Coyote Door

I'm not a furniture rearranger. Boredom is quelled in other ways, because if another arrangement of the furniture would look or serve better, I'd have put the stuff "there" in the first place. Nevertheless, I was forced into the move by my own hatched plan to reinstall the woodstove we removed from the den last year. I was just sure there would be a way to squeeze that monstrosity (read: eyesore) into the living room, where one end was appointed for living, the other for dining.

When a 20% off sale at the builders' supply store shoved a through-the-wall kit and chimney pieces first into the truck, then throughout the house, it was time to tackle the project, because the reinstalled woodstove would be far less decoratively intrusive than the acquired bits and pieces strewn about our living space: "This stuff ain't workin' for me here."

The living space was on the south end of the room.

I'm married to a very short man?
No, wait. He's kneeling.

Now it's on the north. And the rest of the sofa wraps nearly to the wall. Cozy. Never say crowded, or people will think you don't have a lick of decorative sense. It's cozy. Don't be gettin' all nervous or critical about the entry door smacking into the sofa, either, because that's just a piggledy photo perspective. That quilt had to come off the rack in favor of another, because one of the greens in it refused to marry the sofa. They got along fine when they were neighbors. Marriage was a no. The media armoire had been stuffed, as were the 4 bookcases. When you plant a bookcase, pour cement around its roots, because if you don't, you may decide to move it, and you'll have book and film towers all over your whole house for several hours. Ugly. Overwhelming.

So we enjoyed a lovely evening in the new living room. The living area was cozy, the dining area was roomy, and I sort of wondered if "this" was how things should have been all along.

The woodstove. Mmm. It and every power tool known to mankind were dragged into my lovely, new dining area the next morning. We lost our heads, as we discussed whether or not the chimney could be nestled behind the wall between two windows. Unfortunately, guessing left us with a hole for the stovepipe and a coyote door.


Shall I speak again of how much we don't like to do sheetrock patches?

Those coyotes are out there every night and sometimes during the day. With winter coming on, their fur (aka pelts) will soon be thick and fluffy. I say we keep the coyote door and make a few extra, easy bucks: Here boy. C'mere, boy. Want cookies?


The day is thine, the night also is thine: thou hast prepared the light and the sun. Thou hast set all the borders of the earth: thou hast made summer and winter. ~Psalm 74:16, 17