Inflamed Responses to Some Burning Questions

I am obliged to re-examine, or further explain, my priorities in case of fire.

As I said, I would not go into a burning house to rescue anything except my wife, an act that would be required by the laws of human relationships, whatever the consequences.

In fact, if our house were really burning, it is more likely that my wife would try to rescue me, since she is by nature almost fearless, and presumably holds me in some regard. Also, she would feel obliged, by those same laws, to save her spouse, however useless a helpmate he might be.

I also said that I might go back into a burning house to save my reading glasses, but that was foolish. Reading glasses are quickly replaceable, and rather than take a chance of being burned alive, I could easily get by for a couple of days without reading. It might even improve my morale.

I am chastised, however, for saying I would not go back into a burning house to save my wife’s birds--three parakeets, a canary, and a cockatiel, in three bulky cages.

Linda A. Walck of San Juan Capistrano is especially derisive. “I am appalled,” she writes in a letter to the editor, “that he would abdicate his responsibility as a pet owner to at least make reasonable efforts to save their lives.”

There are several aspects of this contingency that Mrs. Walck has failed to consider. First, the birds are my wife’s pets, not mine. That, of course, does not absolve me of my humane responsibility. Second, the cockatiel not only does not like me, but if I so much as whistle at him he thrusts at me with lowered head, black eyes blazing, opens his hideous beak and huffs at me like a dragon. His countenance is one of pure hatred.

Neither of us has forgotten the time, when my wife was away, that he got out of his cage and flew down into the bottom of her bathtub, which is three feet deep. I lowered myself into the tub and caught him. He sank his beak into my hand. I had to crawl out of the tub on my hands and knees, while his beak was still locked on my bloodied flesh. I stuffed him into his cage, pulled my hand free, and slammed the door. I had never heard him say a word before, but he said, distinctly, “Big deal! Big deal!”

We have never spoken since. What annoys me is that he will probably outlive me. Cockatiels commonly live 50 years.

Also, Mrs. Walck is evidently not aware of the nature of fire. Our house, packed as it is with the accumulated junk of 40 years, would go up like a torch. If we had any warning at all, we would barely have time to get ourselves out, much less her birds. It is possible, of course, that she might insist on saving the birds, and I might have to knock her out and drag her to safety, as heroes do in the movies. Of course I’m not sure I could knock her out.

Adrienne F. Potter of Corona chides me for observing, with dismay, that in the Bel-Air fire of some years ago wealthy residents often rushed out of their houses with stuffed animals, leaving precious jewelry and works of art to the flames.

She points out that a stuffed animal may be a child’s beloved toy, “worth more . . . than any jewelry or priceless art,” or “an adult’s security, still worth more than any material possession.”

She adds: “It is especially helpful in the months that follow, as emotional healing takes place, to have some meaningful little piece of your past to hold on to. . . . Clothing, furniture, art, cars, jewelry and houses are replaceable. Lives and precious family heirlooms are not. And beloved teddy bears are not.”

All right, let’s agree that teddy bears may be important to some people’s emotional security. My point is that if a father runs back into a burning house to save a child’s teddy bear, which is more important to the child--his teddy bear or his father?

I agree, however, that a teddy bear may be more important than a diamond necklace or even a Van Gogh. But adults who rely on teddy bears have problems that are beyond my scope.

But Ms. Potter has got me worried. I wonder if my wife has a teddy bear hidden away somewhere amid all her memorabilia. If so, my problem is more complex than I realized.

Charles H. Jameson of Corona has what seems a practical plan. He would save all his bills, because his credit is his most valued possession. “Thus, having saved the unpaid bills, I can pay them and charge again to replace anything lost.”

Sounds sensible. But I wouldn’t bother. I know my creditors will find me, wherever I am.