Problems With My Apartment

An ongoing feature at suddenlystruttin: Problems With My Apartment, wherein, I bitch and moan about why my apartment sucks. Today is part two and the topic is my neighbor's rescue pit bull.

My downstairs neighbor, we'll call her "Linda," moved into my apartment building at the beginning of September and for the first month everything was Fonzie between us. I'd see her in passing in the stairwell, say, "Hi," she'd say, "Hi," and we'd both continue on our merry ways. Fast forward a month and I see Linda heading off somewhere and I ask, "Where are you going?" "Oh, I'm going to pick up the dog I'm adopting from a rescue shelter." "That's nice," and we both continue on our merry ways. Later that day when I get home, Linda is outside with what appeared to be a roided-up pot-bellied pig that had fur scotch taped to its skin and ferociously over-sized incisors soldered to its mouth. "I see you went with a pit bull," says I, upon witnessing this behemoth. "Yeah, nobody wanted poor Bob, here, so, I took him home," says Linda. "Hey, that's great," says I, even though my brain is wondering where I placed my .45 Magnum, just in case the beast goes on a rampage inside the building.
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SOME TIME LATER...
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The Bob Experiment is a complete disaster and Linda seems to be completely unwilling or unable to do anything about it. In no uncertain terms here are my problems with Bob:

1) He barks incessantly whenever Linda leaves her apartment. If she's gone for a mere five minutes than it's a relatively brief nuisance. If she's gone for upwards of five or six hours at a time, as she often is, than it's a much more difficult thing to cope with.
1. a) Due to Linda's prolonged absence from her apartment, Bob occasionally shits in her apartment. Thus stinking up the entire stairwell. Now, I'm only in the stairwell for an incredibly brief period of time, a max of two minutes a day, but FUCK! YOUR DOG IS MAKING THE WHOLE FUCKING FLAT WREAK OF SHIT!


After these two troubling facts were brought up, I've really begun to empathize with Michael Vick, not on the dog-fighting, per se, but with the dog-killing? Yes. Absolutely. This measure may seem Draconian by most of your standards; but the frequency with which Bob begins barking at 6:30 every morning has forced me to completely reevaluate my ethics system. Originally I would stop by Linda's apartment and say something along the lines of, "Hey, your dog is barking, can you get a muzzle for him?" Now, upon being awoke by the dog after more than likely already being awoken by the "monster in the back" once that night, I think about how much fun it'd be to smash Bob's dumb dog face in with a cast-iron skillet.