Dear Ferret Folks-

I am getting requests from people for individual chapters that they
have missed, and for all of the chapters to date. It's understandable.
This is the longest Tractor Story ever, and all sorts or nutty stuff is
happening here in Massachusetts in my real life, so new chapters are
being posted irregularly. (Regular and I have not been introduced yet.)
So I have gathered all of the chapters together into one Word document
that I can send as an attachment. If you would like it, please contact
me via [log in to unmask] I'll keep updating it as the story
progresses. Do I know how long it's going to run? Heck, no. Until
it's over or BIG tells me it's done.

*********************************************************************

As we rejoin our story...It is sunday morning, very early, before the
start of the big Flea Market in the next town over. The Noble Allis
Chompers had trotted over to the Harrington Farm to meet the sheep,
and the two would walk through the woods to the Flea Market. Everyone
else, however, was going by tractor....

By the time the sun had edged up over the tops of the trees and more
cars were starting to be seen on the road, a lone John Deere model 1020
tractor...battered and moving rather gingerly, pulled up to the Flea
Market entrance, and traveled up the long gravel driveway. It crossed
the grassy fairway to a metal stake driven into the ground with a hand
lettered sign on top designating that spot as lot 72, the one the
Otters had reserved for fifteen dollars by phone the day before. (Oh,
were the hoomins going to be puzzled when they got their credit card
bill!) Puma carefully steered and backed while Ping slotted the gears
in the proper order. Then, the rare black Russian mink driving the
tractor reached over, and turned the key to the 'off' position, and
the exotic endangered Ocelot visibly sagged in relief as the engine
went silent. The Otters relaxed their 'supportive' grips.

And just at that moment...a fat gray sheep with a dark muzzle, small
ears, and dark, shining eyes walked up to them and said "Maah...The
dog told me to wait here for you."

Well, that left everyone silent for a few moments, even the Otters, who
were rarely found at a loss for words. It was Puma who spoke first,
saying quietly "Mr. Sheep, where *is* the dog?"

He replied with the occasional toss of his head "Maah. Your dog friend
found a trash can tipped over on its side. Maah. And she was eating
things out of it."

"That's not good," said the First Otter.

"No, not at all!" re-iterated the Second.

"I don't want to get thrown out of here! " whispered Ping to Puma, his
eyes wide and alarmed looking.

"Garbage breathh!" snarled France, who had managed to wriggle partially
out of the soft towel she had traveled wrapped in.

Sterling the endangered Ocelot merely closed his eyes and pretended
that none of this, *none* of this was actually happening.

It was a tense moment, each animal imagining the wrath of the hoomins
brought down upon them, but mercifully Allis trotted up to the tractor
then with a guilty expression and a distinctly ripe smell to her head
and neck. The First Otter waddled up to her and stood with his front
paws fisted on his hips and said "What were you *thinking*, dog? You
know how territorial the hoomins are about their trash!"

Allis hung her head, blinked sadly a few times and said "It was chicken
bones, Otter. I can't resist them."

Puma waved her newly jet black arms over her head in exasperation and
said "Never mind!We have work to do. We need to fill the wading pool
and lay the signs out in the grass. The honor box and France's habitat
box, too."

And then the hard work began. The Otters alternately pushed and pulled
the blue plastic kiddie wading pool out of the tractor's bucket until
it landed upside-down in the wet grass. The sheep and Ping trotted off
to deal with the hose. The sheep to pull the nozzle over to the wading
pool in his teeth for filling, with Ping staying at the little utility
shed to turn the water on. Puma and Allis laid the signs out flat in
the grass in a nice straight line across the length of lot 72. Each one
described the fabulous animals on exhibit, and gave the times for the
two Border Collie demonstrations. By then the pool was full and the
Otters, slipping in, declared the water sweet but very cold! Hopefully
the strengthening sun would warm it as the hours passed.

The Otters then arranged France's habitat box so that it was behind the
sign describing the rare "Pigmy Porcupine", and the strong suggestion
not to touch her.She hissed poisonously when it was explained to her
that no, she could not sleep wrapped up in the towel. The hoomins
wouldn't be able to see her! And in the most prominent spot, the honour
box, and its sign suggesting a donation of a dollar for having enjoyed
the animals. Allis lay down to wait beneath the tractor, and tried to
look like a genuine Border Collie, and not like one with a little Lab
in her family tree. The sheep began to crop the nearby grass, munching
contentedly, waiting to be herded later on. Sterling lay down behind
his sign describing the rare endangered Ocelot, and tried to look rare.
Ping and Puma cuddled together in the grass behind the sign describing
the rare black Russian Minks, and tried to look Minkly.

Now, all they had to do was wait, and the money would roll in. What
could be easier?

More Tomorrow
Alexandra in MA

[Posted in FML 5714]