Every dog lover should read this. We believed we had left things on a high note after selling our pristine, cherished house… Every dog lover should read this. After selling our charming property, we were surprised to receive a letter from the new owners accusing our “stinky” dogs of carpet damage and asking $10K in compensation. The plan my husband and I had for them was different.
Melanie, until last year, thought the toughest aspect of selling a property was saying goodbye to memories. The toughest aspect is dealing with entitled purchasers who believe your life—and money—should continue serving them after the transaction.
Our Maple Grove Heights smart house took Marcus and me three years to complete. All surfaces sparkled, gadgets operated well.
Our pets Nala and Pepper were handled royally. Those canines lived better than half the city with weekly spa grooming, healthy food, and soft beds bigger than most sofas.
That home was their palace—they were our infants, not pets.
When we downsized due to Marcus’s work transfer, we treated the transaction like a religious event. Everything was cleaned—deep cleaning, carpet steaming, air duct sanitization. I had the cleaners return again to ensure perfection.
“You know, Mel,” Marcus observed during our last inspection, dragging his palm over the kitchen counter, “this place smells like a five-star spa.”
“Better than spa!” A chuckle. “At least Nala and Pepper won’t judge the new owners’ yoga poses.”
We proudly handed over the keys, thinking we had done everything perfectly.
Three weeks later, the world tested our patience with “Vegan Barbie and CrossFit Ken.”
The mail came as I had my morning cappuccino. Hidden amid the invoices was a cream envelope with our former address in swirling, self-important handwriting.
A crazy note inside almost broke my coffee cup from astonishment.
Dear Ex-Homeowners,
Our relocation is official, and wow. The smell! Your dogs destroyed this space’s vibe. The carpet stinks. Strong odor prevents me from finishing daily breathwork or spiritual flow.
We had to remove all carpets immediately. Energy was poisonous. This was not our kennel cost.
For repairing the carpet and our emotional suffering, we want $10,000. As homeowners, we have standards.
Many thanks, Mrs. Harper.
P.S. My spouse believes it’s harming his CrossFit recovery.”
Read it once. Then again. I repeated it three times as my skepticism deepened with each syllable. I rang Marcus immediately.
“Babe, see this now.”
Marcus spotted my look in the kitchen and inquired, “Did Pepper eat your favorite slippers again?”
“Worse.” I gave him letter.
His countenance changed from perplexity to wrath to a terrifying calm that signaled trouble.
“Ten thousand dollars?” he shouted. “For a nonexistent smell? From two clowns?”
“Apparently, our dogs ruined her aura and CrossFit recovery.”
That’s lavish. Are we their own customer support hotline?
I immediately phoned Carla, our realtor. She laughed, undoubtedly detecting my rage over the phone.
“Carla, the Harpers want $10K because the house smells like dogs.”
Carla almost choked on laughter. I was at that home every week for months, honey. Fresh lemon and victory were the only smells. They want to swindle you.”
“What should we do?”
“You tell them to shove that demand. You owe them nothing.”
After hanging up, I went to Marcus to compose an angry letter. He was already at his laptop, fingers racing over the keys with a cheeky twinkle I hadn’t seen since Pepper stole a Thanksgiving turkey.
You’re doing what?
Marcus smiled wickedly while looking up. Remember we never disconnected the smart home app?
“Oh my God… Marcus, you thinking?
“I’m thinking Vegan Barbie and CrossFit Ken should learn that a smart house has smart consequences.”
That night, Marcus started his masterpiece: subtle sabotage.
First, he raised the temperature three degrees at 2 a.m. to make their peaceful slumber seem like Bikram yoga.
Are you certain? Half-joking, half-worried, I asked
They wanted $10K for imagined dog ghosts, Mel. Introducing a new spiritual challenge. They may find enlightenment via heat exhaustion.”
The first call arrived the next morning.
“This is Mrs. Harper!” she yelled. “This thermostat is broken. We woke up sweaty! Sodden husband’s headband! Our bamboo sheets’ destroyed!”
“Oh, dear,” I said pleasantly. Maybe your chakras are overheating. Have you tried deep, cooling breaths?
Line quieted.
Night two: Marcus lowered the temperature to near-Arctic levels at 4 a.m., during their deepest sleep cycle.
The following day, another panic call.
Your home attempted to freeze us! We shivered awake! My spouse looked like a broken lawn ornament with frozen joints! He couldn’t perform downward dog this morning!”
“How unusual,” I remarked. The house may be communicating. Negative energy affects houses, you know.”
Marcus mastered his craft by night three. A sauna at midnight, an icebox at morning, and rainforest-level humidity during midday meditation. His painful symphony was private.
Daily, Mrs. Harper’s calls got increasingly urgent and chaotic.
“This thermostat is owned! Unable to sleep! My hubby is too dehydrated to perform his CrossFit cooldown! My spiritual alignment is broken!”
I laughed and remarked that the home may be haunted by dog ghosts.
Two weeks later, Carla phoned to update.
Three HVAC technicians were employed. Nobody understood why the system kept changing. See this… Mrs. Harper now thinks your pets’ ‘ghosts’ plague the home. She burns sage in every room, and her husband sleeps in the garage for his ‘masculine energy flow.’
Marcus practically fell off his chair laughing. Dog spirits haunting their thermostat? Nala and Pepper would be proud.”
Carla phoned again:
“They finally reset the system and banned you from the app.”
“Aww,” I sighed. “Just when I was enjoying our daily entertainment.”
“But here’s the best part,” Carla said. “Mrs. Harper wants a spiritual cleanser to banish pet ghosts and a masculine energy healer for her husband.”
“No, she didn’t…”
“She definitely did!”
Six months later, I met Mrs. Harper at Whole Foods. Indoors, she appeared like a withered plant with sage bunches and huge eyeglasses.
“Oh… it’s you,” she murmured, shakily.
“Hello! You doing well with the house?
A chill ran through her. “Mostly fine, but sometimes I feel a presence.”
“Well,” I grinned, touching her shoulder, “maybe next time don’t demand $10K for imaginary dog smells. You never know when a fuzzy spirit may visit.”
She stood dumbfounded as I left, thinking Nala and Pepper would have approved.
They welcomed me as usually at home, tails wagging, eyes gleaming, naively oblivious of their newfound role as legendary “ghost guardians.”
I gazed at Marcus as Nala tore up a noisy toy that night.
You know what I learned? Grinning, I said. Avoid folks who treat their pets like family. Never meddle with smart home app holders.”
Marcus lifted his cup. “To Nala, Pepper, and the greatest poetic revenge!”
Karma sometimes needs a nudge. Sometimes it’s a thermostat, a smart app, and two ghostly dogs. Good men and pups always win.
