The Party that Tore up the Street

Night before last I came home at 11PM to find three bulldozers put-putting and several jack hammers rat-tatting in front of my building.  The workers had come prepared.  Flood lights transformed night into day and illuminated the destruction that was already underway.  I did a jig.  The road was blocked off, which meant an entire auto sonido-free night.  Still, there was Poochini to think about.  He looked at me with yellow eyeballs.  His little bladder was overflowing.  A walk was required.  It was up and down the five flights of stairs for us, Poochini hacking like a smoker all the way.  At ground level, neighbors lined the sidewalk, watching the show.  My neighborhood doesn't need a reason to party, a realization which had prompted me to institute the Sleeping-in-the-Living-Room-on-the-Pullout-Sofa policy at the beginning of September.  Poochini has since become the most pampered pooch around.  He has inherited for a dog bed my queen-sized pillow top mattress, which occupies the street-facing (noise-filled) bedroom.  While the new policy hasn't done wonders for his cough, the peace of mind engendered by uninterrupted sleep has done wonders for myself.  Even when jack hammers at midnight are involved.