Archive for November 20th, 2008

We say in this family that stuff like a dog ripping up a shirt is minor. One of my favorite jokes about dog damage went something like this:

“We came home and found little pieces of the couch all over the floor.”

“That wouldn’t ever have happened if you’d gotten a Doberman.”

“What, Dobermans don’t chew?”

“No, you wouldn’t have found any part of the couch.”

Okay, first day of work. I come home exhausted, as much from my state of panic about going to work as from the labor of substitute teaching. I open the door and the chili I’ve been making all day in the crock pot smells a little strange. Oh no, did it burn? I go to check on the dog in the laundry room. I open the door and I realize instantly that the floor is covered with water and there is a major gas leak in there. I glance beyond the dog, who’s overjoyed that I’ve come back but honestly looks quite guilty, at a trashed laundry room, with ripped up dog bed, ripped up ironing board cover, and like I said filled with the smell of “clean burning natural gas.”

 I know that it’s a bad idea to stay in any room with that much gas blowing around in it. I grab the dog’s leash, clip it on, and run. Outside, I call 911 (thankfully, had my cell) and tell them what happened. They say they’re sending the fire department. 

The fire truck arrives quickly, with four hunkly firemen aboard, wearing shorts (it’s a pleasant fall afternoon). They quickly case the joint, open the doors to the house, go in, inspect the damage, tell me I’ve got water leaks and gas leaks, and turn off the water and gas mains. “Call the plumber,” the senior fireman says to me, the lady with the delinquent dog. 

Just one of those things I “wish I didn’t know now that I didn’t know then:” gas leak? Call the plumber. 

Luckily, due to living in an older home (1952) I have a standing relationship with the plumber and miraculously, a guy is there in 20 minutes. Joyner Plumbing, by the way, if you need a super-competent and yes, reasonally priced Fort Worth plumber. He comes out, looks at the damage, and tells me:

“Lady, you are lucky the dog didn’t blow up himself and the house. He must have chomped through that gas line so strongly that the pilot to the water heater in the room there went out instantly. Otherwise, we would have been reading about this on the news.”

He identifies the broken hose, the broken water line, fixes them (all this for only a little over $100, which was way less than I was fearing) and tells me I’ll be okay. Unless.

“Unless what?”

“Unless he gets to it again.”

The next morning, husband makes an executive decision. Dog goes in crate. And with only a minor growl, the dog does. I’m so grateful he did. Because at this point, if he wouldn’t crate, he couldn’t stay. I mean, you can’t be taking chances with your house getting blown up and all.