Good Eats

Yesterday, I took my dogs to a new vet. The old place was fine, but after some stellar recommendations we decided to make the leap. They were due for their annual credit card-straining exams, so we felt like now was as good a time as any to switch.

One thing necessary for the full yearly doggy work up is a fecal sample. Nothing beats being up before sunrise outside, in the dead of an Illinois winter, scooping up dog shit to put in a bag.

The new vet was great and the final bill was a bit lower than the other place. The male of our two dogs celebrated by shitting on the exam room floor. He's a rock star, that one.

Before we had left the house that morning, it had started snowing quite a bit. The roads were pretty slippery but nothing a little old lady driving couldn't make up for.

What was scary was the fact that the heat in my car, which had been spotty in the last couple of weeks, decided to completely stop working this fine sub-zero morning. My hands and toes were numb and the defrost was not defrosting. I could barely see through my front windshield.

I had to to stop at the bank to make a deposit to cover the bills I sent out that morning. Luckily it was on the way home.

I had given up on the heat coming back on, but kept hoping against hope that somehow my window would defrost. It looked like I was driving through clouds, but if I squinted just enough I could make out my half of the road.

As I was sitting at the drive-up bank teller, I reasoned that I wasn't that far from home and if I was really really careful, I could get there without killing myself and the dogs or anyone else. Suddenly, I smelled something 'not right'-a burning smell to be exact. Then, smoke started billowing out of my dashboard.

I was cold, my dogs were cold, I couldn't see out the front of my car and now something was about to blow up under the hood. I didn't really see the point of panicking, so I just headed home.

After dropping the dogs off at the house, I went to the auto shop a block from my house.

A half hour and 40 bucks later, I was good to go. Something about a gallon of whoosit and a loose whatchamajig. I didn't care. My car was running, smoke-free and warm.

That night I decided, healthy eating be damned, we were eating comfort food for dinner. So I made fried chicken. I'd never made it before and if I may be so bold, it was really damn good. Alton Brown himself would have been proud.