Frost, Hills, and a Chewed-Up Start October 6 greeted us with our first frost of the season—just a whisper of white across the grass, crisp enough to make the coffee taste richer and the walk feel sharper. Dixie and I took full advantage, clocking an hour through one of the few routes around here with real elevation gains. Not many places in Lethbridge or Medicine Hat offer hills worth mentioning, so when the land lifts and dips just enough to challenge the legs and lungs, it feels like a small triumph. Joe joined for the first leg, and two cups of black coffee later, the morning ritual felt complete. But nature giveth and nature gnaweth. Back at home, I discovered the mice had chewed through my windshield washer lines. The pump still hums with purpose, but only a few weak spurts make it to the glass—like a faucet with a cough. It’s a small annoyance, but one that reminds me how even the tiniest creatures can reroute our day. I’ll patch it up, of course, but part of me admires th...
Animal homeconomics of Virgil and Dixie