It was a gentle, August summer night in central Massachusetts. The
Sunflowers in the hoomin's vegetable garden showed pale, fringed faces
to the moon, and in the forest surrounding the back yard white tailed
deer lay down on their bellies and slept, safe deep in the tangle of
rhododendron and hemlock. The two neighbourhood owls hooted softly back
and forth, and the soft-furred field mice trembled at the sound of it,
and buried themselves deeper in the long grass. The air was sweet, and
still smelled faintly of the day. But when the breeze came up, the
forest breathed out the smell of pine and fallen logs and moss. It
was very still.

But in the driveway, something moved. Two small blurs of motion, moving
at a fast trot came to a stop beneath the belly of the 1961 Model 1020
John Deere tractor, the one with the bucket in front. And all was still
again. Then a minute later, something that looked like a prickly muffin
on four tiny feet trailed after them , and joined them in the deep
shadows beneath the tractor. The crickets waited a moment, then,
reassured, began their night song once again.

Beneath the tractor, Ping Is He pointed up with one paw to a spot that
the other two turned to look at. "There," he said. "That is where the
front axle is cracking. You can see where the metal isn't shiny,
anymore." All three sat and marveled at the significance of the damage,
quiet in their own thoughts. Finally Puma sighed deeply, and France the
Fricken' Pigmy Hedgehog muttered something that cannot be printed here.
French is such an expressive language.

Puma said softly "I googled the part number. The hoomins can replace
it, but they will need dollars."

"How many toes of dollars?" asked Ping.

"More dollars than all the toes you have on all of your paws put
together. Many times more." she replied.

"Weel et ssstill fly?" asked France.

"Do you want to be *up in the air* when the front axle separates,
Frenchie?" huffed Ping.

In reply, France put her teeny head down, raised her spikes up and
rammed into Ping's rib cage like a very small but none the less very
*angry* charging three and a half inch tall rhinoceros. Ping howled,
and nearly lost his footing altogether. When France hissed as Hedgehogs
do and backed up for another charge, Ping ran behind Puma and tried to
use her as a shield. Puma, with her customary fluid grace and economy
of motion simply stepped out of the way,(something she learned in her
weekly Akido class) and let France chase Ping the entire length of the
tractor's underbelly while he gave an impressive display of what "Pop!
Goes the Weasel!" really means at close quarters. Ping leapt and leapt
and yelled "Quit it! Quit it you maniac!" And to Puma, "Make her stop
it!" Puma closed her eyes tightly and spent an instant connecting with
her center, as Master Ho advised, before taking a deep breath and
barking "CUT IT OUT!" Both France and Ping were so astonished by this
uncharacteristic outburst from the normally tightly controlled Puma,
that they did cut it out. Completely. And after a few moments of
silence, the startled crickets started up again.

Puma looked at France and Ping levelly, her cool self once more. France
and Ping looked back at her, respectfully. Nobody wants to push Puma
too far. Nobody.

Finally Ping spoke, asking "So what can we do about it? I don't have
*any* dollars." France gave her spines a shake, and laid them flat
against her back once more, but said nothing. She was still considering
the advisability of making another run at Ping. Puma speed bumped down
upon the soft dirt of the driveway and narrowed her eyes, deep in
thought. The owls hooted, the crickets chirped. The moments passed. At
last she sat up, reclining Sphynx-like, and said "We call the Otters."

End Part One
Alexandra in MA

[Posted in FML 5696]