As I type this, I’m listening to the soft snores of my three lab-mixes snoozing in front of our wood-burning stove.
It’s kind of adorable how much they love it.
What wasn’t so adorable was almost dying of smoke inhalation this past weekend.
Okay, that’s a bit dramatic, but it did get smoky—really smoky.
My husband built a fire in the stove and then left to pick up a couple things at the store.
I stayed home wrapped up in a Hokie-themed blanket editing my thumbnail picture for this week’s video.
I’m cold natured, and we had two doors open. My husband left the side door open when he split for the store, so cold air surged in through the screen door. The sliding glass door was also open to allow the dogs to go in and out as they pleased.
Even though the fire blazed, my fingers felt numb, so I got up to shut the doors. I noticed smoke billowing out of the wood-burning stove, but I had no idea what to do.
I shut the doors, because my fingers felt like they were going to break off my hands not thinking that was a really dumb idea since smoke was permeating every corner of the house.
When my husband strolled back in about fifteen minutes later, he said, “What are you doing? Didn’t you notice how smoky it is in here? It’s like I walked into Snoop’s house.”
I peered up from my computer screen to realize that I had to squint to see him even though he stood eight feet from me. Not good.
We realized that the flue was closed. Well, he figured it out. And, guess what? He tried to blame me.
Oh no. I don’t think so, bud. I never mess with the friggin’ wood-burning stove.
I confessed this to my mother-in-law and the first question she asked was, “Did the smoke alarm go off?”
It didn’t! Time to get that checked out.