A REMOTE RISK

A REMOTE RISK
By,
Kathleene S. Baker

Man and man’s best friend – no picture is more heartwarming!

It was a lazy Saturday afternoon. My husband, Jerry, was stretched out in his recliner with Hank, the schnauzer, sprawled across his lap. Supposedly hubby was watching the Master’s Golf Tournament but I noticed a lot of catnapping going on as well.

As I traipsed back and forth I kept an eye on my boys. At one point Hank had jumped down and was lying on the floor next to the chair. Jerry’s right arm dangled over the side as he provided a soothing back massage for the very spoiled canine. Shiloh, the female schnauzer, was conked out on the couch with not a care in the world.

Somehow all the snoozing and snoring didn’t seem fair as I hauled laundry back and forth through the house, stopping now and again to add items to my grocery list. Eventually I ran out of “quiet” chores so began to empty the dishwasher very slowly, one piece at a time, so as not to awaken all my sleeping critters.

On my next pass through the room, Hank was getting another back rub but followed me into the kitchen begging for a treat. “Gee, the life of my dogs must be great,” I mumbled to myself.

He inhaled the treat, vanished, and I began cleaning the sink.

“Crash, tinkle, tinkle, tinkle. Woof, woof, woof. Yap, yap, yapitty, yap. Wh—wha—what?”

I jumped straight into the air and out of my flip-flops with so many different sounds attacking my senses at once. I then landed atop Hank’s singing bunny, which burst forth with: “Here comes Peter Cotton Tail ….” I raced to where the sleeping beauties were last located. Meanwhile in the kitchen that idiot bunny just kept on singing—too bad I hadn’t crushed him!

Hank and Shiloh were in the middle of the room with the hair on their backs standing at attention. They looked just like two punk rockers ready to break loose with some weird song themselves!

Jerry was still reclined, although his feet levitated several inches above the footrest. Both arms were stretched out to the side as if he’d been making snow angels, and he seemed to be a bit dazed.

That’s when I saw it! In his left hand he held the remote control, and by the way, I’ve never understood how men keep “the death grip” on a remote even when they fall asleep. The “crash, tinkle, tinkle” had been the sound of him jamming it through the window next to his chair.

“Good grief! What’s going on here? You broke the blasted window!” I think I was screeching. Actually, I am sure of it.

It was several seconds before Jerry had his wits about him. Obviously he had been dead to the world.

“The last thing I remember was something wet and cold on my right arm. I guess it startled me. Now I know—it was Hank! That’s what he does when he wants a back rub. It was his cold, wet nose!” Jerry was quick to blame the accident on man’s best friend — how dare he?

“Don’t blame Hank, and don’t just sit there. I’ll get to work in here—you get busy cleaning up the glass on the patio,” I suggested between gritted teeth. “And just look. The hole in that window is big enough for a bowling ball, yet you’ve still got the darned remote in your hand!”

Sheepishly he added, “I just picked it up from the floor. It must have bounced around and landed back inside.”

It just figured—even after a catastrophe, he could not keep his hands off his prized remote. He had picked up his weapon again!

I have no choice but to make some house rules around here, such as, “no death grips.” On the other hand, it could be permanently attached to a table with Gorilla Glue! Then again, maybe the manufacturers could add warning labels to those stupid things: MEN SHOULD NOT OPERATE DANGEROUS MACHINERY WHEN DROWSY! Oops, another problem just reared its ugly head—men never read instructions. Heck, maybe I’ll just put our trusty handyman on retainer—he’s already on my speed-dial.

©2006 Kathleene S. Baker
Lnstrlady@aol.com
www.txyellowrose.com

Story ID:	569
Written by:	Kathleene S Baker (bio, link, contact, other stories)
Story type:	Story
Location:	Plano Tx. USA
Year:	2006
Person:	my dysfunctional family