I woke up much too early on Sunday morning to the loud bell of the building fire alarm going off. As I am laying in bed, groggily thinking to myself, “what the hell is that?” Steve runs in the room and says, “it’s the fire alarm, let’s go!”
I fly out of bed and get the harnesses on the dogs and my jacket and just want to basically jump down the damn elevator shaft just to get out more quickly because who knows where the fire is!
“Do you want to take anything sentimental?” Steve said.
“No, I need you and the pugs.”
I throw Winston over my shoulder, hand Zelda to Steve, and we’re out the door. We fly down 23 flights of stairs to get to the bottom and you know what? The alarm SHUTS OFF. You know what that means? Some drunk asshole pulled the fire alarm.
As I wake up, I realize how utterly weak I am from having gone from deep sleep to running down a shitload of stairs in less than 5 minutes. I am too weak to take the dogs around the block.
We wait until we get the clearance to get back into the apartment, and we wait a little longer so that we don’t have to take the elevator with a load of other people, and we’re back in bed.
The three people in my life out here are really all I wanted to take. I don’t need any “stuff,” I didn’t even think to take my poor, sweet mac with me. But who would at 4am? If there’s one thing that the fire alarm taught me, it was that all I need is Steve and my dogs and I will be okay.
I also learned that running down 23 flights of stairs at 4am with an 18-pound dog on your shoulder results in a series of pulled muscles that are screaming out in confusion. WHY DID YOU RUN SO EARLY! YOU ONLY RUN ON THE TREADMILL! WHY DID YOU HAVE A DOG ON YOUR SHOULDER?!?!?!
They are pulled muscles of love though, so these are the best pulled muscles I’ve ever had.