My insomnia often has me doing household chores in the middle of the night. It was on one of those nights when I was working in the basement and fell. I tried to stand, but my loose and wobbly arm -- clearly dislocated at the elbow -- threatened to stay on the floor if I did, so I started to yell. Nothing. I managed to reach a broom and began banging on our furnace as hard as I could, expecting I could at least trigger some alarm-type barking from our dogs, thus waking my girl.
Wham! Wham! Wham!
What's the point of having dogs if not one of them is capable of saving little Timmy from the well? Mine apparently don't clock in for duty before noon.
They routinely bark at the sound of leaves settling on the roof of our adjoining garage, but my whapping the furnace failed to rate a single woof.
A few months back, when I was locked out and had to break into my own house late one night, the dogs reacted by running all over the house, urinating as they went, yelping so loud you'd have thought the Grim Reaper had hold of their toe.
The only possibility of heroics from my pitiful pair, should a burglar one day break into my home, would be him getting trampled by peeing, fleeing dogs.
Reach Karin Fuller via email at karinful...@gmail.com.