After a bit of rummaging, she emerged with a spray bottle of ammonia window cleaner.

Charging across the lawn, she forced her formidable bulk up the steep ivied slope to the fence.

As she reached him, the dog sidestepped her by a few paces and resumed his clamor.  Paulina pumped the spray bottle hard.  A cloud of mist spewed forth.

It failed to reach the dog.  Paulina grunted and lunged to the side.  The boxer read the motion and shifted to the opposite side.  She lurched sideways again; the dog countered reflexively, his yowling for Kasha continuing unabated.  

With a curse, Paulina wrenched off the bottle's dispenser cap.

Her eyes locked in on the dog;  her hand swung forward with a grace surprising in a woman of her size.  A long, twisting stream of liquid sparkled in the sunlight for an instant—then struck the dog full in the face.

An ear-splitting uproar of shrieking and bawling ensued, as the boxer frantically scratched at his eyes and nose, rooted his muzzle in the dirt, and rolled over and back again, struggling to somehow rub off or escape the chemical's burn.

The housekeeper popped her head out the door, pained astonishment written on her face.
 
“He's not a neighbor's dog, Gabriela. Had no business being here in the first place.  About time somebody did something about the damned leash laws in this city!”

The door sighed closed.

After considerably more writhing and thrashing, the boxer floundered, whimpering, to his feet.  He was quickly overcome by a sneezing fit, sideswiping a bush as he tottered off.

Breathing hard, Paulina picked her way down the ivied slope to where Kasha stood on the lawn.  She squatted heavily in front of the dog, burying her hands in the lustrous coat.  “It's okay now, honey pie. Yeah. Okay.  Mm-hmmm.”