So there I am, trying to get in 1500 words to Nanowrimo using the Write or Die application and knowing that if I stop typing for more than a few seconds the screen will darken to an angry red and a terrifying wailing noise will begin to sound… and my dog starts to bark.
My dog is a sheltie. He barks sometimes. In fact, for a sheltie he’s really not bad at all. Whether this is a credit to my dog trainer expertise or sheer luck of the draw, I’ll never know.
But even as I tell him to shush while trying to keep writing, I can hear what is disturbing him. The sound of voices outside, quite loud. They must be right underneath a window or something, I thought. My dog swirled around me agitatedly and moaned, wuffing. My fingers kept moving over the keyboard but I was becoming increasingly distracted. The voices were still there and sounded quite close. Could it be the TV? But my dog has never been tricked into barking at the television (although he has been known to look behind it anxiously when the Westminster Dog Show was on, looking for all those dogs he could hear). I call to Perfect Husband, “Love, what is that noise?”
The bathroom door is shut tight and the fan is on. He can’t hear any of this. So resigning myself to my punishment, I lift my fingers off of the keyboard and head downstairs.
There are two Asian women standing in my kitchen. This takes me by surprise.
“Your door was unlocked,” said one of them, hailing me.
“Yeah… can I help you?” I asked.
“We’re here to see the house,” she said, “and your door was unlocked.”
“This house isn’t for sale,” I said. “We bought it a couple months ago.”
This seemed to take the wind out of their sails. The woman looked at a paper in her hand in confusion.
“Can I see that?” I asked, leaning over her. “Ah. See, that’s the right house number, but you’re on the wrong street.”
Immediate apologies and general confusion. I see them firmly but kindly out the door.
“But your door was unlocked,” said the realtor in defence.
“Well, both of us are home, and we have a dog,” I said.
“I’m afraid of dogs,” quavered the other woman as my small, fluffy sheltie sniffed her pants leg delicately, plumey tail waving.
“Well, there you go,” I said. “Bye now.”
I came upstairs to my husband standing in the hall, staring at the flashy light and noise coming from my angry computer application.
“What was THAT?” he said.
“I just found two Asian women in our kitchen,” I said.
You can imagine the rest of the scene.