Free Cabin Fever by Elle Casey

decide if it really is a problem for him, I take a step towards him. He moves as if he’s going to leave.
    “Okay, fine. Your butt’s not frozen. I’ll keep the door cracked for you.”
    I’m only inside the house for two minutes before I realize what a horrible idea that is. No way can I leave that door open. I won’t be any good to that dog out there frozen to death in here. Except maybe as food, and that just gives me the willies to think about. I do not want to be eaten by a terrier.
    When I open the door again, I find him closer to the steps but still too far away to indicate he’s committing to this relationship.
    “I’m going to leave this blanket out here for you,” I say, putting the stinky wool blanket from the couch in a pile on the porch. “You can make a nice warm nest in it, and I’ll bring you some food and water in just a minute. Just let me get the fire going first, okay?”
    He looks over his shoulder, like he’s considering leaving.
    “Fine. I’ll leave you to figure it out.” Closing the door, I wait for the sound of paws on the steps, but nothing comes, so I leave for the fireplace.
    I’ve never built a fire before, but I’ve seen it done plenty of times. What I need are some newspapers and some sticks. I look around the cabin and see exactly none of those things.
    “Dammit.”
    Searching through my bags, I find an Architectural Digest magazine that had photographs of some great fabrics in it that I was going to use as inspiration. “Oh well,” I mumble, tearing pages out and crumpling them up. “So much for inspiration.” My life is now all about function over form.
    Half the magazine is in a pile in the fireplace before I stand and go on the hunt for sticks. Out the window I see plenty of them. Problem is, they’re still attached to the trees they’re growing on. Everything else is covered in snow. Then I remember the splinters sticking out of my jacket and scarf, and realize I have a whole pile of sticks attached to the logs out on the porch.
    I nearly trip over the dog on my way out the door.
    He growls so hard it sounds like he’s about to turn himself inside out. But he’s curled up on the blanket, and he doesn’t look like he’s ready to leave it anytime soon.
    “Just relax,” I say, giving him a wide berth. “I’m just getting some sticks. Can’t have a fire without sticks, right?”
    The logs I was given are huge. A few of them look like they were cut into fourths from a giant tree, and on the raw sides, they have some splinters sticking out. But try as I might, I can’t get more than ten of the little slivers with my gloves on, and when I try barehanded, I’m reminded how bad it would be for an artist to get frostbite of the fingers.
    “Dammit.” There is one other solution, but I really don’t want to go there. I need that wood to make my canvases with.
    “We’ll try it this way first,” I say to Jaws, ignoring him when he growls this time.
    I stack my little twiglets up in the fireplace like a teepee, amongst the mass of paper, and pull out my box of matches. The first one flames bright, but it won’t catch the magazine papers on fire.
    “What the hell!” I yell at the fireplace. “Fire meet paper! Paper meet fire! You guys can burn down entire houses together! Come on, man! Work with me!”
    Thirty minutes of trying gets me exactly nowhere with this fire. And now there’s no more sunlight, even though there should be plenty of it according to my watch. The snow’s coming down so heavy my car will be buried in no time.
    “Not like I was going anywhere,” I mumble to myself. Looking around, I chew my lip, trying to figure out what’s next on my agenda, since having a warm cabin isn’t it. My last resort is too terrible to contemplate. I can’t use the wood I brought for my canvases, even though I’m sure it’ll go up in flames within seconds, it’s so dry. I can’t be sure that the bigger town nearby will have what I need, and being here