The band Three Dog Night sang that “One is the loneliest number”. I’m not sure if one is lonely, but it is cold. One is precisely the Fahrenheit temperature as I write this morning, providing a wind chill “feels like” of minus nine. It is warmer inside my freezer than on my porch. That’s OK, I don’t plan on spending time in either frigid location.
My across the street neighbor texted me around eight o’clock last night to tell me there was a fox on my front porch. While I was out playing in the snow with my granddaughter yesterday I saw fox tracks coming from my porch and rounding to behind the house next door. Mr Fox must be running a regular route. The chipmunks are in some danger. I suspect it is the same red fox I have spotted a few times over the past couple of years.
Suburbia is teeming with wildlife.
Today is the Big Hallmark Holiday. I have a suitable card signed to present the wife. We shall brave the cold to have a modest dinner this evening to mark the occasion.
Since I’m a good host, I won’t bore you with my oft-repeated homage to the first date with my wife in a romantic tribute to St. Valentines Day. There is nothing worse than an old man endlessly repeating his stories.
The band Three Dog Night sang that “One is the loneliest number”. I’m not sure if one is lonely, but it is cold...