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My sweet dog, Rose is practically impervious to noise, except for the high-pitched sound of a dying smoke alarm battery. I learned this watching her whimper and shake as she hid underneath the bed where I used to live. That time, I had a man around who changed the battery. Yesterday morning, it happened again and now with the exception of a dog who was absolutely freaking out, I was alone. Every couple of minutes, as the smoke alarm pierced Rose’s soul, it pierced mine too. I got out the ladder, placed it on the high pile carpet, and felt shaky. (Did I say I’m not fond of heights?) I ripped off the cover, but couldn’t find the battery. I called almost every friendly neighbor in the building to help me, but no one was home. I considered cutting the wire. Who needs a functional smoke alarm, I thought. And then I phoned my buddy, who’s good at fixing things. He gently talked me through it, step by step, and was gracious about it, not making me seem like too much of an idiot. I felt accomplished and grateful it didn’t happen at 3 AM.
Photo by Zoe Leonard [1]