housemate hostilities

I confess: I have hate in my heart for Humo, the dog I live with.

Last Sunday, Carlos made a beautiful sandwich with serrano ham, salami, smoked goat cheese, and sliced tomato, and Humo ate it.

We left the sandwich unguarded for two minutes, during which time he sneaked into my room and finished with it. But he didn't just gorge the sandwich wholesale. Nope, he carefully picked off the serrano ham, leaving the bread, tomatoes, cheese, and salami.

If this was his first and only offense, then I might have sighed and moved on. But tension between us had been mounting for weeks. Eating my food was the last straw. His incessant and insane barking at dogs who dare to walk on any street within his view, his daily intrusions into my room to patrol for whoknowswhat, his eating and making a general mess of discarded tissue paper in my trash receptacle, his high-pitched yelps whenever anyone rings the doorbell (leaving one unable to hear the visitor on the intercom), his aggressive grumblings whenever anyone attempts to leave the apartment — I'm fed up.

Agreed, he is one cute miniature schnauzer. But I have developed repugnance for cute miniature schnauzers (and quickly spreading to dogs of all breeds).

I have been giving Humo the silent treatment, which probably makes me feel worse than him. I hope we will settle our disagreement soon. After all, I am not a child and he is only a dog.