SPECIAL TO THE SOMERS RECORD (10-05-17)
Last Saturday something weird happened at my house: the doorbell rang. We have a very polite doorbell that doesn't like to intrude. When depressed, it whispers, "Excuse me, I hate to make a fuss, but ding-dong, if you don't mind me saying so." My wife and I looked at each other as if to say, "Did you hear something?" and "Not really." Then we both looked at the dog, who only responds to doorbells that are rung on television, and her look said, "Me neither, but I think your doorbell is
depressed." So I didn't think anything of it, which is my usual thought pattern.
But our doorbell rings so seldom at our house that it got my attention, even though I didn't hear it. This occurred in the evening, so I knew it was not the Jehovah's Witnesses. I'm not religious in any way, except on days that I could possibly finagle a day off from work because of a religious holiday. And if I see a Jehovah's Witness by the front door I hide under the couch, unless I am subpoenaed.
But I thought I should take a look outside to make sure that I wasn't not hearing things. I took my dog with me, just in case. She is an attack dog, if you are a burglar that happens to be shaped like a rasher of bacon. She has the menacing features of a hand muff with a pointy nose and a tail. She has a strong motto, like the Marines. Her motto is, "if you can't lick 'em, then what good are they?" But we did a quick patrol of our property out of an over-abundance of caution, and an under-abundance of common sense. We quickly established a perimeter and my dog licked me, unwittingly providing me with a DNA sample. I thought I heard something in the bushes, but it turned out to be a squirrel. I reported back to my wife that we had a possible squirrel who possibly rang our doorbell type-of-situation.
Some minutes later we left to go out to dinner, and down our street at the lights of the car a group of pre-teens scattered like leaves. I realized that they were either very short census takers or kids on a doorbell-ringing campaign. I got out of the car and yelled after them to keep running because we had called the cops.
In reality, although I am not in favor of people coming to our home and causing undue stress to our alarm system, I was secretly impressed that these kids would actually leave their house and DO something, instead of just hanging around playing video games by themselves. There has been so much change in the world that it was oddly comforting to know that after all these years, kids could still go around ringing doorbells and get the same charge out of it as they did in the 1950s.
Maybe somebody will call me on the phone and say, "Do you have Prince Albert in a can? Well, you'd better let him out!" Maybe they'll call and say, "Is your refrigerator running? Well, you'd better go catch it!" Maybe they'll call and ask if I am Amada Hugenkiss.
Everyone who has had a childhood has known mischief. In my case we were on a first name basis. I certainly admit to my share of tomfoolery, shenanigans and monkeyshines, but I am proud to say that I never engaged in any hijinks, or worse, nutty hijinks. I spent some time in the principal's office at school, which I must say had much more comfortable furniture. I remember thinking that if anything, the principal should get detention, since he spent even more time in the principal's office than I did.
So kids, if you're out there, we don't have Prince Albert in a can, our refrigerator is running, and I am NOT Amanda Huggenkiss, unless you take me to dinner first. And don't ring our doorbell, especially if you are shaped like a rasher of bacon.
Last Saturday something weird happened at my house: the doorbell rang. We have a very polite doorbell that doesn't like to intrude. When depressed, it whispers, "Excuse me, I hate to make a fuss, but ding-dong, if you don't mind me saying so." My wife and I looked at each other as if to say, "Did you hear something?" and "Not really." Then we both looked at the dog, who only responds to doorbells that are rung on television, and her look said, "Me neither, but I think your doorbell is
depressed." So I didn't think anything of it, which is my usual thought pattern.
But our doorbell rings so seldom at our house that it got my attention, even though I didn't hear it. This occurred in the evening, so I knew it was not the Jehovah's Witnesses. I'm not religious in any way, except on days that I could possibly finagle a day off from work because of a religious holiday. And if I see a Jehovah's Witness by the front door I hide under the couch, unless I am subpoenaed.
But I thought I should take a look outside to make sure that I wasn't not hearing things. I took my dog with me, just in case. She is an attack dog, if you are a burglar that happens to be shaped like a rasher of bacon. She has the menacing features of a hand muff with a pointy nose and a tail. She has a strong motto, like the Marines. Her motto is, "if you can't lick 'em, then what good are they?" But we did a quick patrol of our property out of an over-abundance of caution, and an under-abundance of common sense. We quickly established a perimeter and my dog licked me, unwittingly providing me with a DNA sample. I thought I heard something in the bushes, but it turned out to be a squirrel. I reported back to my wife that we had a possible squirrel who possibly rang our doorbell type-of-situation.
Some minutes later we left to go out to dinner, and down our street at the lights of the car a group of pre-teens scattered like leaves. I realized that they were either very short census takers or kids on a doorbell-ringing campaign. I got out of the car and yelled after them to keep running because we had called the cops.
In reality, although I am not in favor of people coming to our home and causing undue stress to our alarm system, I was secretly impressed that these kids would actually leave their house and DO something, instead of just hanging around playing video games by themselves. There has been so much change in the world that it was oddly comforting to know that after all these years, kids could still go around ringing doorbells and get the same charge out of it as they did in the 1950s.
Maybe somebody will call me on the phone and say, "Do you have Prince Albert in a can? Well, you'd better let him out!" Maybe they'll call and say, "Is your refrigerator running? Well, you'd better go catch it!" Maybe they'll call and ask if I am Amada Hugenkiss.
Everyone who has had a childhood has known mischief. In my case we were on a first name basis. I certainly admit to my share of tomfoolery, shenanigans and monkeyshines, but I am proud to say that I never engaged in any hijinks, or worse, nutty hijinks. I spent some time in the principal's office at school, which I must say had much more comfortable furniture. I remember thinking that if anything, the principal should get detention, since he spent even more time in the principal's office than I did.
So kids, if you're out there, we don't have Prince Albert in a can, our refrigerator is running, and I am NOT Amanda Huggenkiss, unless you take me to dinner first. And don't ring our doorbell, especially if you are shaped like a rasher of bacon.
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