My Dad loved dogs. That needs to be said before I get into the story. Though in later years we had cats, and he learned to bond with them, he had a dog growing up, got along with all the family dogs, and they just adored him too. My sister's dog Cookie was friendly, but after years of my cringing around her, ( I loved her but I was easily winded by her gymnastics,) she stopped jumping on me and sort of turned to the side tactfully when I approached her. Not so with Dad. She'd be airborne, practically jumping over fences as soon as she caught sight of him.
That being said, like so many, Dad was a light sleeper. This was fine when he wasn't working: he could sleep in, and none of us would bother him. On a work night, sleep was crucial. If he had trouble sleeping, he'd take sleep tablets from Genovese Drugs - those over the counter deals that had similar properties to Benadryl. They were blue pills, nicknamed "bloops" by Dad, who had to find a name for everything.
He slept not too far from the window facing the backyard. An old super of our building kept dogs out there, and personally I didn't like that arrangement. He'd train them in hunting, and there's an incident involving him, a rabbit, and two dogs that still haunts me. Most of the dogs were pretty docile, though, but they could not keep quiet at night.
A few nights in a row, one dog was particularly vocal, and Dad lost a lot of sleep. One trait my family shares is the inability to be pleasant on only a few hours of sleep. He was wretched. The only thing Dad could do was scream at it to shut up. That only bothered the neighbors. He had to do something. Then he had an idea. He took a hot dog from the fridge and loaded it with a "bloop". Then he tossed it out the window.
What do you know? Silence. A blissful night sleep for both doggie and Daddy.
---I don't recommend you try this at home - some dogs' systems will not be able to tolerate pills. This was a big guy, though, and he was still of the living and by the next day, no worse for wear.---
Now, Dad did not make it a practice to drug the backyard dogs, but I believe it gave him peace of mind to know that a solution was possible. He even had an idea to market dosed hot dogs as "Doggie Downers", with a picture of an unconscious dog on the package, tongue lolling off to the side of its face. Somehow I don't think the FDA would have approved.
Even better than the story itself was the pride Dad took in recounting it. He was not a fan of cameras, particularly video cameras, but one of the few times he was completely relaxed while I was filming was when he was telling this story to some family members and friends at my sister's house. Cookie didn't seem to mind hearing it either.