It always happens in the middle of the night.
Charlie noticed it, first, immediately bringing it to my attention by frantically walking all over my face. He is a small dog, but, nonetheless, it is somewhat disconcerting to wake up to.
I tried to ease his fear by putting my hand on his back,
telepathically sending him "calm vibes", but it didn't work. His entire body trembled.
This isn't going to go away, I thought. I am going to have to fix this.
I fumbled around on the nightstand for my glasses, and gracelessly forced myself into a standing position. Now, both dogs were awake. Max, however, was completely unbothered by the annoying disturbance. Any time his people are moving about means the possibility of playtime or outside time - the two things he lives for.
Leaving the dogs in the bedroom, I began my search on the main level, slowly lurking from room to room. I cautiously listened upstairs, but the noise seemed to be moving further away. I made my way toward the basement. It was definitely coming from down there.
Finally, I found the culprit, and I stared it down.
Or, should I say "stared it up", as I was clearly staring at the ceiling.
You little SHIT, I thought to myself.
I went back upstairs and grabbed the stool, from the kitchen. Back into the bedroom, I went to the drawer in the hutch that contained batteries. I could not remember which type this particular problem required, so I gathered a bunch. Tools in hand, in my sock-covered feet, I marched back downstairs. I set my batteries on top of a dusty chair that was conveniently located within reach. I unfolded the (one and a half foot tall) stool, and stepped my (five foot, two and a half inch tall) frame on top. Arms, stretched above, there was still no way I was going to reach that thing.
Sigh.
I went back upstairs, and back into the bedroom. I hovered over Mike, willing him to wake up. Clearly, I needed to work on my telepathic skills.
I gave him a little poke, and said (in a pathetic, "I give up" kind of way),
"I need your help. I can't do this."
Apparently, he was already aware of the problem. I mean, I don't know how he couldn't have been, but the man can sleep through anything. He slowly stood up, without question.
"I have a stool, and batteries," I told him.
"We need a 9 volt," he said.
9 volt. Of course, I said to myself.
I went back to the hutch and was able to find one hiding out at the back of the drawer.
Mike, the dogs, and I went down to the basement to take care of the problem.
Five minutes later, we were all back in our beds. The problem had been resolved, Charlie was no longer walking all over my face, and there was silence.
Until . . .
"You realize," I said, "all of the other ones are going to start chirping, too."
"Huh?" Mike asked.
"The smoke alarms. Once one battery dies, they all die," I responded.
"Yep. Better replace them all, soon," he said.
"I'll buy more batteries, tomorrow," I said.
"Okay. Good night. I love you. No more talking," he said.
"Okay. Good night. I love you, too," I replied.
And, there was no more chatter, in the night.
Charlie noticed it, first, immediately bringing it to my attention by frantically walking all over my face. He is a small dog, but, nonetheless, it is somewhat disconcerting to wake up to.
I tried to ease his fear by putting my hand on his back,
telepathically sending him "calm vibes", but it didn't work. His entire body trembled.
This isn't going to go away, I thought. I am going to have to fix this.
I fumbled around on the nightstand for my glasses, and gracelessly forced myself into a standing position. Now, both dogs were awake. Max, however, was completely unbothered by the annoying disturbance. Any time his people are moving about means the possibility of playtime or outside time - the two things he lives for.
Leaving the dogs in the bedroom, I began my search on the main level, slowly lurking from room to room. I cautiously listened upstairs, but the noise seemed to be moving further away. I made my way toward the basement. It was definitely coming from down there.
Finally, I found the culprit, and I stared it down.
Or, should I say "stared it up", as I was clearly staring at the ceiling.
You little SHIT, I thought to myself.
I went back upstairs and grabbed the stool, from the kitchen. Back into the bedroom, I went to the drawer in the hutch that contained batteries. I could not remember which type this particular problem required, so I gathered a bunch. Tools in hand, in my sock-covered feet, I marched back downstairs. I set my batteries on top of a dusty chair that was conveniently located within reach. I unfolded the (one and a half foot tall) stool, and stepped my (five foot, two and a half inch tall) frame on top. Arms, stretched above, there was still no way I was going to reach that thing.
Sigh.
I went back upstairs, and back into the bedroom. I hovered over Mike, willing him to wake up. Clearly, I needed to work on my telepathic skills.
I gave him a little poke, and said (in a pathetic, "I give up" kind of way),
"I need your help. I can't do this."
Apparently, he was already aware of the problem. I mean, I don't know how he couldn't have been, but the man can sleep through anything. He slowly stood up, without question.
"I have a stool, and batteries," I told him.
"We need a 9 volt," he said.
9 volt. Of course, I said to myself.
I went back to the hutch and was able to find one hiding out at the back of the drawer.
Mike, the dogs, and I went down to the basement to take care of the problem.
Five minutes later, we were all back in our beds. The problem had been resolved, Charlie was no longer walking all over my face, and there was silence.
Until . . .
"You realize," I said, "all of the other ones are going to start chirping, too."
"Huh?" Mike asked.
"The smoke alarms. Once one battery dies, they all die," I responded.
"Yep. Better replace them all, soon," he said.
"I'll buy more batteries, tomorrow," I said.
"Okay. Good night. I love you. No more talking," he said.
"Okay. Good night. I love you, too," I replied.
And, there was no more chatter, in the night.
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