Either this town is harbouring some major drug lords who need all the warning they can get when the fuzz is a-comin’ to the door, or Greystones might just have some of the dumbest dog owners in the country.

Pretty much every estate has one – the poor dog that barks at clouds, leaves, people, birds, cars, light breezes, kids playing, phones ringing, or their own shadows sneaking up behind them.

And, in truth, it’s not really Mutley’s fault. 

It’s the fault of the eejit who owns the poor, neglected, untrained, witless, pitiful dog.

Also, this is the boy who cried woof every single hour of every single day, leaving their supposedly protected house far more vulnerable than most. What’s the dog going to do if someone really does break in, and not one neighbour blinks an eyelid? Set off a flare gun? Call the Greystones garda station? Press the panic button on his collar?

So, pity the dog and, if you can get close enough, slap the fool who owns ‘im. About the head and face. Repeatedly.

So they know how it feels.

For those tourists visiting Greystones who like nothing better than a little Chinese torture, we’re putting together a guide to all those bark spots around the town and beyond where you can be guaranteed to have any chance of peace and quiet fecked in the ear by an endlessly yapping dog. Or two.

And we’re starting with Max’s daily walk…

Personal favourites of GG’s, there are two little feckers keeping guard over the beautiful old Blind Lane walk that takes you from Blackberry Lane to Priory Road through a dirt track that has been largely untouched for hundreds of years. Maybe it’s the halting site level of rubbish that spills out from the bins there, or the belief that, living in such a wealthy area, no riff-raff should be allowed cross their path, but these yapping little shits – who have foolishly tried to bite Max – act as though they’re the gatekeepers. And you’re trespassing. So, bring a stick. And a taser. And a shovel.

Making your way through The Glebe is always a step back in time too, but, that reverie is cracked ever-so-slightly by the mini-mansions cluster in the dip, and the inevitable jumped-up security dogs who want to make sure that you don’t lose yourself in the tranquility and history of it all.
Still, you have to respect these international crime barons’ need for their own particular version of the quiet life, and so, you just have to let barking dogs bark in this particular instant. Because their owners probably have guns.

It’s a sad tale that greets you as you head out of the village, just beyond the school and before the turn into Delgany Wood, as a very buttoned-up house is protected by not one but two rabid dogs. Which might not sound all that surprising, but, we witnessed the golden-haired of the two arrive as a puppy, confused and frightened as feck by the other dog’s incessant ranting and raving until, as time did its thing, this poor unfortunate just joined the barking, raving loony party.
Given just how rabid they are, you have to wonder who the hell lives there. McGregor? Lord Lucan? Shergar…? 

There’s a hound of the basket cases in Grattan Park we hear tell of that sounds like the stuff of leg end. Apparently, the dog’s owner goes to work just down the road each day, and leaves their miserable mutt barking, barking, barking, barking, barking, barking, barking, barking, barking all day long. We haven’t witnessed this poor witless wonder ourselves, but, we’re inclined to believe the rattled neighbour who told us all about it. The fact that they had a twitch and a look that suggested endless sleepless nights was proof enough for us.
Sadly, as is often the case, when they approached their neighbour about their barking dog, they were told to woof off.

Our final entry – for now – of Max favourites is very close to home, a little and large duo who appear to have had no more than three walks in the last four years, and who have become a popular double-act of deafening, deadening depravity in the area. So much so, children come from other estates to egg them on to greater heights of mouth-foaming fury. They are, of course, just poor dumb animals. And they really shouldn’t be allowed to have dogs.

Another barking mad situation has been pointed out to us by an exasperated GG reader, this one over in Eden Wood, where two dogs have been raising everyone’s roof pretty every single day. Naturally, the owners are now not talking to any of their neighbours because, you know, they’re just dogs. Doing what dogs do. Nice.

Another favourite is the little terror who makes sure that the slow, silent descent into the abyss for everyone at the Greystones Nursing Home is interrupted by a hound from hell BARKING ALL THE FECKIN’ TIME.
Seriously, what twisted feck leaves dogs barking in a garden backing onto a home full of OAPs trying to make sense of the fading light and a world that no longer makes sense? May God have mercy on their holes.

Over in Kilcoole, Beech Court is the place to be, we’re told, if you want your fill of uninterrupted barking from dawn to dusk. And a little beyond, if the air is clear, and the lungs are full. 
Still, good to know who the secret millionaire is in the town, and where all the gold toilet seats and diamond-encrusted cooking pots are.

If you have some special neighbours who are determined to kill all peace and quiet around them, let us know on info@greystonesguide.ie. Their dogs will thank you for it.

Also, you can call Wicklow dog wardens John Byrne on 0862771695 or Noel Hayes on 0863846430, or leave a message for them to contact you on 040444873.