The Fire Down Below

The house was on fire!  Dang it–it was the third time.

Flames shot from a floor register in the utility room.  Heat and smoke were unbearable.

Where was the fire extinguisher?  “Honey–where’s the fire extinguisher?”

“It’s right on the wall–where it has always been.”  This was no time for joking.

“I can’t help you right now,” She answered.  “Maggie bit someone while I was walking her.”  Why had she been walking Maggie?  I was the one that always walked the dogs.

No time to talk.  I snatched the extinguisher from the wall bracket; pulled the pin with one swift motion.  Real firefighters would have been envious.

“Ouch! Why did you hit me?”  Asked my wife.  “I’m sorry.  I had a bad dream–something about the house catching fire, Maggie, the dog, and fire extinguishers. When I pulled the pin, my arm connected with your knee.”  I hoped she believed me–it was the truth.

Author: warturoadam77p

65 year old married retired communications worker with three grown children, transplanted from the Midwest to the sunny Gulf Coast.

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