Dear Ferret Folks- I am getting requests from people for individual chapters that they have missed, and for all of the chapters to date. It's understandable. This is the longest Tractor Story ever, and all sorts or nutty stuff is happening here in Massachusetts in my real life, so new chapters are being posted irregularly. (Regular and I have not been introduced yet.) So I have gathered all of the chapters together into one Word document that I can send as an attachment. If you would like it, please contact me via [log in to unmask] I'll keep updating it as the story progresses. Do I know how long it's going to run? Heck, no. Until it's over or BIG tells me it's done. ********************************************************************* As we rejoin our story...It is sunday morning, very early, before the start of the big Flea Market in the next town over. The Noble Allis Chompers had trotted over to the Harrington Farm to meet the sheep, and the two would walk through the woods to the Flea Market. Everyone else, however, was going by tractor.... By the time the sun had edged up over the tops of the trees and more cars were starting to be seen on the road, a lone John Deere model 1020 tractor...battered and moving rather gingerly, pulled up to the Flea Market entrance, and traveled up the long gravel driveway. It crossed the grassy fairway to a metal stake driven into the ground with a hand lettered sign on top designating that spot as lot 72, the one the Otters had reserved for fifteen dollars by phone the day before. (Oh, were the hoomins going to be puzzled when they got their credit card bill!) Puma carefully steered and backed while Ping slotted the gears in the proper order. Then, the rare black Russian mink driving the tractor reached over, and turned the key to the 'off' position, and the exotic endangered Ocelot visibly sagged in relief as the engine went silent. The Otters relaxed their 'supportive' grips. And just at that moment...a fat gray sheep with a dark muzzle, small ears, and dark, shining eyes walked up to them and said "Maah...The dog told me to wait here for you." Well, that left everyone silent for a few moments, even the Otters, who were rarely found at a loss for words. It was Puma who spoke first, saying quietly "Mr. Sheep, where *is* the dog?" He replied with the occasional toss of his head "Maah. Your dog friend found a trash can tipped over on its side. Maah. And she was eating things out of it." "That's not good," said the First Otter. "No, not at all!" re-iterated the Second. "I don't want to get thrown out of here! " whispered Ping to Puma, his eyes wide and alarmed looking. "Garbage breathh!" snarled France, who had managed to wriggle partially out of the soft towel she had traveled wrapped in. Sterling the endangered Ocelot merely closed his eyes and pretended that none of this, *none* of this was actually happening. It was a tense moment, each animal imagining the wrath of the hoomins brought down upon them, but mercifully Allis trotted up to the tractor then with a guilty expression and a distinctly ripe smell to her head and neck. The First Otter waddled up to her and stood with his front paws fisted on his hips and said "What were you *thinking*, dog? You know how territorial the hoomins are about their trash!" Allis hung her head, blinked sadly a few times and said "It was chicken bones, Otter. I can't resist them." Puma waved her newly jet black arms over her head in exasperation and said "Never mind!We have work to do. We need to fill the wading pool and lay the signs out in the grass. The honor box and France's habitat box, too." And then the hard work began. The Otters alternately pushed and pulled the blue plastic kiddie wading pool out of the tractor's bucket until it landed upside-down in the wet grass. The sheep and Ping trotted off to deal with the hose. The sheep to pull the nozzle over to the wading pool in his teeth for filling, with Ping staying at the little utility shed to turn the water on. Puma and Allis laid the signs out flat in the grass in a nice straight line across the length of lot 72. Each one described the fabulous animals on exhibit, and gave the times for the two Border Collie demonstrations. By then the pool was full and the Otters, slipping in, declared the water sweet but very cold! Hopefully the strengthening sun would warm it as the hours passed. The Otters then arranged France's habitat box so that it was behind the sign describing the rare "Pigmy Porcupine", and the strong suggestion not to touch her.She hissed poisonously when it was explained to her that no, she could not sleep wrapped up in the towel. The hoomins wouldn't be able to see her! And in the most prominent spot, the honour box, and its sign suggesting a donation of a dollar for having enjoyed the animals. Allis lay down to wait beneath the tractor, and tried to look like a genuine Border Collie, and not like one with a little Lab in her family tree. The sheep began to crop the nearby grass, munching contentedly, waiting to be herded later on. Sterling lay down behind his sign describing the rare endangered Ocelot, and tried to look rare. Ping and Puma cuddled together in the grass behind the sign describing the rare black Russian Minks, and tried to look Minkly. Now, all they had to do was wait, and the money would roll in. What could be easier? More Tomorrow Alexandra in MA [Posted in FML 5714]