The dogs were fenced in the back of his house, so I had no fear about entering his front yard. I knocked and when I didn't receive an answer, I knocked again. The door cracked open and there through the door jam was Mr. Porter's nose.
"Hello, I'm Clarissa, your neighbor. May I talk to you about your dogs?"
"Go away! Leave me alone," he shouted back and slammed the door in my face.
For the next two weeks, I brought over coffee, some pie, and finally clothes my husband didn't want to wear anymore. Then he opened the door a little wider this time.
"You know you've been persistent to talk to me. So talk," he said at last.
I cleared my throat and began.
"Your dogs, they make an awful racket. Do they get out much?" I asked.
"May I walk them and you can come along with me if you want."
"I'd better come with you," he replied.
For several weeks of walking the animals and getting them familiar with my voice, they began to calm down. Soon he kept the dogs indoors during the night.
Even old Mr. Porter can be an angel.