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From:
colburns <[log in to unmask]>
Date:
Sun, 9 Sep 2007 20:28:36 -0400
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Dear Ferret Folks-

For those of you off-line during the weekend, there was a part twelve
yesterday.
A-
  ****************************************************************

As we rejoin our story....It is late in the afternoon, on the day of
the big Flea Market.Evening was coming, and with it the heavy dew. The
tents and shade structures were coming down, and the unsold goods were
being repackaged. Crates and boxes were being tucked back into cars and
vans and pick-ups. Tarps were being lifted up from the grass and being
folded. Small, tired hoomin children whined, and *vhemently* denied
that they were tired! The talk turned to what would be had for dinner,
and how much had been made that day. And at lot 72....

There was a battered green and yellow John Deere 1020 tractor, now
parked in full shade as the sun had swung around and the shade from
the hemlocks had followed suit. Beneath it there was a reclining sheep,
contentedly chewing. The second and final Border Collie Exhibition had
finished up an hour before, and his head was only a little damp. The
carefully paw-lettered signs had been gathered into a neat stack just a
few minutes before, and the dog, the Noble Allis Chompers, had picked
the entire stack up in her mouth and was off looking for a convenient
trash can to dispose of them in. The (borrowed!) kiddie wading pool
had been tipped over and emptied of water, and now rested inside the
tractor's bucket. Behind the tractor (and the sheep) just out of hoomin
sight there was a small circle of animals huddled together, and a box
of money.

Literally. A *box* of dollar bills. The First Otter took them from
the box one at a time and counted them out loud, and the Second Otter
stacked them neatly in piles of twenty. Ping and Puma watched the
process with interest, but Sterling the cat was distracted and sleepy.
He simply wanted to get the loud, horrid ride home over with. France
was curled up in her soft towel, but every now and again she was
overheard to chuckle, and say simply "Dat Sheeep!" By now everyone
was over that magic, inexplicable manic burst of the giggles that had
overtaken the group earlier, and the mood was all business. The
counting continued.

Finally the First Otter looked up and said "By my calculation, we have
eight dollars more than will be necessary to buy and ship the necessary
part!" At that, everyone was silent, considering. It had been a long
day. A very long day for everyone. There had been no naps, and no
kibble. They had dealt with many strange hoomins, and taken many big
risks. And the day was not over, yet.

Ping and Puma looked at one another. They often squabbled, but they
were the dearest of friends.They shared a hammie, and nobody could say
where one's soft fur ended on the hanging square of fleece and the
other's began. They shared many confidences in the darkness and the
peace of the cage. They ran riot in the house together during Out Time,
overturning cups, the bathroom wastebasket, wrestling on the hoomin's
bed among the tangled blankets. Today had been a great risk, indeed.
Neither of them, and none of the Brothers and Sisters in Fur assembled
together had really taken a moment and sat down to voice how great the
risks were that they had taken. It was a thing that was known, but not
discussed. It is difficult to wear fur in the larger hoomin world. Very
difficult, sometimes. Ping looked at Puma and she returned his gaze
without turning away. Hoomins speak of "the pursuit of happiness." They
don't seem to find it any easier among themselves than the Brotherhood
and Sisterhood in Fur do among them. Hoomins are...complicated and
complicating.

The moment ended and Allis Chompers headed home through the woods with
the Sheep, who was looking forward to free, unfettered access to the
hoomin's vegetable garden. He said that he had spent most of the day
deciding in what order he would devour it. The green beans, apparently,
were going to go first. The Otters gently lifted France up into the
tractor's bucket while she said a few choice things about how she
should be placed relative to the wading pool, and something
incomprehensible about "feng shui."

"Delightful creature!" muttered the Second Otter. "Yes, perfectly
delightful!"agreed his generally more assertive brother.

Sterling the cat, still smelling faintly of Sharpie marker leaped up
into the bucket himself, and the Otters followed. Ping and Puma started
the tractor with very little difficulty, and began the long roll home.
One Volvo station wagon waiting in the line of cars to exit the Flea
Market's grounds did drive into the bushes when the operator got a good
look at just *who* was driving the tractor, but nobody was injured,
and soon the gathering evening gave way to true night-fall, ending the
possibility of just that sort of mishap. And the tractor, one headlight
on, one off, rolled home in the breakdown lane.

Soon enough, the tractor pulled onto the dirt and gravel road that lead
to their destination. And there...was something that nobody expected.
A 1965 Garway motor home, all twenty feet of it was parked in the
driveway. The blue and silver (very nifty looking!) motor home that the
hoomins had gone away in for the weekend. They weren't supposed to be
home for *hours* yet. As France said quietly, muffled through a fold of
her towel, "Ah, merde!"

More Tomorrow
Alexandra in Ma

[Posted in FML 5726]


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