Frost. And other things.

I woke up to frost this morning.  The real deal.  As I gazed out at the fields, my breath clouding up in front of me, it looked as if it really did snow. Everything was white.  It was a little disarming.  Especially since only two hours earlier, I was awoke by Donnie saying, “I smell smoke!”

To me, this simple sentence is an important warning.  Like, for instance, “Don’t walk, there is a bus coming,” or “I think that tea smells like almond because it has cyanide in it.”  Donnie declared his smoke smelling, and then rolled over, closing his eyes, and dreaming, I can only guess, of gin and tonics.  (Delicious!)

I got out of bed, smelled, and yes, there was smoke.  After walking the entire house, I determined the smoke was located in only 2 rooms.  (And by smoke I mean the smell like you’re in a really hot sauna, not like you’ve burned the garlic bread.)  It was determined it was coming from the attic furnace.  Back to sleep we both went.  But before, I of course, had to take the dogs out.  It was, at this point, too dark to actually see the frost.  We snuggled – as best you can with two dogs in a bed and one in a crate whining – only to be woken up by the smell again.

This time, Donnie got up and walked the house.  He turned off the furnace and went back to bed.  I took the dogs out.  And witnessed the frost.  Donnie slept.  The furnace was later turned on again with no apparent smell.  As Donnie suggests, perhaps it was something just caught in one of the vents.  Like what?  A chipmunk?  A beef tenderloin?  A vole?

Speaking of voles, there was a live one discovered in the orchard today.  Discovered by the dogs.  At one point, Bob Evans actually had it in his mouth.  The vole squeaking with such intensity, I can only imagine what he was thinking.  Like the lambs to poor Clarice.  To Bob Evans, it sounded like one of his toys.  Hey – that’s a lightbulb moment.  The toys actually sounds like real animals!  Well, anyway, I grabbed ‘Evans and we went back inside.  Sure, the vole and the holes he digs are obnoxious, but I’m not going to witness his death first-hand.  And I’m not going to cope with a dog’s mouth coated in rodent blood.

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