Wednesday, February 23, 2011
The Midnight Handyman
It remained silent throughout the day, but I mentioned it to Terry when he returned that day, and he said he'd take care of it this weekend.
"It's awfully high," he said of the smoke detector on our 12 foot ceilings. Even his 6 foot frame would need more than a stepstool to reach it, but he promised to take care of it this weekend. I did my part by making sure that we had some 9-volt batteries so that when he was inspired, he'd be properly equipped.
That night, at almost the exact same time, the chirping began. It chirped once. It seemed almost immediately to sound the warning again. And again.
I heard Terry get up, which left me in charge of keeping the freaked out dog off the bed. He came back in, tennis shoes shoved onto his feet, carrying the ladder from the garage. I got up and gave him a new battery (which he was surprised that I actually had on hand).
A few minutes later the dog was on her bed and we were back on ours, ready to face the threat of smoke and fire for another 6 months or so.
I'm sure that there's a moral to the story. I'm not sure what it is. Perhaps you can tell me. I can only hope that the next time the battery runs low, it alerts us on a Saturday at 2:00 p.m. -- prime "honey-do" hours -- instead of in the middle of the night.