Blog Jam 13: Brunch and smoke alarms
Normally, dogs despise loud noises. Especially-- in the case of my dog-- fireworks, gunshots and smoke alarms. I bet he mournfully counts down the days till Sunday brunch, when the kitchen smoke alarm goes off as often as not. I don’t know what it is about Sunday brunch and smoke alarms. Something about hot bacon fat sizzling in a scorched frypan, while I’m focused on journaling with coffee in the next room. My dog is 7 now. In dog years that’s middle aged, wise enough to know to get the heck out of Dodge, i.e., the house, when acrid smoke and ostentatious beeps give warning. And that’s what he’s always done in the past. But during a recent weekend smoke incident, I turned off the burner, switched the frypan to a cold burner, switched on the fan and stood at the back door, trying to shoo him out of the house. He actually entered the kitchen and sat down, hunched over, gazing at me desolately. I tried again, showing him the door was wide open. He rebuffed my pleas, pointing with his snout at the offending frypan, which still smoked a bit. I clapped a lid on the frypan, opened all the windows, and praised my hero, who refused to leave without me.