Hello, this is the fire department.”
“There’s a mother possum! Hanging from a traffic light in the Town Square! And eight possum babies are hanging with her!”
“You say a possum, ma’am?”
“Not just any possum! A mama possum!”
Silence.
“We don’t usually do possums, ma’am.”
“Well, she’s about twenty feet up, and we’ve got cars honking and children crying for a fire fighter to come to the rescue. Why did you become a fire fighter, anyway, if you’re not going to rescue a possum family twenty feet up?”
Silence.
“Ring the bell, mister! Ring the bell! We’ve got a crisis here!”
“All right, ma’am. Ringing the bell, ma’am.”
The fire house bell rang loud and clear, and all the fire fighters in the fire house jumped on the ladder truck, and away they went.
Henrietta, so far, had done superbly. And her eight children, too.
While the fire fighters were heading for the Town Square, Robby the raccoon was lifting up an attic door inside the fire house, sliding down the fire house pole, and grabbing a biscuit off the dinner table on his way to the front door.
He lifted the latch and Conroy stepped in.
“Where’s the dog?” asked Conroy.
“In the office over there.” Robby pointed. “He’s sleeping.”
“Not for long,” said Conroy, grinning.
“Good luck!” said Robby on his way out.
Conroy walked across the fire house floor, into the office, and jumped on top of a file cabinet.
“Meow,” he said.
Bark, bark, bark, bark, bark, bark, bark, bark, bark, bark, bark, bark, bark, bark, bark!
“Want to play tag?” Conroy asked when the dalmatian stopped barking to take a breath. “I’m It!”
And Conroy leaped over the dog’s head and ran toward the open door. In nine seconds ( just as Herman had calculated) the dalmatian was out of the fire house and Conroy was up a tree.
“Meow, meow, meow,” said Conroy for effect.