When we left off....
It was a gentle, August summer night in central Massachusetts. The
Sunflowers in the hoomin's vegetable garden showed pale, fringed faces
to the moon, and in the forest surrounding the back yard white tailed
deer lay down on their bellies and slept, safe deep in the tangle of
rhododendron and hemlock. The two neighbourhood owls hooted softly back
and forth, and the soft-furred field mice trembled at the sound of it,
and buried themselves deeper in the long grass. The air was sweet, and
still smelled faintly of the day. But when the breeze came up, the
forest breathed out the smell of pine and fallen logs and moss. It was
very still.
Beneath the belly of the 1961 John Deere tractor with the front loading
bucket, Ping is He and France reacted to Puma's suggestion that the
Otters be contacted. The two reacted quite differently. Ping gave a
hop and said "Yess! The Otters get stuff done. They'll know how to get
dollars!" France merely lowered her head and raised the spines directly
above her eyes so that she looked a little like a shaggy triceratops,
only with more horns. She uttered a single small grunt of displeasure.
France *hated* the Otters, simply hated them, but then again, she hated
most things. (The truth be told, the Otters didn't particularly care
for the little hedgehog, either.)
Ping said "How will we reach them? We can't fly to the Ecotarium in
Worcester where they live and pick them up."
"Wee could let dem die where dey arrre," suggested France, unhelpfully.
At that, Ping gave her wee butt a shove with one of his back feet, and
she was once again reduced to hissing hedgehog profanity. French may
be the language of love, but in a hedgehog's mouth it has certain other
applications.
When France was finally quiet, Puma said to her levelly "Are you
through?" France merely lowered her head once more and turned around to
show Ping and Puma her back. Puma narrowed her eyes and regarded the
little humped back, shiny with its neat rows of salt and pepper colored
spines. The silence lengthened. Puma continued "I have their cell
number. They keep it hidden in their habitat, and they say they can
even hear it ring when they're under water in their pool."
"An' eet smellss like *fish*, n'est ce pas?" came faintly from the end
of France that complained, the one pointed away from the two ferrets.
Ping drew back one hind foot to deliver another shove to the ever so
helpful France,but Puma saw it coming and hissed sharply "Don't! Leave
her alone." Ping frowned under his little dark bandit mask, but
withdrew the offending foot.
"I caan hear eet noww," continued the cantankerous little hedgehog.
"Ring ring! Whoo iss dere? Mee de Otter! Can youuu smelll me now?
Caan youu smelll me now? Howw abou' *noww*?"
"SHUT UP FRANCE!" bellowed Ping is He.
"You caan smelll me now? DELIGH'FULLL! I'vve got a hunnred minutes
lefft wit' Sprint!" laughed France, her little sides rocking.
At that Ping said nothing, merely gave a mighty athletic leap, and
landed atop the little hedgehog, who was now nearly helpless with
laughter. The two rolled together like a snarling, scratching, hissing
tumbleweed beneath the belly of the tractor, and all the crickets
ceased their song to listen...
More tomorrow.
Alexandra in MA
[Posted in FML 5699]
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