When we left off yesterday, Ping, Puma, France and the Otters (riding in
the bucket of the 1020) landed very gently at the end of the Dunkin'
Donuts Drive-Thru lane.  They rolled to the big colorful menu board and
the little metal grill into which you yell your order, and that is where
Ping turned off the tractor so that they could be heard.  A metallic
voice issued forth from the little grill.  It said " Welcome to Dunkin'
Donuts, can I have your order?"
 
"DELIGHTFUL!," yelled the first Otter into the grill from his spot in
the bucket, held about four feet above the ground.  At that moment, a
somewhat battered pick-up truck pulled up behind the tractor, and idled
in place, waiting it's turn.  The first Otter spoke into the grill: "I
would like a large mocha latte, please, and my friend would like one as
well."
 
The voice issued forth again from the grill: "Would you like sugar and
whipped cream with those?"
 
"DELIGHTFUL!," both Otters cried out together in stereo.  "Do you Little
Ones wish anything?" the second Otter called back to Ping, Puma and
France, who all shook their heads in the negative.  "Drive up please"
was heard, and Ping turned the ignition key, and the tractor roared into
life once again, and rolled forward slowly to the pick up window, where
he thoughtfully turned it off once more.  Tractors are pretty loud.
Smoky, too.
 
By now, *both* windows of the pick up truck had been rolled down, and a
strained conversation was taking place between the occupants and the
voice issuing forth from the metal grill.  The truck driver said "I'm
tellin' you, they's rats, DAMN BIG RATS, WET ONES, in that John Deere!
The ones with the lattes!"
 
"Sir, we have a fumigator that comes in once a month, we don't have any
rats, here."
 
"DUMBASS!!!  They's drivin' the tractor!  The TRACTOR OUTSIDE YOUR
WINDOW!  Look out your window!"
 
"Hold on..."said the voice from inside, and the little fold up window
opened.  And "................." came from the little metal grill.
 
The first Otter stood up on his back legs and leaned into the open window
and asked "Might we have the longer straws with those lattes?  We both
prefer the longer straws." "Yes, definitely, the longer straws", said
the second Otter, still seated beside his standing commerade.
 
And "..............." came from the little metal grill.
 
"See!" yelled the pick up truck driver, "Rats!  Talkin' rats!  You serve
*rats* here, son?"
 
And "..............." continued to come from the little metal grill.
 
"I heard that!" said the standing Otter, whiskers quivering in
indignation.  He turned around bodily and faced the pick up.  He said
"We are mustellids sir, not rodents."
 
"SMARTMOUTH tractor drivin' freakin' magic rats!," yelled the pick up
driver.  " I don't know what the hell you are, just take your stuff
and go!"
 
"DELIGHTED!" yelled the standing Otter with some heat in his voice,
busily collecting his lattes (with whipped cream, and the longer straws)
from the metal shelf of the take out window where the lattes were hastily
deposited, before the window was slammed shut with some finality.  The
first transferred the lattes to the second, and knocked on the glass of
the window with a balled up paw.  "There is the matter of payment!  We
are not thieves!," he called.
 
"Yesss, you are, all youuu ferretsss" interjected France, unhelpfully.
 
At that moment Ping said to Puma "Hold onto your whiskers, Dude," and
started the engine without further delay.  He immediately slotted the
gearshift into "UP",then a forward gear, and the tractor rose quite
quickly, knocking the standing Otter down onto his butt in the bucket.
He fell heavily against his commerade holding the lattes, and one of the
large plastic cups, slick with condensation, spun through the air....a
projectile....
 
Now if you've never been to Dunkin' Donuts, you do not know what a marvel
of engineering those cup lids are.  They survive ordinary upsets without
spilling a drop.  There was nothing ordinary about this situation.
Imagine the frosty cold pint of mocha slurry spinning, rotating in space
inside that clear plastic cup....the straw falling away....individual
drops of the sweetened liquid beginning to escape and arcing away like a
string of mocha pearls....Now imagine being France, the 'Fricken Pigmy
Hedgehog, watching this thing sail toward you like the International
Space Station.  Oh, she did run, but she couldn't hide.
 
!!SPLAT!!
 
It impacted perhaps an inch and a half behind her, inertia carrying the
bulk of the spill away from Ping and Puma, who, riding at the front of
the seat, were only lightly doused with the sweet, cold slop.  France was
not as fortunate.  No, not at all.  Imagine a Brillo pad, all scrunched
up, and dunked in a milkshake until it was completely saturated..  With
lots of whipped cream.  And two furious, beady little eyes, telegraphing
the ultimate in Hedgehog rage.  Imagine the swearing, once she wiped away
enough of the whipped cream with one paw that she *had* a mouth again,
beneath an energetically dripping snout.
 
The Otters shared the one remaining latte.  Their impression of it?
"DELIGHTFUL!"
 
-End of Story-
 
Alexandra in MA
[Posted in FML issue 4949]