Side note: This is a true story. I felt like I was living an episode of "I Love Lucy".
It was a muggy Iowa July night. Hubby was hunting in South Dakota for a week, so it was me at the farm with our two little dogs.
Wondering who was invading the house at 2 a.m., I bolted out of bed. Missy ran to cower behind the toilet, Sally shivered behind me.
The carbon monoxide alarm was screeching. I cranked open the windows.
I ripped the alarm out of the plug and tried to get to the battery.
I threw the alarm outside.
The 9-1-1 operator calmed me as she dispatched fire fighters.
Catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror in my flimsy nightgown, I ran to the closet and pulled on jeans, a shirt and sandals. Makeup and tooth brushing followed. The bed got made. OOPS! Forgot underwear. Back to the closet to undress, put on undies and dress again.
Four handsome young men arrived. Pointing to the room that was possessed, they marched in and one came out holding the alarm. In one confident motion, he replaced the battery and said, "Have a nice evening, ma'am."
Being a fire fighter is an exciting job. I thrive on the action and challenge. July in Iowa can be particularly interesting with brush fires and river rescues.
Dispatch called the station at 2:20 a.m. A carbon monoxide alarm was going off in a home. Four of us launched into action and rocketed out of the station, lights flashing and sirens blaring. Every second counted.
Arriving at the home, we found a woman who looked like she was ready to serve us brunch. We could smell freshly brewing coffee and Danish. Makeup and hair perfect, dressed in a crisp white shirt, jeans and bejeweled sandals on pedicured feet, she pointed to the room where the alarm was housed.
While I tested the air, my buddy, Danny, pulled the alarm out of the wall socket, looked at me and winked. "Easy, peasy," he said.
After handing the alarm with the new battery to the woman, we walked back to the truck.
Did I say my job was exciting? Maybe I should have described it as entertaining, too.