Last night, as I muted the often-on television to say goodnight to my father, I heard a peculiar wheezing noise. It sounded as though this muffled breathing was coming from the fireplace... so like any rational and warm-hearted American girl, I immediately preceded to panic. My thought process:
"SOMETHING IS DYING IN THE CHIMNEY. SOMETHING IS DYING IN THE CHIMNEY AND OHMIGOD OHMIGAWD, IT'S PROBABLY A CUTELITTLEFUZZY SQUIRREL WITH TINY ROUND ADORABLE EYES THE COLOR OF PERFECTLYPOLISHEDSHOES AND BY THE QUIET AND PATHETIC WAY I CAN BARELY HEAR POOR MR. NUMNUTS BREATH HIS LAST HEARTBREAKING BREATHES, HE HAS PROBABLY BEEN IN THE CHIMNEY TRAPPED FOR SIX WEEKS DYING A HORRIBLE DEATH OF STARVATION AND ABANDONMENT, ALL WHILE HIS SQUIRREL WIFE HAS BEEN SUFFERING THE AGONY OF NOT KNOWING WHERE HER BELOVED SQUIRRELYWHIRLEYPUMPKINPIE IS AND HAS BARELY KNOWN HOW TO FEED HER SIX HUNGRY BABY SQUIRREL MOUTHS AT HOME AND HELP! WHERE THE HELL IS THE WHEEZINGCOMINGFROM? SOMETHING IS DYING IN THE CHIMNEY! DAAAAAAADDDDD!!!"
Like any calm and warm-blooded American man, my father preceded to grab a police-grade flashlight and the sharpest butcher knife my kitchen had to offer. After a thorough investigation, it turns out that the mysterious death rattle came not from a precious trapped squirrel, but from the fake golden retriever puppy on the chair closest to the fireplace. The ignorant faux puppy was curled happily (albeit stiffly) and breathed each of his mechanized and robotic breathes with the pleasant knowledge that with one forgotten flip of his switch to the "on" position by an adorable grandchild three days ago, the puppy could scare the BEJEZUS out of a gullible human.
