Thursday, February 24, 2011

I do not like loud high pitched noises Pocket I am

It all started one morning.  Everything was perfectly normal.  Then one of those white circular blinking orbs on the wall began to make this sound:  beeeeeep (pause) beeeeep (pause) beeeeep (pause) beeeeep (pause.)  I did not like this noise at all, and I climbed up high on the couch to get away from it.

Daddy bravely took the orb off the wall and cracked it's chest to get to it's heart.  He then removed it's beepers so the offensive noise was silenced.  Good job Daddy.  But killing the beast was not good enough.  Being the kind soul he is he had to try and revive it.

I was sure I had a DNR for that blasted thing and I scrambled through my files trying to find it.  Not that I didn't respect Daddy's ability at resurrecting artificial life, but he has been known to err when replacing beepers.  The next sound, the shrill cry of the artificial life form struggling to come back to life, split my poor little brain.

BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP!

It was so loud, and relentless.  Daddy tried to fix it.  But not only had he put the batteries in incorrectly,  he had somehow jammed them in and couldn't remove them.  As for me there was no question what would happen, my tiny brain was going to explode from the beeping. I began to run around as Daddy prodded at the stuck batteries like a gorilla trying to peel a banana with a hammer.  Finally he got the batteries removed. and, of course, with Mommy's help he got them situated properly.

It was a very traumatic experience for me.  I almost didn't pee myself.  Foley said it was just a noise.  It shouldn't bother me. If I was going to live with Daddy, I was going to have to get used to such things occurring as Daddy was as good at fixing things as a fish is at rowing a boat

Since then, as if to torture me, these orbs of fear have been beeping weekly.  When it starts blasting through our peaceful bliss my body begins to tremble and I begin to climb.  Twice I was sitting next to Daddy on the recliner when the orb attacked.  I began to shake, got on the recliner's arm, leaped to Daddy's shoulder, then climbed on Daddy's head like a grinder's monkey hopped up on speed to get it to dance.

Of course I want Daddy to get out of his chair and to attempt to, and ultimately fail to, fix the beeping, but he is wearing a Pocket for a toupee.  Once, as he was wrestling to remove my claws from his scalp and my body from his skull the paper delivery man heard the beeping and the noise I make (similar to the sound your unwed Uncle made the day he tried to get his zipper unstuck using the vice in your Daddy's basement and slipped catching his Harry Baals in the vice) and the delivery man saw Daddy with me on his head and yelled "Good morning Mr. Trump."

After successfully completing the removal of a clingy, trembling Yorkie from his head, Daddy then had to determine which orb was beeping.  He plucked one off the wall, and held it to his ear like an elderly man with a transistor radio pressed against him to hear the out of town scores. The beeping continued, but from somewhere else.  He tried the basement leaving me in the trembling recliner.  Then he went to the second floor where he nabbed the culprit.  He brought it down stairs and told me it will be all right.  I doubted that.  This orb was smarter than Daddy,

He got the back off and pulled out one of the batteries.  It still beeped.  Daddy looked at it.  "Why would it still beep if I took out one of the batteries?" he asked me. I didn't know.   I was a Trembling Yorkie (order one of those at a pub in Knightsbridge and you'll be blind for a week.)  He kept looking at it like it was a Rubik's Cube with four sides done.  "What's the mystery pull out the other batteries!" I yelled.

Then my angel, my Mommy, slowly came down the stairs and looked at Daddy who was still studying the beeping orb.   "What are you doing?" she asked in that tone; the one she uses on me when I am obsessively scratching at the couch, or at Foley when she's licking every inch of the rug.  Daddy held up the orb and said it was still beeping with only two batteries.  "So take out the others batteries you moron," she said.  Daddy began to explain that it shouldn't be running on only two.  Mommy gave him the look she gives me when I poo on the hardwood floor and the look she gives Foley when she tries to dine on said poo.  Daddy took out the batteries saving my tiny brain.

Several days later, in the dark, while we were snuggled deep in our bed, it happened again.  I was the lone family member awakened by the beeping.  The rest awoke when the bed began to shake, and to Daddy's panicked cry of "Earthquake!"  Mommy said "It's not an earthquake it's a Pocket shake," and she used both the voice and the look, which, when used in unison, could bring down the government in Egypt.

Daddy got up and began his search again.  Mommy held me as I shook.  Foley stayed curled up.  Daddy found the bad orb.  He took it downstairs.  I continued to tremble.  I wish I had one of Shadow's thunder shirts. Do they make incompetent Daddy shirts?  "It will be OK Pocket," Mommy said. " Daddy just needs to disable the batteries."  Instead of it being silenced the long high pitched squeal began.  "Idiot," Mommy said in a tone of voice that made both Foley and I tremble.  She then yelled at Daddy to take all the batteries out and she would fix it in the morning.  He came back to bed but neither Daddy or I could sleep.  He was mad about his battery failure failure and I was too scared worried that if the carbon monoxide monster came to attack us it would do so without warning.

Since then my trembling has been triggered several times, mostly from that stupid television.  When there is something on it Mommy and Daddy don't like they can find the remote but when someone has caused an alarm to squeal on it they have a harder time finding the remote then a blind gold miner.  I think those beeping things should be barred from television forever.

Then Sunday night, while we were again snuggled in bed, the beeping started once more.  I woke up Daddy who used those words you can't find in the Bible.   Since Mommy was asleep Daddy picked me up to go on an orb hunt.  We checked the upstairs orb but the prognoses was negative.  We made our way down the stairs.  Half way down we heard a nearby beep.  Daddy took the orb off the wall, ripped open the back, and removed the batteries.  "We'll let Mommy deal with it in the morning," he said.

When we started back up the stairs there was another beep.  Daddy stooped, looked at me, said "what the hey?" and put his ear to my butt to see if I was beeping.  But it wasn't me.  It was the smoke detector.  In a Foley lifetime of living in that house the smoke alarms had never beeped.  Daddy was perplexed.  The smoke alarm is attached to the ceiling.  He got a chair.  He then, while still holding little, trembling me, stood on the chair.  He unscrewed the fire alarm while holding me now trembling like a vibrator that goes to 11, scared because of the beeping, and because I suddenly had  been drafted in the Flying Wallendas, and found he could not unhook it, then put it back.

BEEEEEEP!"  Just saying, if it was me, and I had a dog deathly afraid of that sound, I wouldn't be standing on a chair holding the dog as close to be beep as possible.  Daddy studied the orb like he was looking at the mirror at a strange spot of his face.   Then he saw a little compartment.  He opened it.  Nestled there was a nine volt battery.  Daddy, balancing me, and himself, removed it from the detector, stepped off the chair, looked at me, reminded me that he had told me he would fix the problem and began carrying me upstairs.  BEEEEEEEP!  He stopped and looked at the smoke detector with a cold hatred in his eyes.  He walked into the kitchen and rifled through the battery drawer.  He found a lone nine volt.  He put the chair back and we began to climb on to the chair when either a light bulb or a beeping smoke alarm went on over his head.  He put me down.  He climbed up and put in the new battery, assured me that all was well and took me to bed.  I stayed at the head of the bed, sitting up, while Daddy was scratching me trying to calm me.  He was right.  But who can blame me for doubting Daddy.

So I hope to someday live a beep free life.  To be honest I hate any beeping things that beep.  I wish they would just beep.

Signed yours in fear
Pocket dog



















16 comments:

  1. Funny story. Please be patient and understanding of human foibles.

    ReplyDelete
  2. OMG we had a similar experience here. 'cept.... get this, new batteries did not help. Turns out the "alarm system"'s brain was fried. [And all I smelled frying were bacon and eggs... go figure] It took hours to disable the system and get it all fixed. Lucky for me, momma grabbed us and bolted out of the house. We went for a lovely ride and left the dad to deal with the heart stopping, brain drilling beeeeeeeeep which gave momma a migraine. You do realize, the two leggeds to this to themselves right? We are just corollary victims.

    ReplyDelete
  3. Hello Friends,
    You aren't the only ones who are afraid of beeping noises! We live in an old house that has been split into 2 apartments and whenever we have the tv, microwave, and portable heater on the beeper goes off! Ours smells like burnt toast and I don't like it one bit!
    xoxo...........Daisy

    ReplyDelete
  4. This was so funny!! I laughed, I cried (well, I don't really cry.)
    Great descriptions. I could picture it all happening. I'm really glad your head didn't explode:)

    PeeS - I hate those things too!

    ReplyDelete
  5. We all laughed here too. We hope your head is better by now. Emmy.

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