Dear Ferret Folks- <Gnashing of teeth> <Despair> <Hair being pulled out> It is ALMOST spring here in central Massachusetts. Almost is the operative word. I keep telling myself that a mere month away, April 20th, we will have blackflies. If we have blackflies, the ground will have to have thawed. I know the date by heart. April 20th is Hitler's birthday, and the earth notes the event by unleashing a horde of biting, bloodthirsty blackflies upon us here in New England. It's like a Biblical plauge, only updated for twentieth century history. Hopefully, Hitler gets them in hell, too. Only a month. In a month, the ground will thaw, I keep telling myself. I am already doing things to prepare for spring. I have bug spray, and seed starting equipment. I started the tomato seeds first. My little four year old nephew Alex helped me plant them in the seed starter tray filled with moist, fragrant soil. Think greenhouse smell. Mmmm. I made him open his left hand, then pick the seed up in his right hand (his dominant hand) and drop it into place. Left hand. Right hand. Left hand. Right hand. Over and over until we had each of the 72 little soil cells seeded. HAH! Kid now knows his right hand from his left. His Mom helped with that too, can't take all the credit! Now he gives driving directions from the back seat. "Dunkin Donuts, Aunt! Dunkin Donuts on the left! Right there! You passed it! Go back! It's on the left!" We placed the tray by a sunny window and nature worked her magic. Soon, I had about 80 little tomato seedlings. I took the ten best and put them in bigger peat pots, those are the ones that were chosen to grow in my garden.The plan was to give the rest away. Alex is very proud. The other 70? Are apparently to amuse Puma, Princess Toebiter. That....that...*itch has been dirtnosing in the trays and peat pots. EVERY TIME I see this ferret, (my HUSBAND'S ferret!) she has dirt on her nose. And another seedling or two lies limp and lifeless by the window. There is potting soil in the hammie she shares with Ping. Someday she is going to chomp my feet with potting soil on her face and I will get anthrax or something from the bite. Hoof and mouth. Something bad from potting soil in open wounds. Damping off disease of the feet. <Gnashing of teeth> <Despair> <Hair being pulled out> You might reasonably ask "Well, why don't you move the trays?" BECAUSE, there is only one sunny window in my house that can accomodate a table to put the trays on. I *can't* move the trays. I suppose I could duct-tape a brick to the ferret. I've thought about it. "Well, why don't you move the furniture so that she can't climb up to the table?" BECAUSE, that would mean dismantling the entire living room until planting time. That's more than a month away. I don't want a living room with nothing in it but the table and a telephone on the carpet, attached to the wall by a wire until, say, the end of May. It's my house! It's MY HOUSE! And I want her OUT OF MY DIRT! Will 70 extra seedling be enough to guarantee that I have tomatoes this year? That dirtnosing, dirtnosing, dirtnosing so and so. I have cobbled together a barrier that *might* keep her out of the trays. Might. Please, people, send that healing Reiki energy stuff through the ether to my poor little seedlings. There are ENOUGH tomato seedlings on the sunny side of the Rainbow Bridge. Hitler, by comparison, on the bad side of the Bridge has been jonesing for a nice, ripe tomato to smash on his head and put the flames in his hair out since 1945. Please, no more seedlings to the Bridge. Burn, Adolf. Alexandra in MA [Posted in FML 5917]