|In my cowering corner.|
Why so far afield, you might ask. Here's the answer: I need to get as far away as possible from Mr. Smoke Detector Man, who terrorized me last week, leaving me a mess of quivering bones. It was, I guess, an early Halloween at our house.
Imagine: 1:30 a.m. BONG! BONG! BONG! EVACUATE! EVACUATE! EVACUATE! If you have one of these things, you know exactly what I'm complaining about. Torture. Utter torture. It would not stop, no matter what. (Mom keeps the manual right by her bed, so she ordinarily knows what to do).
Finally, in her deranged state, she took out the battery (the things are hard-wired too, not to worry, and all connected to each other, drat). That meant one chirp per minute, the rest of the loooong night long, until she could run out later that a.m. to get more batteries. I must have drooled out and shook off about 20 pounds.
So she puts in the batteries, vacuums until my ears rang (again). I stay clear of the house. Fortunately, it was warm in the car in the garage. She coaxes me out after a couple of hours with some hamburger. I hide in the corner of the yard.
Much, much later, I venture onto my bed. Then, you guessed it: BONG! BONG! BONG! etc, etc, etc. Mom makes an angry call to the company's midwestern offices. The guy who answers simply does not care.
Having learned about the Nest, which nicely tells you, "By the way, your house might be on fire, but if it's not, just give me a wave and I'll shut up pronto," via Wait, Wait, Don't Tell Me! we sign up immediately after hanging up from Mr. Uncaring Smoke Detector Representative.
Back to Paws in the Park. There'll be a great walk through the lovely Easton grounds, dotted with ponds, a costume contest, Frisbee and agility demonstrations. Plus there won't be a smoke detector within hearing range. I guarantee it!