat up straight, heart pounding, as Max started what I could only call a rage concert.
His deep, wild howls rattled the walls. Occasionally, he threw in sharp barks that could wake the whole block. He clawed at the door like he was escaping a fire.
I glanced at my husband, who was snoring peacefully — clearly, Max’s version of the end times wasn’t bothering him.
The noise dragged on for over an hour. It sounded like a pack of wolves, not one little lapdog.
Just when I thought he was winding down, Max started again, more fired up than before.
At 2:17 a.m., I tiptoed to the door and leaned against it.
Through the wood, I heard Linda’s sleepy voice calling, “Max, sweetie, come back to bed.”
Did he stop? Of course not. If anything, her voice just revved him up for a dramatic finale.
Finally, blissfully, at 3 a.m., the house went quiet.
I nearly cried. But my alarm was set to ring in three hours, and I had to work again.
Ever tried working in a hospital on three hours of sleep? It’s like walking through a fog.
Night two? Worse.
Max began his usual midnight song on cue, but this time added new tricks. He clawed at the floor and whimpered between barks like he was being tortured.
I swear, he threw himself at the door like a tiny wrecking ball.
By morning, I looked like I belonged on the set of a zombie movie. I stumbled into the kitchen where Linda was cheerfully sipping coffee.
“Morning, sweetheart! You look exhausted.”
You look exhausted. Like she had no clue why.
I poured coffee and took a long breath.
“Linda, I was wondering if maybe Max could sleep in your room at night? He’s been… really loud out in the hall.”
She blinked with wide eyes. “Loud? What do you mean?”
“The barking. All night. Right outside my door.”
Her face shifted, and I could see her putting her walls up.
“Oh, that. Well, maybe it’s your odd schedule. Max isn’t used to people coming home late, and he’s just being protective. You should be thankful he’s so aware.”
Thankful. I stared at her, wondering if she was serious. “I’m thankful for many things, Linda. Just not the three hours of sleep I’m not getting.”
She laughed. Actually laughed. Like my lack of sleep was comedy gold.
“Well, that sounds like your issue, not his.”
There it was. The final straw, placed carefully on the breakfast table between her coffee and that smug smile.
Challenge accepted.
That third night, as Max started his usual demonic chorus, I did something I should’ve done earlier.
I sat up, grabbed my phone, and hit record.
I caught every bark, howl, whimper, and scratch in glorious high-def audio.
But I wasn’t done.
Next morning at exactly 6:30 a.m. — when Linda and Max had finally dozed off after their nightly chaos — I placed my Bluetooth speaker against our shared wall.
I hit play.
Max’s greatest hits blasted through the house, pumped through high-end speakers at full blast.
And me? I grabbed my keys and went out for coffee.
When I got home around 9:30, the house was quiet. Their door was closed, and I heard whispered arguments behind it — urgent, tense whispers that made me grin as I walked by.
That evening, I barely stepped inside when Linda stormed into the kitchen like a storm in floral fabric.
“ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND?” she yelled. “You seriously blasted that awful racket while we were sleeping?!”
I set my purse down and smiled sweetly. “What awful racket? I was playing Max’s nighttime performance. You said he was being protective — I figured you’d want to hear it.”
Her jaw dropped. “That’s not… that’s completely different!”
“Is it?” I tilted my head, acting innocent. “You don’t enjoy hearing him protect us?”
Linda turned bright red.
“This is nonsense. You’re being unreasonable. Do you want us to leave or something?”
“Leave? Oh no. I just thought you missed me so much you trained Max to bark all night until I got home. I felt honored.”
She opened and closed her mouth like a confused fish. For once, she had no comeback.
“Fine,” she said through clenched teeth. “Fine. We’ll… we’ll sort it out.”
That night, for the first time in days, the house was silent. No barking. No scratching. No dog tantrums.
The next morning, I woke up on my own, no alarm, no chaos — just sunshine and peace.
And… the sound of suitcases?
I walked over to the guest room. The door was open.
Linda was angrily stuffing clothes into her bags while Gerald packed with perfect neatness.
“Heading out already?” I asked.
“Plans changed,” Linda said. “Gerald’s sister begged us to stay with her instead. She loves Max. And she’s closer.”
“I see,” I replied. “Well, it was a pleasure having you. Truly. So… enlightening.”
Twenty minutes later, I waved from the driveway as they drove off.
The house felt peaceful for the first time in days — like calm after a storm.
Two weeks later, my sister-in-law casually mentioned that Linda had signed Max up for some kind of behavior course.
Apparently, he had “nighttime anxiety” that was disturbing everyone.
Funny, huh? Max never acted up again during any of their later visits.
In fact, he became a perfect guest — quiet, calm, and free of his nighttime meltdowns.
Sometimes, the best way to fix a problem… is to make sure everyone gets a taste of it.
