As little men and women ran around his home with buckets of snow trying to dampen the fire, Dasher knew he had hit rock bottom. Suddenly, a smack on his ass: WHAP!
Shit. It was The Boss.
“What the hell is a MATTER with you?!” he growled as Dasher retreated, ashamed of how far he had fallen. Dasher imagined his jowls jiggling behind that nicotine stained beard.
“You can’t throw LOGS into a GAS fireplace!”
“Well, why the hell NOT?!” Dasher barked as he lit a cigarette and took a deep long drag.
“Dash…” The Boss ripped the cigarette from his mouth and stubbed it out on his antler. “You don’t have a damn chimney.”
Dasher looked up to the smoldering ruins of his home and noticed, for the first time, the absence of the chimney he always assumed he had. Just as he assumed he was the only buck for her, just as he had assumed mixing his wine and medication would be harmless, now Dasher assumed it was time to get some help.