42. Poor thing.

Replenishing the stock of firewood we used up over the weekend, I lifted a particularly heavy log, and out popped this little fella.

Froze to death, I reckon. You know what they say about the pursuit of cheese:   sometimes, it's gouda, and other times, it just isn't that grate.

That was lame, wasn't it?

Now I'm feeling kind of bleu.