Listen, don’t freak out. I know I’m a talking dog. Whatever, no big deal, let’s move on. What should cause you concern is the incalculable amount of time my human companions spend running up the stairs and sliding down the pole. Up the stairs, down the pole. Up the stairs. Down the pole. Curious George would take one look at this bunch and whisper behind his hand “psst what’s with those hoseheads?”
I shouldn’t make such a big deal out of this. I don’t know why I care so much. Maybe I’m just jealous. Ol’ Sparky doesn’t get to go down the pole. I get to chase my tail as I spin feverishly in a circle. And while I’m being honest here, I have to admit that chasing my tail is not a cute little choice. It’s a compulsion. I’m not too proud to admit that I’m in a support group for it. We meet once a week in the fire station basement. Sometimes I am able to get my paws on some leftovers to share with the group.
You might think the chef upstairs only knows how to cook a steak or throw a big spoon of mash on your plate, but he’s got real chops. Sometimes he even cooks non-food shaped blocks in different colours. There’s this dish he prepares called “cheese slopes” which is amazing. He tells us he learned how to cook like that in Europe, where he trained. The best thing about the chef is that there’s always sausages in the fridge.
When I’m not busy eating to bury my tail wagging shame then I’m probably watching the other firefighters play ping pong. Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. Some people might find the repetition around this fire station a little boring, but the quiet life really works for me.
Wait, did I say quiet life? It’s quiet unless there’s a fire somewhere. Which is all the time. And then it’s all sirens and bells. That bell puts out enough sound to knock the fleas off a mutt. I have no idea how that bat lives up there. It would be like living inside a canon.
But that fire truck. Bark! Bark! There should be a whistling sound there. You get the idea. That fire truck is a little beauty. Nothing better than feeling the wind at your ears as you careen wildly through LEGO City.
For a building made in 1932 I’ve got to say that this place is in good shape. It’s got character, style and the firefighters have done their best to make this place a home away from home. At 2231 bricks it’s a building with some substance. Even though I have to deal with the Grand Emporium next door sometimes – gah, all those weekend shoppers – I’m not even going to complain. Not even a little. I’m too busy planning a rescue of that cute German Shepherd from the Pet Shop down the street. I think she digs me. And why wouldn’t she? I’m a firehouse dog, and not even one of those freaky looking Dalmatians! I told her I’m often mistaken for a wolf and she said she could see the resemblance.
Now if you’ll excuse me I’m going to go inside and meditate for a while and totally not chase my tail for 45 minutes.
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