All yesterday afternoon I complained to the dogs about a burning smell. They didn’t care because, at the time, I was chasing them around with my new Shop Vac and they had other things to worry about. I figured someone was burning trash and I was annoyed because the smell persisted on into the night.
Finally at 2 a.m. two fire trucks went racing up the road to my neighbour’s house on the hill. Because I’m not right, (and neither is he) I started imagining all sorts of things: he set his house on fire and committed suicide, he dropped dead while making Ramen noodles and the house caught fire, he was cooking another body and an arm fell out, igniting the curtains, which started a blaze. I could have driven to the post office at 2 in the morning and someone would have been there with the scoop, but I didn’t feel like putting on pants.
The fire trucks left after an hour, but I couldn’t see if his house was still standing. The ambulance wasn’t involved so I figured my neighbour was okay, but I watched for the coroner’s wagon to show up just to be sure. I gave up at around 4 a.m. and went to bed.
When I woke up this afternoon and was sitting all bleary eyed at the computer, I heard sirens. There are now 5 fire trucks on the hill, apparently trying to put out a grass fire. Fire + water = dead fire.
I have to leave for work soon and I don’t feel comfortable leaving my house in the hands of the Meeteetse Volunteer Fire Department. Many of these fools sat in church with the fugitive and didn’t recognize him. Some of them drank at the bar with him and made jokes when his mug shot appeared on the TV. Har-de-har-har. I will allow that it was dark last night and it’s hard to see glowing embers, but it’s daylight now and if y’all can’t find the fire I don’t want to leave only to return to an area that resembles General Sherman’s March Through the South.
Get it right!