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.
 
When we left off.....
 
As the tractor(going faster than Ping had *ever* driven before)
rattled and roared for home, Ping realized with horror that his whole
*neighbourhood* was the source of these explosions!  Nearly half of the
yards were sending up rockets of some sort, and there were clusters of
brightly colored flashes off in the distance in every direction he
looked.
 
The hoomins had gone MAD!!
 
Ping turned and yelled to Puma through the manic chuffing of the
tractor's engine "Maybe we should keep going, try to find a safer place
to set down!" Puma looked around at the horizon.  Leominster, the town to
the north showed irregular flashes as did Princeton to the west, West
Boyleston to the south, and Clinton to the east.  She took a deep breath
and yelled "There IS no safe place!  It's everywhere!" She was utterly,
utterly failing to find her center.  France, who always had an opinion
yelled "Get uss down, youuu idiot ferret thief!  All youu ferrets are
thiefss, an' you drive as bad as you smelll!"
 
Ping is He took a deep breath and swooped over his hoomin's driveway,
even though the hoomins across the street were kneeling in the grass,
shooting what looked like a small cardboard cannon that spit out
individual balls of bright green fire.  He slotted the gearshift into
neutral, and carefully throttled down, down, down...and the tractor
settled gently to the ground, first onto its massive back wheels, and
then the tiny ones in front were firmly on the driveway gravel, too.
 
Ping snuffed out the throttle completely, and the enormous tractor fell
silent.  He sat there, his paws on the steering wheel, and dropped his
head to rest against it between his paws.  Puma just sat, hunched and
miserable...drained by the terrifying experience.  That is when France
announced quietly "Ourr hoomins, dey iss comin' back in zee carrr..."
 
Ping merely shook his head and moaned "Dude...this can't be happening..."
Puma looked into the street,and sure enough, the familiar burgundy
minivan signaled with its flashers to make the turn into the lower
driveway...the one where the tractor, parked askew from the haste with
which it came down now rested.
 
It made the turn, and came to a stop a mere ten feet away from the
tractor.  The engine died, and the lights dimmed.  The driver's side
window rolled down slowly, squeaking a little against the black rubber
weather-stripping.  All was silent, except for the faint pinging noises
that came from the tractor's engine as it cooled in the evening air.
 
A woman's voice came from the open window.  "I don't remember parking the
tractor *there*.  Nope.  Not at all.  Why, with diesel at THREE DOLLARS A
GALLON I haven't moved it in weeks."
 
Ping looked guiltily at Puma, who whispered "Three dollars a gallon?"
"Tree fifteeeen, youu stupid half-minks" muttered France testily.
 
The voice spoke again.  "I'd be pretty pissed to turn that engine over
and find out that the tank wasn't FULL.  I'd be pretty pissed if I found
that tractor crashed and IN FLAMES BECAUSE IT *SOMEHOW* FOUND ITS WAY OUT
OF THE DRIVEWAY ON THE FOURTH OF JULY.  But nothing like that *happened*,
right?" No sound...but the voices of the crickets were heard for some
time.  The car window rolled back up.  A bat swooped quietly overhead,
looking for mosquitos to eat.  And then far off in the distance, another
muffled "THOOMP!" was heard.
 
"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!!!"
 
End
Alexandra in MA
[Posted in FML issue 5301]