Anyone for a Weiner Dog roast?

Due to an unusual occurance Monday night, I didn't get much sleep.

First, I dreamed there was a knock on the door and that the door bell had rang. This woke me up, and I listened carefully. I knew that if someone was at the door, Petey the Weiner Dog would be barking as if he was the last starving dog on earth and a steak dinner was trying to get in. But, I didn't hear Petey, so I decided to go back to sleep. But, not much later, I thought I heard the door bell ringing again and someone knocking at the door again - and this time, I did hear Petey "say" something about it.

Now to understand the following paragraph, you must first know what was in our minds. A couple of weeks ago, Nana Pam and I read an article about home invasions.  Apparently, a favorite tactic of home invaders is for one of them to approach a door pretending to be a stranded motorist while the others hid nearby waiting for the unsuspecting homeowner to open the door. After we read that, we both decided that if Petey the Weiner Dog ever alerted because someone came to the door late at night we would be armed and ready.

Well, someone was now at the door late at night. And now wide awake and thinking "home invaders", I sprang out of bed, armed myself with a pistol and slipped on my house shoes. Nana Pam, however, was way ahead of me - by the time I had the pistol in hand, she had already put on jackboots, slung an ammo belt onto her shoulders, grabbed her AR-15, slapped in a high-capacity magazine and chambered a round. She would have looked quite formidable if it hadn't have been for the pink-and-green-kitty pajamas she had on (female "Rambo" wearing comfortable colored clothing comes to mind).

With her left hand on the door knob, Nana Pam shouted over her shoulder, "STAY DOWN AND FOLLOW ME". She then burst through the door, swung the rifle muzzle toward the front door, shouted "CLEAR" and bounded down the stairs, all the while calling out "MAMA'S COMING, PETEY! I'LL SAVE YOU, PETEY!". By the time I got downstairs myself, she was already soothing Petey the Weiner Dog and cooing soft words to calm him down.

At this point, I noticed some peculiar flashing lights through the window. I cautiously opened the front door, and saw no less than three firetrucks, a rescue responder and a full pumper unit in the front yard, surrounded by two dozen firemen in full fire-fighting regalia complete with fire axes. I no longer suspected a home invasion, but I really didn't know what to do, so I slowly withdrew back into the house and closed the door. And it was only a moment later after glancing out the back door that I noticed copious amounts of flame and smoke billowing from the backyard between the shed and Danger Lane Workshop.

THE COMPOST HEAP WAS ON FIRE!

Well, you know me - I'm unflappable, I'm fearless, and I don't panic easily. But, seeing flames in the backyard so close to the other out-buildings caused a certain part of my anatomy to pucker up like a dried prune. Only Nana Pam remained composed; she pushed me out the back door with firm instructions to ensure the security of the chicken coop from the conflagration - not her exact words, but you get my drift (Note for little Jackson Danger: We do NOT use the type of language used by Nana during compost heap fires in the middle of the night).

The good folks from Pumper 36 were magnificent (God bless 'em). They positioned the smaller pumper unit near the blaze and administered a copious amount of water onto the fire, putting it out in short order. But, they didn't stop there - they dismantled the frame of the ruined compost heap piece by piece and extinguished each and every spark they found. In the meantime, I consulted with the fire captain, who maintained a confident and reassuring manner throughout the whole ordeal. He explained that the entire firehouse responded after a neighbor saw the fire on his way to work and called 911 after unsuccessful attempts to awaken the sleeping occupants (namely, Nana Pam and yours truly). Apparently, the exact nature of the fire had not been accurately communicated in the 911 call, so naturally, the fire captain had to assume the worst (i.e. a structure fire) and responded in kind. Nice to know the good folks at Pumper 36 are on top of things (God bless 'em).

After Pumper 36 ensured all was well on Buddha Belly Farm and had departed the area, I found myself too keyed up to go back to bed (possibly due to the parting words of the fire captain, to wit: "If we ever have to come back here to fight a compost fire in the middle of the night again, there will be HELL to pay, MISTER Bonehead".)

So, in an attempt to relax, I spent some time on the computer reviewing the obvious web site information that anyone would want to research after a night like this - you know, things like:

the penalty for violating current burn bans;

the average cost of replacing a barn that had been burnt to the ground;

and

the expense associated with three heavy fire engines responding to a fire in a compost heap, and the amount of any fine imposed for such a hypothetical event.

All in all it was a very eventful night. And we did learn some valuable lessons that would ordinarily be overlooked:

Lesson 1: Petey the Weiner Dog no longer cares if someone comes to the door at night;

Lesson 2: The new dogs apparently don't care, either;

Lesson 3: Nana Pam and I cannot hear someone at the front door from our bedroom;

Lesson 4: From our gun handling exercise, we know who is prepared to prevent a potential home invasion, and who is not;

Lesson 5: From the friendly firefighters of Pumper 36 (God bless 'em), we learned the proper technique for putting out a compost fire in the middle of the night;

And Lesson 6: We learned what can cause a compost fire in the middle of the night and subsequently how to prevent one (See blog dated September 28, 2009).

(Editing note from Nana Pam: Perhaps "Lesson 6" should be renumbered "Lesson 1". Think about it, Bonehead.)