It is a chilly night in New England.  The temperature will just barely
bring us frost, and the most tender leaf tips will curl tonight.  Bring
in your tomatoes and vegetables!
 
Colored leaves skitter across the ground in the breeze.
 
Two little sausage shaped shadows scurry along the gravel of the lower
driveway, curiously bulky.  It is Ping is He and Puma, wearing sweat
socks with little holes cut in them for their heads and paws to stick
out of.  They need to work on the 1947 John Deere Tractor's electrical
system, and they are both blowing coats.  The socks are for warmth!
First Ping, then Puma climb up one of the enormous rear tires.  They run
the iron length of the body, and stop where a tattered wire, patched
repeatedly with sticky wads of electrical tape, emerges from the rear of
a headlight.  They bend to it, and begin to chew at the wads of tape,
removing them so the wire can be repaired, once again..
 
They work in peace for several minutes, fur blowing this way and that in
the playful Fall breeze.  Gnaw, gnaw, gnaw.  Then, over by the house,
there is a dragging sound in the gravel.  Puma looks up, but Ping
continues to gnaw, and to spit out a bit of ancient tape occasionally.
The dragging sound comes once again, and Puma jabs Ping in the ribs.
 
"Hey, Bonehead, what's that?" said Puma.
 
"That hurts Dude!", whined Ping.
 
Puma sighed deeply, closed her eyes, and said "Don't call me Dude.
What's that noise over by the house?" She pointed with one paw, and Ping
looked over to where she indicated.  He muttered something low and
colorful under his breath.
 
At just that moment, the breeze brought scraps of a tiny voice to
them.... "I 'ate youuu ferrrettsss.....youuuu 'ave tooo take meee wit'
youuu!"  It was FRANCE!  The Fricken' Pigmy Hedgehog!
 
Ping turned to Puma and said "Dude, I'll get her."  He jumped down to the
ground in one fluid leap and Puma closed her eyes, fighting to find her
center, and to use the Mantra that Master Ho had given her to deal with
these tedious interactions with Ping.  She breathed deeply.  In.  Out.
In.  Out.  In the background, she could hear France refusing to lay her
spikes flat so that Ping could scruff her in his mouth, and carry her
that way.  Ahhhhh....she was dragging the blue knit skimask.....that was
the strange sound in the gravel......France agreed to climb into the
mask, and Ping carried *that* in his mouth.  Up he scrambled with the
extra burden in his mouth, his strong young back carrying the weight up
the rear tire easily.  Finally, he carried France in her skimask to the
Tractor's seat, and put her down, carefully.  She cursed him, none the
less.  "Imbecile mustellide!"  Ping merely shrugged.
 
France poked her tiny little face out of one of the skimask's eyeholes,
and Puma said to her "We're not going anywhere tonight.  We're just
fixing the broken headlight."
 
Ping said "Yeah, we're bummed.  They're being mean to each other on the
FML again and people are quitting, so we're just doing maintenance."
"Ah....quelle domage.  Les Hoomins....'ow youuu say....dey pooofin' on
one anothaire..." said France.
 
"Yes", said Puma.
 
"Exactly, Dude!" said Ping.
 
"Welllll...I bite offfff de new 'lectrical tape for youuu." said France.
 
"Cool, Dude!" said Ping.
 
"Thanks, France!" said Puma.
 
And they fixed the headlight.  Too bad they couldn't fix the FML.
 
Alexandra in MA
[Posted in FML issue 5013]