FM #6 follow-up OR How I Met the Fire Department in Smalltown America

I do appreciate everyone who took the time to leave comments on my last Fun Monday.

In response to some of the comments from Fun Monday:
a. No, I will not be suing. I'm not that sort. I don't have time. However, when I made another real estate purchase recently, I chose a different realtor. The first one had told me that there were "no" foundation issues in Smalltown America. These homes are would have greater stability if they were built on quick sand. Otherwise, I think I purchased a 10 year old home that was ready to implode (or explode).

b. Hail just happens. Insurance paid for that one. Nice to have a good roof over my head, since everything else is going wrong in the house.

c. The termites? An early infestation found one year after I moved into the Money Pit. Probably not there when the home was inspected.

Meeting the Fire Department......that's a story.

One has to understand the background:
Reality #1. I am deathly afraid of fire. I don't know if it was my mother instilling the fear of matches a little too strongly or the fear might have had something to do with my older brother. He liked to "experiment" with his little sister (Experiemnt is NOT a good verb to use with the noun "sister", especially when you are the sister). One time, he took me down to the basement. He poured alcohol around me and, yes, lit it on fire. The floor was concrete. No harm. Except to my psyche. I don't know if the fire nightmares were already well established before or after that....regardless, I would wake up screaming. My mother would come to soothe me. "Just think of a nice field of flowers." I would and every single one of those flowers would be ON FIRE. Healthy or unhealthy respect for fire --you decide.

Reality #2. The Money Pit (my home) has some sort of undiagnosed electrical issue. Whenever it is either very hot, very cold or very windy a portion of the house will lose power. Occasionally, the power goes out for a few seconds and then comes back on. Sometimes it goes out for a longer period of time (one winter outage lasted 2 hours on a night that it was 21 degrees...that's a six dog night. Occasionally, the house seems to lose voltage (lights glow orange). I have called the electric company. They came out to inspect (when the problem wasn't happening; difficult as it is a transient thing. They told me that that it had nothing to do with the supply, but had to do with the house. I called an electrician. They told me that it was the electric company -- something about how the lines come into the house. The short is on the circuit that supplies the big guns: the heater, AC, 'fridge, oven stove. Somehow, that comes in on a separate line and it is, per the electrician, at the level of the line coming into my house, but according to the electrician, the electric company rarely will admit that it is on their side of the brick. Who knows. I have gotten used to it, EXCEPT the young girl who still lives within my brain knows that malfunctioning electricity can cause fire. Are you beginning to understand the foundation for my story?

One weekend last summer, I was on call. My pager was on, and I had just returned home. At the time, I had an extra whippet in the house, Stoli. He's Mati's littermate brother (Stoli is on the left, Mati on the right in the accompanying picture). Stoli was staying at he Camp for Wayward whippets so that I could take him to race meets, since I travel more than his owner. Because I had just gotten home and let the dogs out, they were in their meet and greet and play mode. They usually do that for the first 30-60 minutes after I get home. I have a toy basket by the back door that leads to the yard. Although they never put their toys UP, the dogs do know to go to the basket to find toys. They were gradually emptying the basket as I through toys for them to retrieve in the house.

While playing with the dogs, I was also working at the computer, checking e-mail (I can multi task that way). I heard a buzzing noise. It sounded like a pager lying on a table in vibrate mode, but my pager was on my belt in auditory mode. I didn't think anything of it, but then I heard it again....

That didn't seem right....what could be making the buzzing. Could something shorting out? I walk to the living room.....the TV is on, the cable box is lit. I start thinking about the low voltage phenomena....maybe those wires are going bad! However, the computer has power (it is on that circuit as the big items that go out but with a surge protector), the oven clock is on....As I search for a source, I suddenly smell smoke. My heart races as I now frantically search for a source. Panic sets in (remember I have a VERY healthy respect for fire). I couldn't see smoke, but the smell is getting stronger. For some reason, the smoke detectors aren't sounding, but I KNEW that this is smoke and it smells electrical. I imagine that there must be wires smoldering someplace, possibly behind walls. The dogs were running around me wondering why I am scurrying around the house. I couldn't find the fire, but there was smoke. Was I imagining it??? I panic. I pile the dogs into my van, grabbing my cordless phone and call 911.

I live in Smalltown American, inside the city limits but beyond fire hydrants. The first to arrive are the police. They block off my road. The policeman comes into my house, "Man, it smells like smoke, where's the fire?" I'm trying to be calm. "I don't know. I heard a buzzing sound and then the smoke started. I have had undiagnosed electrical issues with this house -- do you think something is smoldering in the walls." (To recreate the scene, read that last sentence in a voice that is rising two octaves as the sentence is spoken).

The fire department arrives 2-3 minutes after the police -- they come with two fire engines plus a water truck (since there is no hydrant). Quite the spectacle (but I had seen it several times the previous summer when my neighbors tried to burn me down 3 times; with those fires, I didn't get to see the fireman up close and personal though. That's the story about welcome to Smalltown America). About ten big men swarm into my house. They all confirm, "man, smell that smoke." Busy in full fire regale, 5 men pile into my attic. Others are doing what I was afraid to do...turning on and off appliances. Others are running their hands over the walls, trying to find what must be burning to create the stench. After what seemed like an eternity of searching...but was probably only 5 minutes, the cutest one of the bunch, not wearing fire gear but wearing a nicely fitted dark navy t-shirt with, oh, so nicely cut navy pants (I was panicked, but not that panicked that I didn't notice) walks up to me......

"Ma'am, were you workin' on a project?"

"S#*$!"

Dangling between his fingertips was my Dremel tool.

Wrapped around the end of the Dremel was a rope dog toy.

I use a Dremel to grind my dog's toe nails rather than clipping them. I had been doing nails in the morning, but I have quite a few dogs (7 dogs x 4 paws each x 4 nails on each paw = 112 nails; normally I have to do 96, but Stoli added an extra 16). I had not gotten through all the nails, so had (oops, BAD Human Servant) left the Dremel tool plugged in. That plug that I normally use was by the dog toy basket. So Stoli (since none of the dogs that live here permanently would ever do anything to subject me to near mortal embarrassment) had apparently knocked the Dremel on when retrieving a toy. The rope of the toy wrapped around the head of the Dremel (causing the buzzing when it first turned on), but bound by the strings of the rope toy, the motor remained on and was burning out. Since the Dremel was lying on my living room carpet, I had a nice 8 inch diameter singe spot on the carpet. From that point on, I have called Stoli, the Smoking Whizzer (Smoking because I will always blame him for the mishap (although I will admit, it may have been one of my dogs) and Whizzer....well, he never did seem to be house trained when he was residing at the Camp for Wayward Whippets.

No, there was not a fire.

Yes, there was a fire in the making.

After training in the Big City County Hospital, I have the utmost respect for firemen and police officers. I was mortified that I had called "911" for a non-emergency. I apologized profusely, probably turning into a babbling idiot given my post adrenaline state.

"Ma'am. That's OK. That's what we are here for. We would much rather come to a house before the fire starts. It's much easier that way."

And that, my friends, is how I discovered that the Smalltown Fire Department has some very cute fireman (but I hope I never see them up close, again!).