Dear Ferret Folks-
 
Oooookayyy.....I have received the first terroristic threat of my entire
literary life (what took you people so long?  Wasn't the Kim Fox
"Thinking Brain Dog" post bad enough?) for leaving France, the Pygmy
HHog "stranded" on the tractor in my story.  I quote:
 
> So rescue France.  Or else.
 
This, from some HHog named "Vinnie" who claims to be a resident of
Chicago.  Mafia ties were alleged.
 
In fact, several of you complained rather *vehemently*, so before I have
to move in with Salaman Rushdie, I shall consider the matter.  I don't
know the number for Homeland Security, but maybe Dick Cheney will protect
me.  He has a gun.  (A liiiitle bitty Italian one, developed to protect
the bearer against lawyers.)
 
Alexandra
************************************************************************
When I so thoughtlessly left off....
 
"Run," said Ping.  And They did.  At least Ping and Puma ran, dropping
from the tractor's seat and heading for the front door of the house.
France, stranded high up on the tractor's seat by her size was heard to
yell quite clearly "I HATE youuu ferretsss!" It didn't slow them one bit.
The two literally fell over one another in their attempt to sneak past
the front door and tear up the stairs toward the safety of their room.
On the way up the stairs Puma panted "Three fifteen!  Three fifteen!
You, you..." As she and Ping reached the top of the stairs the two
regarded one another in the darkness.  Puma could think of nothing bad
enough to call Ping, who was supposed to be on top of these little
details.  She finally sputtered "You, you, DUDE!!!"
 
Back down in the soft summer night,France,the Pygmy Hedgehog braced
herself for battle.  She muttered beneath her breath "I CURSE youuu,
youuu anglophone primate of no distinctionnn!" Standing on all fours
in the seat of the tractor, she drew herself up to her full height of
four and a half inches...and waited...
 
The driver's side door of the burgundy mini van opened, and the she
hoomin came out.  The he hoomin was not in evidence.  Perhaps the she
hoomin had dropped him off somewhere.  In any event, the she hoomin and
France were alone, together, beneath the darkening night sky that still
flashed with the light of incendiary fire, both far and near.
 
The she hoomin walked directly up to France and said "So.  Your furry
little companions have abandoned you." France merely glared, and said
nothing.  She made particular effort to keep her little white-lined ears
and long snout whiskers still.  She would give this hoomin no quarter.
 
The she hoomin said "Playing dumb animal, I take it?"
 
Inwardly France seethed, but she quickly flipped onto her hip and began
to gnaw on one back leg, as if she were really the dumb beast that she
wished to be taken for, gnawing at an itch.
 
The she hoomin sighed deeply and said "All I want to know is how in
Jehosephat they ever got you up there in the first place."
 
France stopped chewing at the imaginary itch just above her knee, and
shifted her attention to her tiny little clawed back foot, spreading her
bitty toes and beginning to clean them in her mouth, one at a time.  Then
she flipped over onto her other hip, and began to scratch one of her ears
with the other back foot, rapidly.
 
"I see," said the she hoomin.  "We're going to play this like that.
Fine."
 
With that the she hoomin reached out one hand and scooped France up in
it, as the little hog frantically tried to make herself into a round ball
of salt-and pepper colored spikes.  She hissed menacingly, but the she
hoomin was not in the least intimidated.  France found herself being
cradled against the she hoomin's chest, and being carried to the front
door, and up the stairs.
 
"Merde!" swore France quietly, beneath her breath.  "And I just heard
*what*?" said the she hoomin, pausing near the topmost step.  France
did her very best at that moment to look innocent.  She opened her
black eyes wide, and wore the most vacant expression she could manage.
"Hmmmmmmm...." said the she hoomin, and continued to the top of the
stairs...
 
More tomorrow.  I promise.  Don't hurt me.
Alexandra in MA
[Posted in FML issue 5302]