Squeak, squeak, squeak. That’s the recent soundtrack of our lives. The snow squeaks underfoot at every step outdoors, and indoors we have the dog and his squeaky toys. Time was, we could count on such toys to wear out with sufficient loving. But, some years back, a couple family members who shall remain anonymous presented our pooch with love-proof squeaky toys. Some of their squeakers are sensitive enough that they can be played so rapidly as to be virtuosic. Three of the balls emit squeaks that last multiple seconds, while the toys roll through the house with the dog in hot pursuit. Rascal does love his squeaky toys.
The sounds and sights on the ice of Thurston Pond are less strident. A solo skater makes rounds of the pond in the mornings, gliding along shoveled paths. A dog tears delightedly across the ice and up a hill of the shoveled snow, under his master’s supervision. At the northeast edge of the pond, a snowman stands watch from the cattails. A tufted titmouse calls in the woods. The image would be one of reverie, had the dog not just now decided that what we really need in the house just now is a good round of squeaking.
Juncos have come back to the area this week. Our area—where lately we’ve been happy to see the high side of zero degrees—is part of the southern climes to which juncos retreat in winter. They show up in herds on the ground, foraging for seeds among the fallen leaves, and flick their tails when they fly, showing flashes of white. Daughter Number Three thinks of them as Disney birds, as their appearance is so neat and perfect. Juncos are just what we need in February.
I decided this week that what our house needs was to have its many fire extinguishers inspected and, if appropriate, recharged. Having at length identified a business that performs this service for residential extinguishers, and verified this by phone, I lugged our collection to the car and trundled them out to said business. The folks there were expecting me and had me haul the equipment in to their counter.
Then they started to smirk. Not unkindly. More as if they were trying not to laugh. They smirked, too. It seems not one of our extinguishers could be inspected, as inspections require replacement parts. Our extinguishers were so old that the companies that made them no longer existed. Hence, replacement parts are not to be had.
People started drifting in from the back of the building to look at my collection. They smirked, too.
“I’ve never seen an extinguisher that looks like this,” one said.
Another added, “This one’s only one year younger than my dad.” The company did agree to dispose of the equipment for me, although the counter man said he felt some regret about doing so. “I feel like you should make a lamp out of this one,” he confessed.
“Feel free,” I encouraged him, on my way out.
We’ve since replaced all our extinguishers with less lamp-worthy ones. Which got my husband and me thinking back: had we ever used one? We had, actually, long ago. We were tooling down the expressway when we passed a car on the shoulder whose engine was starting to burn. My husband whipped off the road, grabbed the extinguisher we keep in the car, and ran back to the other car. Where he used it to put out the fire. My honey is cool in crisis.
Even longer ago, we were in Port Huron on boat night, the evening before the annual Port-Huron-to-Mackinac race. It’s party time, and boat owners kept yelling invitations to us as we strolled down the dock admiring the boats. Then a man came out on deck and yelled, “Fire! My boat’s on fire!”
Whereupon my husband went aboard and said, “Show me.”
The fire was in the kitchen, and my dear one said, “Give me your shirt.”
At that point, the man was asking no questions. Fire would threaten not only his boat, but all the other boats as well, as they were moored right next to each other. The man stripped off his shirt and handed it to my honey. Who filled it with water and poured the water on the fire, putting it out.
Complimenting my hero after the event, I told him how clever it was that he’d asked for the boater’s shirt, thinking that it made a dandy receptacle for the water.
He mistook my meaning and said, “Well, I certainly wasn’t going to use mine.” Cool as a cucumber.
21 February 2025
Nancy, our Juni has 8 soft animal toys, all but two of which have squeakers. Juni isn’t bothered by them, as I tend to be the one who squeaks them, to get her attention. As I sit here with Juni at my feet, I just looked over her resting beside me, and see that she brought the two non-squeakers down to the office this morning. These would be “Baby Bear” and “Lambykins.” The remaining squeakers are Scruffles, Pink Dog, Blue Dog, Hedgemo, Piglet. Bebo, the beaver toy, doesn’t squeak very often, as Juni is usually catching Bebo as I toss him into the air. He’s a favorite and he’s all squeaked out.