Dear Ferret Folks-

<Gnashing of teeth>
<Despair>
<Hair being pulled out>

It is ALMOST spring here in central Massachusetts. Almost is the
operative word. I keep telling myself that a mere month away, April
20th, we will have blackflies. If we have blackflies, the ground will
have to have thawed. I know the date by heart. April 20th is Hitler's
birthday, and the earth notes the event by unleashing a horde of
biting, bloodthirsty blackflies upon us here in New England. It's
like a Biblical plauge, only updated for twentieth century history.
Hopefully, Hitler gets them in hell, too.

Only a month. In a month, the ground will thaw, I keep telling myself.

I am already doing things to prepare for spring. I have bug spray, and
seed starting equipment. I started the tomato seeds first. My little
four year old nephew Alex helped me plant them in the seed starter tray
filled with moist, fragrant soil. Think greenhouse smell. Mmmm. I made
him open his left hand, then pick the seed up in his right hand (his
dominant hand) and drop it into place. Left hand. Right hand. Left
hand. Right hand. Over and over until we had each of the 72 little soil
cells seeded. HAH! Kid now knows his right hand from his left. His Mom
helped with that too, can't take all the credit! Now he gives driving
directions from the back seat. "Dunkin Donuts, Aunt! Dunkin Donuts on
the left! Right there! You passed it! Go back! It's on the left!"

We placed the tray by a sunny window and nature worked her magic. Soon,
I had about 80 little tomato seedlings. I took the ten best and put
them in bigger peat pots, those are the ones that were chosen to grow
in my garden.The plan was to give the rest away. Alex is very proud.

The other 70? Are apparently to amuse Puma, Princess Toebiter.
That....that...*itch has been dirtnosing in the trays and peat pots.
EVERY TIME I see this ferret, (my HUSBAND'S ferret!) she has dirt on
her nose. And another seedling or two lies limp and lifeless by the
window. There is potting soil in the hammie she shares with Ping.
Someday she is going to chomp my feet with potting soil on her face
and I will get anthrax or something from the bite. Hoof and mouth.
Something bad from potting soil in open wounds. Damping off disease of
the feet.

<Gnashing of teeth>
<Despair>
<Hair being pulled out>
 
You might reasonably ask "Well, why don't you move the trays?" BECAUSE,
there is only one sunny window in my house that can accomodate a table
to put the trays on. I *can't* move the trays. I suppose I could
duct-tape a brick to the ferret. I've thought about it. "Well, why
don't you move the furniture so that she can't climb up to the table?"
BECAUSE, that would mean dismantling the entire living room until
planting time. That's more than a month away. I don't want a living
room with nothing in it but the table and a telephone on the carpet,
attached to the wall by a wire until, say, the end of May.

It's my house!
It's MY HOUSE!
And I want her OUT OF MY DIRT!

Will 70 extra seedling be enough to guarantee that I have tomatoes this
year?

That dirtnosing, dirtnosing, dirtnosing so and so. I have cobbled
together a barrier that *might* keep her out of the trays. Might.
Please, people, send that healing Reiki energy stuff through the ether
to my poor little seedlings. There are ENOUGH tomato seedlings on the
sunny side of the Rainbow Bridge. Hitler, by comparison, on the bad
side of the Bridge has been jonesing for a nice, ripe tomato to smash
on his head and put the flames in his hair out since 1945. Please, no
more seedlings to the Bridge.

Burn, Adolf.

Alexandra in MA

[Posted in FML 5917]