The 9-volts in all three of the smoke detectors in our apartment - bedroom, office, spare room - ran out of juice sometime during the night. This meant that sometime around 7am, I woke the harmony of three piercing beeps echoing throughout the apartment. My dog, bless him, was losing his mind. He was running back and forth from the bedroom door to the window (mind you, the fastest way between points A and B is across our bed, and more specifically across my bathing suit region) trying to either figure out where the shrieking alien transmission was stemming from or to escape its reach. When he noticed I was awake, he stared at me with panicked eyes that were, at one point projecting both confusion and sick understanding. He then followed me around the house, while my lovely wife grumbled beneath a sadly non-noise canceling pillow helmet, and watch as I stood with wobbly legs on various chairs to vanquish each of the beeping demons.
After, once the house was quiet once again, the dog went back to sleep. He too, was quiet, peaceful. I, however, wasn't so lucky. So here I am, banging away at the keyboard.
I'm going to throw away every alar clock I own. Who needs them? I've got chainsaws, sick dogs and needy smoke detectors to pull me out of bed and get me moving.