Last night, John and I stumbled home exhausted, ate some fudgesicles and eggplant, and made a fire.
About 20 minutes into an old House rerun, “Honey, I think we have a problem.” And a squirrel comes scurrying out of the fireplace!
Being deathly afraid of those needles they use to treat rabies, I, of course, shriek like a little boy as the squirrel beelines for the couch. After I gather my wits, I proceed to defend the stairway as John swats the squirrel out the door with a broom.
We need a dog.
