Who you gonna call?
Now that the winter approaches, one effect of the installation of electronic thermostats is evident. Well, it’s not exactly the fault of the thermostats; rather, it may have something to do with my decision to lower room settings at night, when we are all tucked into our beds. There has been an undercurrent of tension, as some people are “complaining that it’s cold”.
In other times, when the kitchen stove was banked for the night and windows had a layer of frost, house temperatures were often comparable to a cheap icebox. Our ancestors were wise, and much labour was invested in the construction of quilts that were excellent insulators. Now we have a solution that reminds me of a movie from a generation ago. The catch phrase was “Who you gonna call?” The answer seems to be the dog.
I hear voices in the dark, wheedling a visit from our itinerant bedwarmer. Unfortunately we have four sleeping platforms and only one hound, so the others have been seen sneaking in and kidnapping the big white bundle of fur. We could always invest in more puppies, but that brings other issues. I may have to reprogram the ‘stats in the absence of available bedbuds.
In passing, for those who sleep alone, seeking warmth on the other side of the bed can lead to elbow marks. Believe me.
We’re also dealing with a stressed dog. Each morning, one of the paper carriers in our neighbourhood has been accompanied by his best friend, “Huey”. A lovely lunk of a golden retriever that is free to roam and visit doors other than his own. My dog has been apoplectic as of late. How dare that young scamp visit my yard? I don’t have the heart to tell her that in the real world, many dogs ramble unleashed. She is willing to accept a chain and collar; it’s for her own good. Still, wandering minstrels have always upset the stay at homes.
