Dear Ferret Folks-
Every now and then something happens which further tatters the little
threadbare scrap of sanity that I have left. It's like my little
blankie. It's not much to look at, but I'm attached to it.
Case in point, the other night.
My husband just swapped out the injectors on the 1966 John Deere 1020
tractor. An injector is basically an L-shaped piece of metal, not very
heavy. The new ones came in a single, very heavy duty plastic bag.
These things aren't very big, four of them fit happily into what was
really no more than a very tough zip-lock. The old ones were blackened,
crusty with ancient diesel soot. Hubby put the old ones into the bag
that the new ones had arrived in, fresh and clean from the factory.
Now the tractor doesn't smoke like it's on fire anymore.
Well...Todd has this thing about plastic bags. He wants *anything* that
comes in a plastic bag, especially a loaf of bread. But anything will
do. Even a bag of old, blackened tractor fuel injectors. He wanted that
bag so much that he grabbed a corner of it by standing up on his back
feet and snagging the entire bag from off of the living room coffee
table, where my husband had for some inexplicable reason decided that
old fuel injectors for a John Deere 1020 tractor belonged.
*Thump!* (Dragnoise....dragnoise.....dragnoise)
"HEY! Todd's got something!"
Thumpety thumpety thumpety! (The sound of chasing Todd across the
house, while he races with his prize to the guest room, and the yellow
sofa...the place where all plastic bags wind up when Todd has his way.)
"DAMN IT!!!" (Said by hoomins who will now have to open up and unfold
the yellow sofa, AGAIN.)
OK. Given my history with ferrets and tractors, it *was* pretty funny.
We're chasing a weasel who is stealing tractor parts. It was good for
a laugh. The *real* belly laughter came when my husband picked Todd
up for a snuggle after we separated him from his bag of treasure. My
husband brought Todd's head up close for a kiss between the ears and
Todd smelled like...a tractor engine. Think old soot, the grease
sweated out by burning diesel. If you've ever smelled it it is
instantly recognizable. A smell that is the sum and substance of an
old tractor. Todd smelled like a tractor engine for about three days.
I would keep forgetting that Todd smelled like a tractor engine and
then I'd go to pick him up or take something away from him and I'd
get a whiff.
"What the _&K+{?"
And then I would catch myself, and remember.
(Mumbling to self) "I'm not nuts, this ferret really *does* smell like
a tractor. The injectors, remember? The injectors."
And I'd rub Todd's little blunt ears and he'd just give me his happy
face, the one that could mean a dozen different things...
( I just crapped in the closet.)
( I just bit the cat.)
(You need to buy more butter.)
(Do you know where the nacho chips are? I do.)
(I stole your sneakers.)
(You *had* a glass of water on your night table.)
(Hebert just crapped on the welcome mat.)
(You know that drawer you don't want me to sleep in? I slept in it.)
(You remember that fresh laundry you didn't want me sleeping in? Ditto.)
( I just ate the tiny wheels off of your nephew's Hot Wheels car. The blue one with flames on the side.)
(I just crapped under the computer desk.)
OR...
(I smell like a diesel tractor engine just to *screw* with your mind,
hoomin...and it's working...)
Big smile for that last one, the kind of smile that picks up and lifts
all of his whiskers.
Alexandra in MA
(Pushing aside the curtains in the living room, making sure there are
no scratches on the windowsill from otter claws...I'm fine, really. Not
losing my marbles at all. Injectors. Injectors. Injectors.)
[Posted in FML 6166]
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