Our doorbell has never worked properly. We're not sure why, or what it would take to solve the problem, and it's never been particularly high on our list of situations we're eager to explore. Especially now that I work from home, I'm okay with missing the myriad opportunities that present themselves each day for me to dash down three flights of stairs with THAT DOG in close pursuit, to find only a teen selling overpriced candy bars/a Jehovah's witness selling a time share in some alternative universe/or the UPS man wanting to know if I'll accept delivery of the latest twenty-seven pound "Hams from Across the World" package for my neighbor so it won't be sitting out on her porch in the sun all day. When friends come by the house, they call to let us know they're downstairs. It's a system where everyone wins.
So you can IMAGINE my surprise when--at approximately 10:27 last Thursday morning--the sound of a doorbell rang throughout our condo. THAT DOG shot straight up in the air like she'd been set on fire, then bounced from wall to wall, looking at me frantically as if to say, "FINALLY! My people are here to adore me! Let them in! Let them in!"
I guess I'm a bit more jaded than THAT DOG, because I couldn't think of a single person who would stop by at 10:27 on a Thursday morning to adore either of us. So glanced surreptitiously out the front window to see who might be lurking below...and what superpowers he/she/it had that had caused this ringing sound.
Our street was clear, except for the Fed Ex truck parked in front of a house that sits kitty-corner across the street. That's when I saw what had caused this commotion: each time the Fed Ex guy reached for the little button next to their door, OUR doorbell rang.
It's the squirrel. I'm convinced of it.