It is a dangerous world out there. Strange people and dogs pass by my house daily without my permission and don't even get me started on all the cats and squirrels I see prancing about! As a result of this dangerous world, devilishly handsome pups such as myself must remain ever vigilant when it comes to stranger danger. One can never be, after all, too careful.
Last weekend, Pa, Ma, Sister and I were hanging out in the house out east. After lunch, everyone decided to split up and do their own things. Ma and Sister drove to the beach (they didn't invite me to join them), Pa decided to work in the basement laundry/utility room (he didn't invite me to help), and I, left to my own devices, decided to catch up on some sleep.
Forty winks later, I was awoken by a rustling sound coming from the basement below me. Cautiously, I made my way down the basement staircase to check out what was going on. After doing a sweep of the sitting room, bathroom, and Sister's bedroom, I started to make my way back toward the stairs, convinced that I had imagined whatever I had heard and determined to find another sunny spot on the floor on which to continue my nap. But just before I reached the stairs, the utility room's door flew open and out stepped a tall man wearing a work mask on his face.
It goes without saying that I was taken aback by this intruder. I'm used to protecting the house from certain scary things (newspaper that blows off the table, menacing garbage cans, and jack-o-lantern decorations at Halloween), but I know my limitations and this man bypassed them easily.
Then, he spoke. "It's okay Squirt," the masked man said. "Check it out."
Nope. Not me. There was no way I was going to approach that man. Instead, I stood stock still--ears square and tail extended, but still.
"No really, Squirt. Check it out."
I refused to move a muscle.
"Okay, okay" the man said, then removed the work mask from his face. "Better?"
It was Pa!
Immediately, my ears dropped and my tail started wagging in circles (that's how you can tell that I'm really happy--my tail wags in circles rather than side to side). With my best cute-little-puppy-dog look, I scooted over to Pa to collect a much deserved ear rub.
Friday, March 3, 2017
Wednesday, March 1, 2017
Cookie Disasters
In case you didn't notice, I'm very food oriented. I love food. Peanut butter, bananas, apples, steak, tomatoes, cheese--you name it, I love it. But my preference for food doesn't stop with so called "people food." No, I love dog food too. I've spoken before about my new dog food (which is still delicious and succeeding in keeping my belly free from parasites), but I am also a big fan of liver treats and Milkbones.
Milkbones are the go to treat in my house and the tool I used to train my humans. You see, in order for someone to leave the house, that person has to provide me with a sort of...oh, let's just call it what it is...bribe. That's where the Milkbone cookies come in. This bribe, tossed on my pillow, is payment for me not racing the individual to the door. Pa is by far the most generous when it comes to bribes. He gives me a large Milkbone cookie when he leaves for work each day. Sister is the stingiest; she only gives me a tiny dog size treat.
But as simple and as straight forward as this system is (you want to go out, you give me a cookie), there are times when the system falls apart. Two such occurrences happened this week.
The first occurred when I became aware that a piece of one of my past bribery cookies had rolled underneath the dresser next to my pillow. Now, loyal readers might remember that this had happened to me once before and as a result of this past traumatic event, I knew exactly what to do. First, I sized up the situation and determined that there was no way for me to access the cookie on my own. So, I immediately moved on to Plan B: Bark hysterically until help arrives.
Ma happened to be across the hall when I started barking and immediately came over to check on what her "Barky Boy" was up to. I was obviously bothered by something under the dresser. Always a good sport, Ma got down onto the floor, extended her arm under the dresser, and started to feel around. I, meanwhile, was right by her side--wagging my tail and leaning against her to ensure that the side of her freshly pressed black pants would be covered in white fur. A second later, Ma pulled back her arm and showed me what she had found: a small pencil eraser size piece of cookie.
I quickly gobbled it up.
Then, a few hours later, I had another issue with my bribery cookie.
It was Sister's turn to offer me a bribe for leaving the house. Like a good dog, I scurried into the bedroom when she told me to "go to bed," but instead of calmly eating my cookie and settling down for a nap, I decided that I was going to be greedy. Swallowing the cookie whole, I quickly exited the room, scuttled down the hall, passed through the kitchen, and pushed by Sister as she reached for the doorknob. Sister had two options: pay me off with another cookie or let me outside even though she and I both knew that didn't actually need to go out. Sister chose the former.
Juggling her keys, pocketbook, and work bag, Sister pushed past me and grabbed another cookie from my cookie jar. From the middle of the kitchen, Sister pitched the treat across the floor and into the dining room. With my eye on the prize, I scurried after the cookie while Sister hastily ran out the door. But I didn't get the cookie. You see, it had skidded to a halt just before Ma's canvas work bag.
Now, some might say, as long as the cookie wasn't under the bag, I should have been able to scurry in and grab it. Those people would be wrong. That bag was very scary and it could have easily moved or attacked me when I reached for the cookie. No, as far as I was concerned, the cookie was out of reach.
But what do I do? I was all alone in the house and no one would be coming home until lunch time which was hours and hours and hours away! There was only one solution: I started to bark.
Apparently, my barking was so loud and so persistent that Sister was able to hear it from her car. Figuring that the neighbors would get involved if she didn't, Sister returned to the house to check on what was bothering me. As soon as she walked in the door Sister could tell what was wrong. With a sigh, Sister walked to my side, scooped up the cookie, gave me a pat on the head, then tossed the cookie into the living room. As I went after my cookie, Sister left the house.
Crisis averted.
Milkbones are the go to treat in my house and the tool I used to train my humans. You see, in order for someone to leave the house, that person has to provide me with a sort of...oh, let's just call it what it is...bribe. That's where the Milkbone cookies come in. This bribe, tossed on my pillow, is payment for me not racing the individual to the door. Pa is by far the most generous when it comes to bribes. He gives me a large Milkbone cookie when he leaves for work each day. Sister is the stingiest; she only gives me a tiny dog size treat.
But as simple and as straight forward as this system is (you want to go out, you give me a cookie), there are times when the system falls apart. Two such occurrences happened this week.
The first occurred when I became aware that a piece of one of my past bribery cookies had rolled underneath the dresser next to my pillow. Now, loyal readers might remember that this had happened to me once before and as a result of this past traumatic event, I knew exactly what to do. First, I sized up the situation and determined that there was no way for me to access the cookie on my own. So, I immediately moved on to Plan B: Bark hysterically until help arrives.
Ma happened to be across the hall when I started barking and immediately came over to check on what her "Barky Boy" was up to. I was obviously bothered by something under the dresser. Always a good sport, Ma got down onto the floor, extended her arm under the dresser, and started to feel around. I, meanwhile, was right by her side--wagging my tail and leaning against her to ensure that the side of her freshly pressed black pants would be covered in white fur. A second later, Ma pulled back her arm and showed me what she had found: a small pencil eraser size piece of cookie.
I quickly gobbled it up.
Then, a few hours later, I had another issue with my bribery cookie.
It was Sister's turn to offer me a bribe for leaving the house. Like a good dog, I scurried into the bedroom when she told me to "go to bed," but instead of calmly eating my cookie and settling down for a nap, I decided that I was going to be greedy. Swallowing the cookie whole, I quickly exited the room, scuttled down the hall, passed through the kitchen, and pushed by Sister as she reached for the doorknob. Sister had two options: pay me off with another cookie or let me outside even though she and I both knew that didn't actually need to go out. Sister chose the former.
Juggling her keys, pocketbook, and work bag, Sister pushed past me and grabbed another cookie from my cookie jar. From the middle of the kitchen, Sister pitched the treat across the floor and into the dining room. With my eye on the prize, I scurried after the cookie while Sister hastily ran out the door. But I didn't get the cookie. You see, it had skidded to a halt just before Ma's canvas work bag.
Now, some might say, as long as the cookie wasn't under the bag, I should have been able to scurry in and grab it. Those people would be wrong. That bag was very scary and it could have easily moved or attacked me when I reached for the cookie. No, as far as I was concerned, the cookie was out of reach.
But what do I do? I was all alone in the house and no one would be coming home until lunch time which was hours and hours and hours away! There was only one solution: I started to bark.
Apparently, my barking was so loud and so persistent that Sister was able to hear it from her car. Figuring that the neighbors would get involved if she didn't, Sister returned to the house to check on what was bothering me. As soon as she walked in the door Sister could tell what was wrong. With a sigh, Sister walked to my side, scooped up the cookie, gave me a pat on the head, then tossed the cookie into the living room. As I went after my cookie, Sister left the house.
Crisis averted.
Saturday, February 4, 2017
Four Vignettes
Bruno:
There's a new dog on the block out east--a boxer puppy named Bruno. Bruno and I had a meet and greet in my backyard a couple of weeks ago and while he was very playful (he kept jumping over me and gnawing on my ears), I was way more interested in the squeaky ball his human had brought over for us to play with. In fact, I was so interested in the ball that I basically ignored Bruno. When it was time for Bruno to go home, no one was able to wrestle the toy away from me. So, I kept it. Well, I kept it for the night. The following morning, before we left for home, Pa tossed the squeaky ball over the fence and into Bruno's backyard. Sigh. Anyway, Bruno's squeaky ball can visit any time it wants.
In the Wash:
My evenings are usually spent snoozing on my end of the couch which is protected from fur and slobber by an old bed sheet. Two days ago, I was shocked to discover that the protective sheet was gone and a number of pillows were piled high on the cushion preventing me from claiming my spot. Undeterred, I headed toward the other end of the couch, but found that Ma had beaten me to it. Becoming concerned, I started to pace in front of the couch, looking for a way up. Ma noticed my anxiety and told me that I wasn't allowed on the couch that evening and that I'd have to snooze on the floor. I started to whine. Ma explained to me that my sheet was in the dryer and that I couldn't lay on the couch until it was dry. I started to bark. Ma jumped up, went downstairs, and brought back a new old bed sheet for me to use. I waited just long enough for Ma to cover most of the couch before pushing by her, jumping onto the cushion, and flopping down with a sigh.
Ears of Steel:
One evening, when Sister came home from work, she decided to make a snack of peanut butter and jelly crackers (PB&J on saltines). Alone in the kitchen (I was in the living room), and not in the mood for sharing, Sister decided to work as quietly as possible with the hope that I wouldn't scurry in looking for samples. She retrieved the crackers and jelly with no issue, but then she knew those would be easy to obtain. The issue was the peanut butter (my favorite). As quietly as possible, Sister opened the pantry door, picked up the peanut butter jar, slid it onto the counter top, and unscrewed the top. Proud of her accomplishment of doing the aforementioned tasks silently, Sister turned around to get a knife to spread the peanut butter on her crackers with, but stopped suddenly in her tracks. There I was, sitting at her feet, looking up at the peanut butter jar, and drooling.
A Little Too Quick
At lunch time, when Sister says it is time to go outside and check the perimeters, I immediately jump up and scurry to the door. Usually, just as I reach the top step, Sister opens the storm door which allows me to exit the house without actually having to slow down my pace. Well, I don't know if it was her, me, or a combination of both of us, but earlier this week the timing of this little tradition was horribly off and I ended up running head first into the storm door long before Sister managed to open it.
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| Ill Gotten Gains |
In the Wash:
My evenings are usually spent snoozing on my end of the couch which is protected from fur and slobber by an old bed sheet. Two days ago, I was shocked to discover that the protective sheet was gone and a number of pillows were piled high on the cushion preventing me from claiming my spot. Undeterred, I headed toward the other end of the couch, but found that Ma had beaten me to it. Becoming concerned, I started to pace in front of the couch, looking for a way up. Ma noticed my anxiety and told me that I wasn't allowed on the couch that evening and that I'd have to snooze on the floor. I started to whine. Ma explained to me that my sheet was in the dryer and that I couldn't lay on the couch until it was dry. I started to bark. Ma jumped up, went downstairs, and brought back a new old bed sheet for me to use. I waited just long enough for Ma to cover most of the couch before pushing by her, jumping onto the cushion, and flopping down with a sigh.
Ears of Steel:
One evening, when Sister came home from work, she decided to make a snack of peanut butter and jelly crackers (PB&J on saltines). Alone in the kitchen (I was in the living room), and not in the mood for sharing, Sister decided to work as quietly as possible with the hope that I wouldn't scurry in looking for samples. She retrieved the crackers and jelly with no issue, but then she knew those would be easy to obtain. The issue was the peanut butter (my favorite). As quietly as possible, Sister opened the pantry door, picked up the peanut butter jar, slid it onto the counter top, and unscrewed the top. Proud of her accomplishment of doing the aforementioned tasks silently, Sister turned around to get a knife to spread the peanut butter on her crackers with, but stopped suddenly in her tracks. There I was, sitting at her feet, looking up at the peanut butter jar, and drooling.
A Little Too Quick
At lunch time, when Sister says it is time to go outside and check the perimeters, I immediately jump up and scurry to the door. Usually, just as I reach the top step, Sister opens the storm door which allows me to exit the house without actually having to slow down my pace. Well, I don't know if it was her, me, or a combination of both of us, but earlier this week the timing of this little tradition was horribly off and I ended up running head first into the storm door long before Sister managed to open it.
Sunday, January 15, 2017
Standing Up For What's Mine
Don't get me wrong. I know that I'm a very fortunate pup. I have a loving family who sees to my every need. I get two meals a day plus all the food I can grub. I have a warm place to sleep and I have even worn down the powers that be to gain a permanent spot on the couch (which was a long hard fought fight). But despite that, sometimes I just can't help but feel that I don't always get my fair share. When we drive out east, Sister takes up way too much of the backseat. My friend Bastille gets nearly as much or more kibble (depending on whether or not he eats his brother Mecki's kibble too) than I do each day and he's about 50 pounds lighter than me. Then there is cheese. When one of my humans has a piece of cheese, they take 7/8th of the slice while I must attempt to savor a measly 1/8th.
I'm a firm believer, however, that if you don't speak up and make your concerns known, then nothing will ever get better. That's why I recently decided to put my foot down and insist on what was rightfully mine: I decided to fight for a larger piece of the couch.
It was late in the afternoon and my family and I were hanging out, watching TV, and trying to squeeze in a quick nap before dinner. Sister was in her chair, Pa was in his, and Ma was sitting at the far end of the couch. I, meanwhile, was hunkered down on my end of the couch with my head draped over a decorative pillow (the sheet that protects my end of the couch from fur, dirt, and "black drool" was also covering the pillow--I have always found it a tad insulting that I have to have a protective covering on my end of the couch while the humans don't, but I'm willing to overlook it so long as I can sleep on the couch without being hollered at to move). Now, Ma might dispute this (she'd, of course, be lying), but I have discovered over the years that Ma is a notorious couch hog. She starts off occupying a generous 1/3rd of the couch, but eventually stretches her legs out into my territory. So, while I might fall asleep stretched out in my 2/3rds of the couch, I will wake up to discover that suddenly I'm sharing my pillow with her knees and her calves are beginning to resemble bumpers along the outer length of the couch. So anyway, instinctively feeling a bit cramped, I woke up from a particularly nice dream to discover that I was once again blocked into my spot by Ma's legs. It was then that I decided that I had had enough. I was going to win back my couch.
Nonchalantly, I stood up on the couch cushion and did a quick mini-stretch (there wasn't enough room for a full one) and yawned. Trying not to draw too much attention to myself, I looked around to see if the coast was clear (ideally, everyone would be asleep (they weren't), but at least they were preoccupied by the television) then, without hesitation (you hesitate you miss out) I made a bee-line for Ma's 1/3rd of the couch. First, I stepped on the pillow, then I stepped on her stomach (she made a loud "oof" sound when I did). Still standing on her stomach, I turned around twice and threw myself down with a "thud" (from her and from me). In the end, my butt was situated on Ma's upper stomach and my front end was resting on Ma's knees.
Then I heard laughter. My entire family was chucking, including Ma though her laughs were more shallow and tinged with pain (apparently the human torso is not made for a full grown Golden to trod and flop down on). I didn't care that they were laughing at me, though. I was comfortable and I had sent a message that I'm sure Ma won't forget anytime soon.
With a sigh, I closed my eyes and went back to my dream.
I'm a firm believer, however, that if you don't speak up and make your concerns known, then nothing will ever get better. That's why I recently decided to put my foot down and insist on what was rightfully mine: I decided to fight for a larger piece of the couch.
It was late in the afternoon and my family and I were hanging out, watching TV, and trying to squeeze in a quick nap before dinner. Sister was in her chair, Pa was in his, and Ma was sitting at the far end of the couch. I, meanwhile, was hunkered down on my end of the couch with my head draped over a decorative pillow (the sheet that protects my end of the couch from fur, dirt, and "black drool" was also covering the pillow--I have always found it a tad insulting that I have to have a protective covering on my end of the couch while the humans don't, but I'm willing to overlook it so long as I can sleep on the couch without being hollered at to move). Now, Ma might dispute this (she'd, of course, be lying), but I have discovered over the years that Ma is a notorious couch hog. She starts off occupying a generous 1/3rd of the couch, but eventually stretches her legs out into my territory. So, while I might fall asleep stretched out in my 2/3rds of the couch, I will wake up to discover that suddenly I'm sharing my pillow with her knees and her calves are beginning to resemble bumpers along the outer length of the couch. So anyway, instinctively feeling a bit cramped, I woke up from a particularly nice dream to discover that I was once again blocked into my spot by Ma's legs. It was then that I decided that I had had enough. I was going to win back my couch.
Nonchalantly, I stood up on the couch cushion and did a quick mini-stretch (there wasn't enough room for a full one) and yawned. Trying not to draw too much attention to myself, I looked around to see if the coast was clear (ideally, everyone would be asleep (they weren't), but at least they were preoccupied by the television) then, without hesitation (you hesitate you miss out) I made a bee-line for Ma's 1/3rd of the couch. First, I stepped on the pillow, then I stepped on her stomach (she made a loud "oof" sound when I did). Still standing on her stomach, I turned around twice and threw myself down with a "thud" (from her and from me). In the end, my butt was situated on Ma's upper stomach and my front end was resting on Ma's knees.
Then I heard laughter. My entire family was chucking, including Ma though her laughs were more shallow and tinged with pain (apparently the human torso is not made for a full grown Golden to trod and flop down on). I didn't care that they were laughing at me, though. I was comfortable and I had sent a message that I'm sure Ma won't forget anytime soon.
With a sigh, I closed my eyes and went back to my dream.
Wednesday, January 4, 2017
Christmas 2016 Roundup
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| Posing with the Tree |
From Tink and ZeeZee I got a filleted snowman with a rattle in its hat, a squeaker in its stomach, and crinkly plastic in its base. I was given this toy on Christmas afternoon and I immediately ripped a hole in its hat, shattered the rattle with my teeth, broke through the fabric divide between the snowman's hat and head, and started ripping out its stuffing by the mouthful. I intended to do further damage, however, it was at this point that Sister took the snowman away from me which was definitely depressing.
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| Scruffy Mini-Mecki |
From Santa I got two new light-up squeaky balls (one for home and one for out east) which I squeaked straight through Christmas dinner (to the chagrin of everyone in the room with me) and a bag of treats which I sampled almost as soon as it came out of my stocking. And while I'm on the topic of stockings, it finally dawned on me this year that all good things come out of them (I have always thought it weird that my family would hang giant socks from the living room/dining room doorway, but I just wrote it off as a human oddity much like saving leftover food for later rather than eating it immediately). As a result, I spent a fair portion of Christmas Day barking at the over-stuffed stockings despite my family repeatedly telling me that only one of the stockings was mine and that I had already played with all the toys and sampled all the food within. I, however, didn't care and continued to bark.
From Ma and Pa I got a couple of squeaky tennis balls which I immediately shredded into tiny little yellow fuzz and brown rubber pieces. Sister got me a plush polar bear toy, but I've yet to lay eyes (or teeth) on it. According to Sister, it is quite cute which means that I'm going to have to keep my eye on her lest she declare it a stuffed animal ("stuffed animals" are off limits to me).
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| Cookie from Jack and Sadie |
Of course, I didn't just receive gifts. Oh no. I gave plenty of fun gifts too.
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| Twins! |
But Christmas isn't just about giving and getting gifts. It is also about having fun times with family and friends. I spent my Christmas Eve and Day with my Ma, Pa, Sister, Aunt B, the hamsters (Mittens, Skittles, Neville, Brownie, and Eddie), and the Library gerbils (Bonnie and Bay) who were visiting for the long weekend. And even though I got yelled at a couple of times for being a little too exuberant with the shredding of the wrapping paper (there might have been a few near misses between my teeth and the recipient's fingers) a fun time was had by all.
So, to all my friends and family, Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!
Saturday, December 24, 2016
A Christmas Tune
Merry Christmas to all my fans. Please enjoy this year's Christmas carol set to the tune of "Have a Holly Jolly Christmas." *<[:{)
Have a howlin' barkin' Christmas
And in case you wonder why
There'll be guests and Santa Claus
Caroler's passing by.
Have a howlin' barkin' Christmas
Lots of people I can greet
Holding bags and lots of gifts
I'm hoping for a treat.
Oh, ho, plush squeaker toys!
Meant to last the year
But when they meet my teeth
They don't last I fear.
Have a howlin' barkin' Christmas
And to all my friends I say:
"Oh by golly have a howlin' barkin' Christmas
Today!"
And in case you wonder why
There'll be guests and Santa Claus
Caroler's passing by.
Have a howlin' barkin' Christmas
Lots of people I can greet
Holding bags and lots of gifts
I'm hoping for a treat.
Oh, ho, plush squeaker toys!
Meant to last the year
But when they meet my teeth
They don't last I fear.
Have a howlin' barkin' Christmas
And to all my friends I say:
"Oh by golly have a howlin' barkin' Christmas
Today!"
Thursday, December 22, 2016
Abandon Ship
I am a coiled spring. I spring to life from a dead sleep in order to alert the neighborhood of a slamming car door two blocks away, I can hear (and respond to) a peanut butter jar opening despite being outside and otherwise preoccupied chasing a squirrel, and seconds after the cheese drawer opens in the kitchen I can be found right by the snacker's side.
But perhaps even more impressive than my ability to quickly respond to a situation involving an intruder or food is my ability to spring into action when my own self-preservation is on the line. Allow me to explain with two specific examples:
The Fire Alarm:
I'm not insinuating that their cooking is bad (actually, it is usually very good), but my family has a habit of accidentally setting off the fire alarm when roasting a large piece of meat or a particularly fatty bird. Now, the logical response to the smoke detector's sudden sirens and mechanical female voice shouting "fire, fire, fire" would be to gather one's belongings and quickly vacate the premises. Well, my family doesn't do that. Instead, they split up: one person opens the window in the kitchen, the second person grabs a dish towel and begins fanning the smoke away from the smoke detector, and the third person gets a step-stool and takes down the screeching, talking, flying saucer like device.
Now, I frequently worry that my family is not taking a potentially serious threat seriously when it comes to the smoke detector. The smoke detector isn't like someone telling you to sit or stay or lie down or say "howdy." You don't just smile at the smoke detector and pretend that you don't understand what it is saying. No, you react. Here's what I do:
As soon as the mechanical female voice issues her first warning of "fire," I jump up and head straight for my favorite toy which I pick up in my mouth. With my toy now secured, I quickly make one attempt at herding my family toward the nearest exit. As I am not a herding dog and herding my family is like herding a group of cats, I usually fail miserably at this endeavor. Then it's on to Plan B; I head toward the door, toy in mouth, and anxiously wait for someone to come and open the door for me (yes, my escape is hindered by the lack of a thumb). And what happens if no one opens the door for me? I start pacing, hoping that someone will notice my concern and finally wake up to the potentially deadly situation that is ongoing.
Now that is the proper way of dealing with a fire alarm!
Attack from Above:
It was two o'clock in the morning and I was hours into a very pleasant dream in which I was chasing squirrels through a huge backyard while taking periodic breaks to eat Milkbone flavored ice cream. Suddenly, there was a fluttering sound and something landed right next to where I was standing.
"The sky is falling!" I thought.
I was at the zenith of jumping ten feet straight up in the air from my initial prone sleeping position when I fully woke up. And when I landed back on my pillow, out of breath and completely on edge, I immediately went into emergency evacuation mode. I quickly scanned the room. Both Ma and Pa were awake--the combination of the fluttering sound and my crash landing woke them--so I figured that they were smart enough to get themselves out of the building on their own. I only had to focus on getting myself out of the house.
Next to me lay my new favorite squeaky ball (it used to light up and squeak, but now it only hisses when I chomp down on it but it is still good). I scooped it up and made a beeline to the side door.
Within seconds of reaching the door, Ma came up behind me. She told me that everything was okay and that I should go back into the bedroom and "check out" what scared me (I later found out that what had fallen was the dust jacket to Pa's book--a breeze caused by Pa shifting his blankets must have dislodged it from its spot on the night table and sent it hurtling to the ground). I wasn't falling for it, though. There was a threat and I was determined to abandon ship while I still had the chance.
Eventually, Ma made a deal with me. She agreed to take me outside to do business if I agreed to come back in afterward. I wasn't happy about it, but nature won out and I was committed at that point. Once I was done, I cautiously returned to the bedroom and lay down on the far side of the room; far away from my pillow and the scene of the crime.
But perhaps even more impressive than my ability to quickly respond to a situation involving an intruder or food is my ability to spring into action when my own self-preservation is on the line. Allow me to explain with two specific examples:
The Fire Alarm:
I'm not insinuating that their cooking is bad (actually, it is usually very good), but my family has a habit of accidentally setting off the fire alarm when roasting a large piece of meat or a particularly fatty bird. Now, the logical response to the smoke detector's sudden sirens and mechanical female voice shouting "fire, fire, fire" would be to gather one's belongings and quickly vacate the premises. Well, my family doesn't do that. Instead, they split up: one person opens the window in the kitchen, the second person grabs a dish towel and begins fanning the smoke away from the smoke detector, and the third person gets a step-stool and takes down the screeching, talking, flying saucer like device.
Now, I frequently worry that my family is not taking a potentially serious threat seriously when it comes to the smoke detector. The smoke detector isn't like someone telling you to sit or stay or lie down or say "howdy." You don't just smile at the smoke detector and pretend that you don't understand what it is saying. No, you react. Here's what I do:
As soon as the mechanical female voice issues her first warning of "fire," I jump up and head straight for my favorite toy which I pick up in my mouth. With my toy now secured, I quickly make one attempt at herding my family toward the nearest exit. As I am not a herding dog and herding my family is like herding a group of cats, I usually fail miserably at this endeavor. Then it's on to Plan B; I head toward the door, toy in mouth, and anxiously wait for someone to come and open the door for me (yes, my escape is hindered by the lack of a thumb). And what happens if no one opens the door for me? I start pacing, hoping that someone will notice my concern and finally wake up to the potentially deadly situation that is ongoing.
Now that is the proper way of dealing with a fire alarm!
Attack from Above:
It was two o'clock in the morning and I was hours into a very pleasant dream in which I was chasing squirrels through a huge backyard while taking periodic breaks to eat Milkbone flavored ice cream. Suddenly, there was a fluttering sound and something landed right next to where I was standing.
"The sky is falling!" I thought.
I was at the zenith of jumping ten feet straight up in the air from my initial prone sleeping position when I fully woke up. And when I landed back on my pillow, out of breath and completely on edge, I immediately went into emergency evacuation mode. I quickly scanned the room. Both Ma and Pa were awake--the combination of the fluttering sound and my crash landing woke them--so I figured that they were smart enough to get themselves out of the building on their own. I only had to focus on getting myself out of the house.
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| My Light-Up Squeaky Ball |
Within seconds of reaching the door, Ma came up behind me. She told me that everything was okay and that I should go back into the bedroom and "check out" what scared me (I later found out that what had fallen was the dust jacket to Pa's book--a breeze caused by Pa shifting his blankets must have dislodged it from its spot on the night table and sent it hurtling to the ground). I wasn't falling for it, though. There was a threat and I was determined to abandon ship while I still had the chance.
Eventually, Ma made a deal with me. She agreed to take me outside to do business if I agreed to come back in afterward. I wasn't happy about it, but nature won out and I was committed at that point. Once I was done, I cautiously returned to the bedroom and lay down on the far side of the room; far away from my pillow and the scene of the crime.
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