The source of my argument with neighbor Rebecca was her canine companion, Jughead.

As I mentioned earlier, Rebecca recently celebrated her birthday. She did not divulge her age, but based on appearance and smell, I believe her to be about 36.

I have covered typical human birth anniversary customs in prior field notes (see also: Year One, Month 11, Day 2 for an average representation; and Year Five, Month 2, Day 17). Rebecca's party was similar in its customs to other birthday celebrations I have experienced. She invited her friends to visit her apartment in the evening, at 7:00 p.m. I arrived promptly at 6:59 with a gift of "cookies", small, round, sweetened treats which can be prepared at home by slicing pieces of pre-made dough into rounds, and then baking them in the oven for 11 to 13 minutes. Using this method, I created 24 cookies, which Rebecca praised as "beautiful" and "thoughtful". Jughead jumped against the screen door repeatedly, barking and biting at her heels. I thought this behavior to be most ungracious for a domesticated canine, but said nothing.

Rebecca noted that I was the first to arrive and gave me a tour of her home. She lives in a ground-floor level, one-bedroom apartment, quite typical of the style found everywhere in Los Angeles. The building is about forty years old, with a molding gray facade and large cracks running up the side. There are seven units on the ground level, and seven units just above, accessible via an outdoor staircase and a walkway.

Rebecca's door opens onto the asphalt driveway. Her apartment windows and door face north, leaving her unit dark. Inside, there is not much to note. She lives alone with Jughead and owns very little furniture: a bed, a desk, a table, a "futon" (a kind of stiff, uncomfortable sitting area), and a few folding chairs.

Nevertheless, her home appears cluttered. There are books and magazines stacked in every corner, even in the bedroom. Most of these are fiction novels, though there are also magazines about popular entertainment and fashion, and "how-to" books about assorted factual topics -- screenwriting, gardening, cooking, finding love, organizing one's home, and training dogs.

Her bathroom sink is crowded with bottles, ointments, and grooming products, particularly electronic objects designed to manipulate the texture and shape of female hair. None of these items are recyclable. The small kitchen was overwhelmed by platters of food and an assortment of beverages in plastic bottles, and red plastic cups -- additional potential contributors to the landfill problem mentioned in last month's report.

Medium tempo music played from a small device called an iPod, but it was difficult to hear over the incessant barking of Jughead. Rebecca urged the canine to quiet down, then engaged me in pleasantries about my health and recovery. I thanked her again for her kindness to me. All the while, Jughead continued to bark. At regular intervals, Rebecca directed her attention to him and asked him to "please quiet down". This continued for about fifty minutes, until additional guests began to arrive.

I would like to write about impressions of these additional guests, but I was unable to talk intelligently to them due to the constant, ill-mannered yapping Jughead displayed, which grew louder and more aggressive as the evening progressed. By 8:17 p.m., nine guests were in attendance. At 8:20 p.m., I attempted to engage a man named Lester in conversation about his job as a car washer at a movie studio. Lester was explaining the nature of his clientele to me when Jughead walked to the center of the room, lifted one leg, and marked the coffee table (8:23 p.m.).

Out of instinct, I immediately lifted the canine by the scruff of its neck and put it outside, where it barked and scratched at the screen door. I shut the wooden interior door, dulling the sound, and resumed my conversation with Lester.

Rebecca did not approve of this. She rose from where she had been cleaning the puddle with a wet rag.

"Why did you put Jughead outside?" she asked.

"Your dog was being disrespectful. An animal like that, even a domesticated one, has no place sharing a social venue with humans."

"'An animal like that'?"

She pushed past me and retrieved the dog, bringing it back inside.

"Your dog has been refractory and should be punished with exile."

"Exile? You're kidding, right?"

"I am not."

"Jughead is a small dog. There are coyotes out there."

"Coyotes are dogs also."

"No, coyotes eat dogs."

This confused me. Perhaps I have been neglectful in my research.

"I am sorry. I was unware."

"It's all right. Just... mingle, have fun, and don't worry about Jughead. He's fine in here with us."

She put the animal back down on the floor. Within moments, however, the dog repeated its earlier performance, this time marking one leg of the futon, where Lester was sitting, and soiling the cuff of his pants. (8:32 p.m.)

I could not broach this insult. I picked up Jughead, placed the animal in the coat closet, and shut the door.

"Sander!"

"Your canine has relieved itself on Lester. It requires punishment."

"Maybe, but you can't just go around locking up other peoples' dogs!"

"You would rather Jughead continue to urinate on your belongings and acquaintances?"

She released the animal and turned to me, her face bright red. "Would you step outside please?"

We went outside to the driveway.

"Sander, I don't know what your problem is, but this is my birthday. It means a lot to me for my dog to be there. I would like you to be there too, but I just can't deal with your... weirdness right now."

"My weirdness?"

"I'm sorry. But you're being a little weird. And presumptuous."

"I see. I think I should go to my own home now."

"You don't have to."

"I think I would like to."

"Okay. Perhaps that's best."

Canines are given great power and deference by their humans, moreso than I had previously recognized. Evidently the comfort and freedom of a house dog is prized above that of a human guest. When paired with the belief that dogs can heal illness, this suggests an entrenched belief system, perhaps even a cosmology, centering on the primacy of the canine.

I must look into this further. But first I need to apply to Rebecca for forgiveness for the disrespect I have shown to her ratbag.