It was a *beautiful* night in central Massachusetts.  After weeks of
rain, a few dry days to enjoy summer.  The nights, though, were a special
delight.  The air cooled and softened into dusk.  A thin mist came up
from the surface of the lake, and the orange half moon was mirrored,
rippling, in the water.  The loon called a few times, and the birds all
went to sleep.  The fireflies came out and started flashing in the long
grass.  Swift, angular bats came out from their daytime places, and
swooped through the air, searching for mosquitos.  The air smelled of
pine, and garden lillies, and all the secret things that make up a
summer night.
 
It was a perfect night to take a tractor out flying.
 
After releasing France from the Ferret Room, the decision was made that
it would probably be easiest to get her down the stairs in Ping's mouth.
Neither France nor Ping was especially enthusiastic about the prospect,
but it did make sense.  France agreed to lie all or her quills down flat,
and Ping gently picked her up by her scruff.  He thumped her on the
carpeted stairs a few times on the way down, but all in all the trip
was made with little trouble, and just a few choice remarks from the
hedgehog.
 
Nosing at the bottom of the front door and scratching a bit opened it
very nicely!  And then the three were outside, in the fragrant evening.
They stood for a while, just enjoying the breeze, the smells, the sound
of the leaves.  They headed down to the lower driveway to the tractors.
 
Ah, the tractors.  Green and yellow mighty beasts!  Thrumming, smoke
belching marvels!  Ping and Puma discussed which one to take for a bit.
Both agreed that antique would be good, so first Puma, then Ping (once
again grunting with the weight of France in his mouth, hanging by her
scruff) climbed the enormous back wheel of the 1947 John Deere Model B.
They gathered together on the seat and France was released, gently.
 
"Spppppt!" spit Ping.  You taste like an old wicker chair, Dude!" he said
to France, who predictably raised her quills and began to hiss.
 
Sighing deeply, Puma massaged her snout between her eyes with one paw and
wondered if she were getting a headache.  Ping often had that effect upon
her.  She said "Give it a rest, Ping.  Let's start this thing."  She
jumped down to the starter button and awaited Ping's signal.
 
Ping pulled out the choke rod (Not an easy maneuver for a ferret) and
slipped the gearshift into "N", for "Neutral." He looked down and said
"Ready?" to Puma.  She was.  She breathed deeply a few times and steeled
herself.  She searched for her center, as Master Ho had taught her.
Finally, she gave a great leap into the air, and landed with both back
feet squarely on top of the starter button.
 
The tractor gave a few great whining noises like a car engine starting
on a cold morning, then a few sputters that shook its whole frame.
Ping adjusted the choke, throttled up, and the sputters became a
series of smoky Putt-Putts that smoothed out into continuous
putt-putt-putt-putts-putts!  Dark smoke poured out of the stack, and
the small, round rain lid atop it rattled and danced.
 
Veeery slowly...Ping shifted the gear lever over to a shiny metal "U"
that had been scratched into the green paint long ago, by the dearly
missed Miss Lily Weasel, who had talents few weasels even understood.
Certainly not Ping, or Puma, who only knew that the "U" meant "Up"!
 
With a gentle bump and a slight rocking motion, the tiny front wheels
lifted up from the driveway gravel...
 
End Part Two
Alexandra in MA
[Posted in FML issue 5295]