It is a grey, dismal day in central Massachusetts. A thin rain hisses
down, slowly melting the snow pack. There are silver icy-cold puddles
of water slicking the ground. Driveways have become temporary stream
courses. The streets are gritty with a winter's accumulation of road
sand. The only color is the deep green of the pines. The sun's light
is a frail thing, and the clouds never thin. The sound of a family of
crows off in the distance is mournful, and muffled by the rain.
It sucks out.
But somewhere beneath the soggy snow and icy soil, the fat buds of
purple and yellow crocuses are waiting. The daffoldil bulbs have
noticed the lengthening days. They lie asleep, but dreaming of light
and warmth.
In the meantime, it really sucks out.
Behind the Sargent-Colburn household there is an upright wooden
building made from pine with a hoomin sized door, a single window,
and a small door set close to the ground, a mere foot tall. Through
the grey twilight if you look very carefully, you can see two small
ferrets, one dark and one dazzlingly white struggling to lift that
small door. Finally they realize that they must co-ordinate their
actions if they are to lift it.
The dark ferret with a generously sized belly and bandy little legs
says "C'mon Hebert, work with me. Get a paw under the lip and then
we'll raise it straight up on three."
Hebert shakes his white head miserably, and drops of cold rainwater
are flung from his pink nose. "I'm really wet Todd. Can't we do this
another time? Even my *tail* is wet." Hebert gave it a miserable shake
to demonstrate.
"No. We need to do this while the hoomins are gone."
"But I'm *afraid* of the chickens. They're a lot bigger than we are!"
wailed Hebert.
"Oh, c'mon. We're *weasels*. We're supposed to raid the chicken coop!.
You'll see, it'll be fun. C'mon. On three!"
Hebert muttered something that might have been "OK", might have been
a curse. It was hard to tell. But he pushed aside a little of the
granular snow at the base of the small pine door, and got both of
his paws beneath the lip. Beside him, Todd did just the same. The two
young weasels braced their feet against the mushy ground that smelled
strongly of rainwater and dead grass. Todd counted.
"One...two...three!"
Two strong young backs heaved, and with a grating rattle the small door
lifted...an inch, three inches....six inches...then it slid open with
no further resistance. Todd and Hebert stood side by side with the
wooden door held open above their heads. Hebert turned his face to
Todds and whispered quietly "Now what?"
Hebert siad with a bit more confidence than he was really feeling at
that moment "You go inside first, I'll hold the door."
"Oh heck, no! No, I don't think so Todd. Nope." Hebert swung his head
back and forth in negation, and squeezed his pink eyes tightly shut.
"Nope. Not gonna."
Todd hissed "move!" and gave Hebert a foot to the backside. Hebert's
grip slipped from the door and he fell forward into the coop, landing
face foreward on all four paws. Todd, of course (this is just how
things happen) discovered that he could not quite hold the small door
up himself. He had a split second to make a choice--did he let the door
slide shut with himself *in* or *out* of the chicken coop? In that
instant time stretched and pulled like taffy. The moment lengthened,
and Todd had enough time to imagine Hebert alone in there by himself,
scared, surrounded by domesticated barnyard fowl who might not be
pleased to see a weasel in their coop. He considered how he had pushed
Hebert to co-operate in this project, pushed him every step of the way.
And the small flicker of shame that he felt when he considered the
matter made the decision for him.... Todd took a deep breath, and
leapt....
More Tomorrow
Alexandra in MA
[Posted in FML 6269]
|
