If anyone ever hid behind a tree and filmed me emptying the garbage (hey, there’s a paraphilia for everything these days), it would look a performance from the tail end of “The Benny Hill Show.”
That’s because it’s always the middle of the night by the time I get around to it, it’s a long, dark journey to the dumpster, and with images from Doug’s critter cam reeling in my head, I can’t get back into the house fast enough.
Last night, while frantically prying open the frozen lid to the recycling bin, I discovered something even creepier than the thought of coyotes, bobcats, bears, fisher cats and rabid raccoons lurking in the shadows: Frosty the Half-Melted Snowman (and friends).