This is a story about the dinosaur at home, the sharp-tongued monster, the prototype of all foes of the domestic coziness and bliss. Incredible as it may sound, it is a classic story about a firefighter. At the end of a hard summer day the chief of the local fire brigade took the way home. He had spent all day long in fiery combats with blazing forests and stubble fields and could bring himself to nothing more than putting out the stub-end, dangling in his mouth, drop down heavily on the coach in front of the TV set and gulp a glass of cold beer to squelch the thirst inside. Unfortunately all these plans vanished the moment the firefighter saw his own house engulfed in flames, with dense, black and suffocating puffs of smoke curling into the air. A huge crowd had gathered in front of the house. They clicked their tongues, scratched their heads but did nothing.

The heart of the tough firefighter sank at this sad sight, but his professional training got the upper hand over his emotions. With no more than a shirt on, without his asbestos jacket and a helmet, he ran to the rescue of his relatives and household belongings. The crowd watched the firefighter enter the house and exit it carrying the children, his wife, the dog, the dog's food, the TV set and the refrigerator. At the beginning the crowd applauded the firefighter's heroic efforts, as the fiery tongues licked the evening sky. But after a while the firefighter began - with no rhyme or reason - to enter and exit the house carrying nothing.

"Hey, man, why do you come out of the house empty-handed? Whom are you rescuing?, " a man from the crowd asked him.

"Well, I am turning my mother-in-law over, " the firefighter murmured.

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