I return an hour later and as I approach the front door, I smell something a little off, but do not register that it is emanating from our house untilI open the door to find a houseful of thick, black, acrid smoke

and a dog with his tail between his legs. I quickly run through the smoke and briefly assess the situation--no flames, but floor is charred--and open the back door to let the dog out and catch a breath of fresh air.

At that moment, my front door bursts open and it is our neighbor who had been raking leaves in his back yard. He is yelling for me. I tell him I am fine, briefly explain what I know so far and go out the front to breathe again. A former volunteer fireman, he immediately noticed the smoke billowing out the back door when I opened it and with the fumes blanketing the neighborhood, thought I might have been down for the count inside.

Back inside, I quickly check the floor, see the paint stripper melted to the tiles and conclude that this was an Act of Dog. Dog, in this case, having accidentally stepped on the paint strippers switch, engaging the heat, igniting the cardboard box and scorching the floor. I open more windows and doors and then check to see if the floor is still hot. It is warm, but I feel confident the fire is out. I note the cord to the paint stripper has burned in half and think that that is a very good thing, as it probably is why we still have a house and dog and bird. Omigod, the bird!

It has probably been an hour since I returned home before I think of our cockatiel, Larry Bird, and I am afraid of what I will find in his cage in the living room. Visions of canaries in mines dance in my head as I run to check. Larry actually appears fine and I think I should move him out of the main smoke-filled areas. I decide on the basement, having been taught that heat (and therefore smoke) rises, I assume the basement would have the best air. It is too cold that night to put him outside. I open the basement door and more smoke billows out. Guess Larry wont go down there. But I do, thinking that I could have been wrong about the fire being out. Now I am thinking it burned through the floor to the basement ceiling or worse, to the area between ceiling and upper floor. I do a quick inspection in the laundry room and see no evidence of fire, just smoke.

I decide it is time to get Leonard on the phone and get him home from work.

I am spending my time going between the backyard for air (stinky though it is) and continuing to monitor the house. Before Leonard arrives, I notice that the can of paint thinner is all of one inch from the edge of the scorched flooring and the bottle of rubbing alcohol only a few inches away from that. Once again I am grateful to have a house.

We do not call the fire department. The fire is out and we are airing the house. My asthma has hit the big time by now and I have a headache. I keep telling Leonard, "You should have smelled it an hour and a half ago, if you think this is bad!" By this time, I located two fans and have them blowing smoke out the back door and the bedroom window. The temperature in the house is dropping and by bedtime it will be about 40 degrees inside. I sleep with the blankets over my head, not just for warmth, but to act as filters. In our heart of hearts, we know we should never have stayed in the house and I shudder to think what our lungs look like. Never having been smokers or coal miners, I still figure someone will be writing "lung cancer" or "black lung disease" on our death certificates some day.

Leonard takes the rest of the week off from teaching drivers education and we work at cleaning up. It eventually becomes obvious that we are making no headway. The more we clean, the more soot we find. As we dust one item off, soot is settling behind us. The fumes are still toxic and Leonard goes to buy masks. He wears one for a couple of days, I dont, feeling the damage has been done already. Obviously, the fumes affected my rational thought processes. We finally realize the situation is bigger than both of us and call the insurance company. Unbeknownst to us, that is when our troubles will start in earnest.

To be continued