A Word From the Weiss

        My husband and I spend so much time together, especially now that he’s working at home often to prevent me from blowing out both my brains and those of our spirited new puppy – not necessarily in that order – that it’s hard to find much to talk about. So I was excited when I remembered something that I’d forgotten to tell him over the weekend.
        “Oh, here’s something that will interest you,” I began.
        “Is it about sex?” he replied eagerly, suddenly all ears.
        I can't say what prompted his remark, since the number of times a year I choose to spontaneously begin bantering with my husband about sex is approximately none. So unfortunately, it wasn’t. And neither is this. But now that I’ve presumably gotten your attention, I hope this is something that will interest you at least a bit. In fact, if you have any suggestions for me, I would love to hear them. Because I could really use some advice.
        Beyond being a devoted mother, reliable-to-the-max friend, passably decent wife and reasonably responsible citizen of the planet, I like to think of myself as a pretty nice neighbor.  And since moving to our current house, 13 years ago, we’ve had mostly amicable dealings with all the people on our block. But when we decided to get that spirited new puppy two weeks ago, I knew there was going to be a serious problem.
        It wasn’t a question of our little darling relieving herself on adjoining properties (although there was an unfortunate confrontation several years ago when one neighbor mistakenly thought that our previous dog had left a sizable deposit on his driveway, and he threatened me irately with what sounded like serious bodily harm).
        It wasn’t about our dog disturbing the peace (we’re not the sorts of oblivious dolts who let our pets become a public nuisance by staying outside barking for hours).
        And it wasn’t about her biting the mailman (like Zoe, our last dog, Latke already seems to be a sucker for these men in uniform, thanks in no small part to their tendency to dispense Milkbones along with the mail).
        The problem is that, despite my interminable kvetching about how she has curtailed my freedom and sabotaged my life, our new puppy is exceedingly cute. Irrepressibly cute. Irresistibly cute. Or so she is proving to one neighbor in particular.
        When we first moved in, 13 years ago, we discovered that one of our neighbors was arguably the nicest person in the world. OK, maybe we weren’t living next door to Mother Teresa, but pretty damn close. “Meg” was not just a former Peace Corps volunteer and longtime nurse, but the sort of selfless and incomparably kind woman who’d opted to become a single mother by adopting a special needs child from abroad.
        That child, “Rosalita,” was 7 or 8 at the time and an affable and gregarious girl. Maybe a little too affable and gregarious. Starting from the first day, she began visiting us almost round-the-clock, routinely just waltzing into our house without even knocking.
        I must confess that I wondered at times why Meg was lax enough to let the girl wander around unsupervised, riding her bicycle up and down the block and paying such house calls at will. But I could only imagine how much effort it took to manage a child alone, let alone a child with special needs. I admired her boundless decency and unwavering geniality and wasn’t about to complain to her or cast any aspersions.
        I don’t remember if we ever got up our nerve to say something overt to her, or if Meg saw what was happening herself and took charge of the situation. But eventually those incessant house calls largely abated. We remained on good terms, exchanging pleasantries whenever we met on the street, and all was well between our households.
        Until two weeks ago, that is.
        Over the years, Rosalita would often wander over to visit our previous dog (just as, I must confess, Zoe often wandered into their yard, although they never complained). An obvious animal lover, Rosalita invariably played delightedly and fairly gently with Zoe, who was always happy to see her. A few years ago, Meg gave in to the girl’s pleas and finally allowed her to get a dog of her own. But with Meg’s long hours at work, the animal was left out in the yard for much of the day, and began to bark relentlessly. I don’t know if other neighbors made a fuss – we certainly didn’t – but within a year it was gone.
        And so within a couple of days of our new pup’s recent arrival, Rosalita was back.
        With our own children now grown and off on their own, we no longer keep the doors unlocked so that they can come and go at will. So she can’t just saunter in. But she still turns up several times daily, peering through the sliding glass door that leads to our back yard or knocking loudly, asking if she can come in to visit Latke again.
        The first time she arrived, I welcomed her warmly, encouraging her to play with the puppy while I was cooking for Passover and even letting her help give the dog a bath. But my husband has been less than thrilled about the innumerable intrusions. This past Sunday, she came over seven or eight times. And when he would tell her -- gently at first, but later not so gently; rather gruffly, in fact – that this wasn’t a good time, she’d quickly depart, only to return within 20 minutes to see if it was a better time now.
        I argued with him at first that he was being cruel and insensitive, and that it wasn’t such an imposition to have the girl visit, since it was giving her such pleasure. But I came to regret this stance. When I insisted on letting her in Sunday morning, she got the dog so riled up that we then couldn’t get her down for her much-needed morning nap. That may sound like no big deal, but it largely ruined the day. When Latke becomes overtired, she grows manic and starts nipping, yipping and racing around uncontrollably. She drove us crazy for hours.
        I also must admit that Rosalita undermines our painstaking efforts to train the animal, who’s just learning how to behave and is in the throes of teething right now. We’re trying to break her of her nasty nipping habit, but Rosalita just lets her gnaw away on her fingers, and after she leaves Latke is totally wired and starts doing it savagely to me. Of course I worry that the dog might hurt her, but I also feel a bit frustrated that Rosalita either continually disregards me or simply can’t manage to do something as simple as give the dog a toy or bone to sink her teeth into instead of her own flesh.
        I realize it’s probably absurd for me to expect the girl to heed my instructions, although Rosalita, now 20, is no longer a child. She clearly grasps what I’m saying; she just can’t seem to follow through at all. She also understandably doesn’t get normal social signals or have the slightest notion of what’s within the realm of reasonable amounts of contact.
        On Monday morning, when my husband first opened the garage door to take Latke out, he found Rosalita standing there waiting. It was just past 7 a.m. She popped over again about 30 minutes later. He apparently told her she shouldn’t visit during the week because I work at home and can't be distracted. That discouraged her... for a few hours. Yet she still tapped on our door again just after 7 p.m. as I was putting the finishing touches on dinner.
        I told her we were about to have supper, but it was fine for her to come in for five minutes, until we were ready to eat. My husband, I’d say, looked daggers at me, but it was actually more like carving knives.
        Where is her mom during all of this? She still remains in my mind among the nicest people in the world, even if she lets the girl wander around without apparent restriction and does nothing to intervene in this burgeoning comedy of terrors.
        Why, you might be wondering, doesn’t she? I’m probably, at least in part, to blame. The first time that Rosalita wandered over, Meg soon came by to retrieve her, clearly concerned that she might be overstaying her welcome. But trying to be a good and understanding neighbor, I assured her that Rosalita was welcome and that she was even helping me by entertaining the dog while I prepared for my holiday guests.
        So now it appears that we will be entertaining Rosalita day and night, indefinitely.
        I’ve always made it a point to be kind to her, letting her play basketball in our driveway and instantly complying when she asks me, as she often does, to move a car that’s parked near the hoop, even if I’m right in the middle of writing or doing something else. But it’s one thing to let her amuse herself in our yard and another to let her become a constant house guest.
        And even if I want to be neighborly and don’t mind her coming by so often, my husband clearly does. Her visits proliferate during the weekend, when she’s out of school… and he’s home from work. Can I really let her needs take precedence over his?
        Although he’s inclined to say something to Meg about it, I keep urging him to wait. My hope is that she will eventually take notice herself and intervene. Or that perhaps the irresistible allure and novelty of our adorable new arrival gradually will begin to wane. Yet that seems far from likely to happen anytime soon, and I worry that before it does my husband will explode and say something so hostile to Rosalita that she will report back to Meg… and our long-amicable relationship will no longer be quite so neighborly.
        He has suggested telling Rosalita that she must call us before she comes over. I seriously doubt that would work. Nor would it prevent him from hurting her feelings, because when he answers the phone, the answer to “Can I come over?” will invariably be “No.”
        I've also considered setting up some sort of a schedule that would be kind to her and convenient for us. For example, she could be welcome to come over at the same time for a short visit every afternoon or evening. But the fact is that our lives aren’t that predictable. And you can’t schedule a puppy and its naps and moods any more than you can schedule, say, rain.
        Maybe I’m ridiculous to hesitate to confront Meg, however gently it might be done. But in 13 years I have never once complained about Rosalita. Neither have we ever invited the two of them over for dinner – something I feel extremely guilty about – although they’ve had us over for large open house-style parties countless times on New Year’s Day and other occasions.
        Perhaps the best answer is to invite them both over for a nice barbecue at long last and hope that the subject comes up, at which point we could be diplomatic, yet frank.
        My friend Liz counseled that I sweetly ask Rosalita to stop coming over so much and offer to bring the dog over to her yard for frequent visits instead. That, at least, would spare my husband and help to restore shalom bayit (“peace in the household”) here.
        Our longtime dog sitter, Pet Nanny, cut right to the bone and advised that we prevent the girl from visiting anymore entirely. She says we need to explain to Meg that we're training the dog and simply can't have anyone around her who reinforces bad behavior. After all, we wouldn't allow a guest to feed our pet at the table just because they wanted to (something I made the mistake of doing with Zoe and lived to regret for years).
        In fact, we began puppy training classes this week and have already managed to get her to sit. No more biting, my sore fingers can only hope, isn't far behind.
         Whatever we decide, we need to do something because this is becoming an exasperating situation. So I’m open to other suggestions. I want to be a good neighbor. I want to be politically correct. But I also want to be a good puppy mom, passably decent wife, and reasonably responsible citizen of the planet.
        Mostly, I want to figure out some tactful way to resolve this little dilemma before I blow my brains out, or those of our spirited new puppy… not necessarily in that order.