A Panic Attack in Slow Motion

So here I was, minding my own business, catching up on a bit of paperwork, working my computer keyboard.

I heard some squeaking noises and thought, "isn't that cute? Trixie is playing with her chewie toy, the one with the squeaky noise." I turned to look at her, a loving, benevolent smile on my face.

Suddenly, my face turned to horror! She was not chewing on her chewie toy with the squeaky bit. She was chewing on one of my hearing aids! A $2200 hearing aid!

"No, Trixie, No!" I shouted. I scared her and she ran out of the office . . . I chased her to the bedroom. "Drop it, Trixie, drop it!" She cowered and was near the foot of the bed. I reached down to pick her up and . . . and . . . it was gone!

A $2200 hearing aid! $4400 for the pair!

I decided I'd have to wait till it passed through her system and then, if the stomach acid hadn't gnawed away all the plastic and/or circuit boards, and after cleaning it (and myself) up, maybe, just maybe it would still work.

I reached in her mouth again, poked my finger way down her gullet, hoping I could force her to vomit it up. Didn't work. I'm sure she was wondering what in the devil had gotten into dear old dad.

Then I began to wonder. Both hearing aids were on my night stand, as I recall. Did she already eat the other one? I looked. It was gone!

Cursing my fate, I began to walk back toward my office, to see if maybe I had put the other one down on my desk. Being very downcast I looked down on the floor and . . . there it was! It had fallen out of her mouth when I lifted her and I almost stepped on it. I picked it up and it was still whistling. (Hearing aids often whistle when not adjusted properly).

Now, had she already eaten the other one? It was not on the night stand, I'd check my desktop and . . . maybe I should check my right ear . . . and, there it was! I already was wearing my right hearing aid. I had forgotten it was already in my ear. I slept on my left side while having a nap, leaving the right hearing aid in so I could hear the tv.

All was well.

Then I got a call from one of my drivers. He's in the Emergency Room of the local hospital. He was going fishing, had his fishing gear in one hand, his tackle box in another . . . was going down an incline, on loose gravel, fell . . and broke his hip. So now I have to find a new replacement driver for next week.

Evelyn is off to an installation dinner for Kiwanis . . . I'm left here, alone, like a defenseless animal . . . (that part is okay. I hate installation dinners and their endless speeches!) and this Saturday is not my favorite Saturday so far.

Do I or do I not lead an exciting, adventurous life?