Let's hear no more from the unfortunate about theirs being a dog's life. Anyone privileged enough to live as well as Sandra Wornum's hounds would be likely to utter only a soft growl of pleasure.

Wornum, 47, has spent $15,000 to build a poochly paradise, a veritable Barkingham Palace, for her 10 Salukis: Jamal, Zebag, Barunz, Isolde, Tootie-Woodie, Qibla, Ardashir, Kubla Khan, Keebles and Xanadu. Made of redwood and glass, the four-room, 147-square-foot kennel stands outside the Wornums' spacious home in Larkspur, Calif., across the bay from San Francisco. Sandra's husband, Michael, 63, a retired architect, drew up a plan and, she says, "I went with it."

Sandra begins her doghouse tour with a visit to the bedroom, where the heated sleeping pads are covered with fake-fur throws, then moves on to the "art gallery and repose room," which features an expensive print by the artist Erté. She opens the door of the adjoining recreation room to find four of her pets dozing in front of a TV set. "They've had a hard day sleeping," she coos. "They deserve a little rest." Next comes the Babylon room, decorated in the style of Nebuchadrezzar's hanging gardens but with better amenities, such as $400 blinds. Finally Sandra leads the way to the bathroom, finished in green and white Italian tiles. There the dogs enjoy hot and cold running water, a heat lamp, a blow drier, terry cloth robes and towels decorated with calico doggie bones. A flush toilet is not among the luxuries, but Wornum stands ready to scoop. "As often as they go," she says.

The response from Wornum's neighbors to all of this? Howls of protest. "I can understand a lady with four cats, but this is unreasonable," barks Darryl Foreman, who lives next door. Over a year ago, Foreman filed a complaint with the Marin County Humane Society about the noise from Wornum's yard. At the time, she had 18 Salukis. In the spirit of conciliation, she sent eight of the dogs to foster homes and began construction of the sound-reducing puppy pleasure-dome. Yet Foreman remains dogmatic on the issue of noise, claiming that even the tapping of 40 dog feet on the kennel's wooden deck is an annoyance.

Wornum insists that her Salukis, elegant animals whose forebears were once bred for Arabian royalty, are rarely so plebeian as to bark. Still, neighbors complain that the yelping often keeps them awake—sometimes as late as 2 A.M. What, you might ask, do such pampered animals have to bark about? Ever tried to find a decent TV show at that time of night?