Dog Gone Smoke Detectors Now, I know some folks just feel the need to squeeze every last drop of bitterness outta their lemons, but my landlord makes an art outta this. His hiney is so tight it squeaks when he walks. I’ll bet he sounds like a trumpet when he passes gas. If they ever come out with WD-40 under shorts, I’m springin’ for a case of them bad boys and includin’ a pair with every rent check I send him. Unless, of course, I can find it in a suppository form without a prescription that I can get through the mail. I don’t think I could just go down to the local ‘Pills for Chills’ convenient drive thru prescription window and simply pick up a pack. I’m not my cousin. Anyway, I call Ol’ Scrooge up and tell him my smoke detectors must be defective, and he should put that item right smack dab at the top of his to-do list. I figure he must have been sittin’ down right about then, cause that squeekin’ noise seemed mighty muffled. “What makes you think your smoke detectors are defective?” he asked me. “Well, not one of them fire fighter fellers showed up when those things went off” I told him. Anyway, I never recalled Ol’ Scrooge studderin’ when I filled out the rental application, but right about then he couldn’t have picked a peck of pickled peppers if Peter Piper himself had poked him in his patooty with a pointed plastic potato probe. And I’m includin’ the chrome handled kind, too. For a minute there I was wonderin’ if the phone company had found out that the ‘money order’ I sent them was the same one I got from my new email buddy over in Liegeria. Anyway, turns out the phone was workin’ OK. What wasn’t w’workin’ was what was c’comin’ out of Ol’ Sc’Scrooges m’mouth. My first thought was that maybe the tightness had moved up from where I thought he kept it, and maybe some WD-40 toothpaste might be needed as well. This guy might be a bigger pro at this than I was givin’ him credit for, and one must never underestimate one’s enemy. Or in this case my landlord. So that’s even worse. You let those guys get one inch ahead of you and the first thing you know, they start actin’ like it’s THIER house or somethin’. Anyway, I remind him that I’m the one payin’ the bills when I get around to it, so he’s basically no more than a vendor to me, and I have a serious situation that he needs to take care of right now, toots sweet, before the Fire Department comes out and inadvertently makes me sleep on my neighbors patio furniture, or worse. Cuz I’m not fallin’ for any of that Ol’ Motel VI “We’ll leave the light on for ya” road apple TV advertisin’ again. Well, not if I can help it. I thought they were just bein’ neighborly, but those folks are chargin' for those beds. That light they’re leavin’ on is at the front desk, right next to the cash register. How convenient. My neighbor leaves his light on for free. Anyway, Ol’ Scrooge has synchronized himself at this point and asks me if there is any damage to his property. “How would I know?” I ask him. “I haven’t been there in a coupla days. If the neighbors hadn’t heard Ol’ Sparky welpin’ like it was the last day dogs were smarter than cats, nobody would have known them smoke detector contraptions were defective. They just kept beepin’ every fifteen minutes, and Ol’ Sparky finally had enough.” Anyway, he tells me I need to replace the batteries, and those things are designed to beep when the batteries run down. Now if that don’t beat all, some college boy designed them things to be a nuisance from the get-go. I’m bettin’ he didn’t own a dog when he came up with that flash-o-brilliance. And if you’re goin’ to go through all the trouble of havin’ those detectors start screamin’ when the batteries get low, why not just make ones that hold bigger batteries. It’s like when you buy cheese that’s been aged for seven years, and three weeks after you open the package the dang stuff goes bad. Why not just age it for six and a half years and give folks the other six months to enjoy the stuff. Anyway, seems Ol’ Scrooge didn’t know I had a dog, as it turns out. I musta forgotten to mention that on the application. I guess the chances of getting’ caught harborin’ a hound against the rules were just too much. Who knew? Now, it looks like Ol’ Sparky is goin’ from hero to zero faster than Ol’ Scrooge can squeeze out the first three notes of Taps on his tushy trumpet. Anyway, it looks like I’m gonna have to choose between tossin’ the Sparkster or finding a new place to live. Well, he ain’t much to look at, and he drools more than most, but he’s the closest thing to family I got so this will be an easy choice. Too bad I didn’t name him Dave. I could have put him on the lease as a co-signer and nobody would’ve been the wiser. Live and learn. Anyway, one thing’s for sure, the next time I rent a place the first thing I’m gonna do is to remove those pesky smoke detectors. I ain’t takin’ anymore foolish chances, you can bet on that. Cletus
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