[ WP ] Your dog was barking for 15 minutes . Then you hear a whimper . Then you hear it yelp .

I glare up at the ceiling, too drained to move. The incessant barking is almost too much to tolerate but I can not react, I will not reward her bad behaviour. This has become a nightly ritual for Lucy since moving here three days ago and I think it ’ s beginning to drive me insane. The first night took me by surprise; I've had her since she was a pup and the clamour was so out of character I had become paranoid of things creeping through the hallway and ended up sleeping on the sofa. 
 
 The next day was happy and bright, Lucy was happy and bright. I walked her through the woods that surrounded our small abode and wandered through countless meadows and dirt tracks. We spent hours running and playing - her tail never stopped moving. Thoroughly exhausted from exploring, the remainder of the day had been spent indoors and the day slipped by peacefully. Night fell, I went to my room and she began again. It dawned on me that perhaps she was anxious of the space between us, before I had rented a cramped flat on the outskirts of the town I had grown up in. Lucy slept at the foot of my bed, my furry radiator never failed me when I could n't afford heating in the colder months. 
 
 I was greeted the next morning by an unholy amount of dog vomit and a less than energetic Lucy. I'd called my old vets then and been pacified by the explanation that the stress of the move had gotten to her. Made sense, all I had to do was not encourage the barking. So after a savage cleaning session we set out again following new paths and discovering fields of pastel coloured flowers. We played a little and returned somewhat earlier than the previous day. Her meals went by without a resulting sickness and I was falling ever so slightly in love with the house. 
 
 Night. Barking. Morning. Vomit. Today was just the same. 
 
 So here I am, the fourth night - or fifth morning, at four to fucking three -trying to figure out the secret to sleep. Her nails are clicking on the wooden floorboards outside my room, it seems she's taken to pacing around. She's back in the front room now. A whimper. I try to ignore it but I visualise the vomit I'll have to face later and realise that I'm normally asleep at this time. Two minutes to three. I sigh feeling guilty for ignoring her needs in favour of sleep and start to reluctantly sit up. A distressed yelp has me sitting bolt upright and I'm suddenly very cold. 
 
 Silence. 
 
 The thumping of nails against the floorboards once again ensues; I know it ’ s not Lucy. My sheets are wet with sweat and piss. I don ’ t care. 
 
 It ’ s outside the door.
