Sunday, May 4, 2008

Paddock Maintenance

I like the homefront to be orderly and well-maintained and was pleased to see the woman puff her way into paddock today, pushing the red mowing machine. She pulled a string that is somehow attached to it's innards and it growled to life. She plods up and down the fence line, trimming the grass that eludes the big mowers. Once she is thoroughly immersed in her task, I ease up close behind her and follow her every move. The only drawback is when she turns around to reverse course and crashes into me. It seems to give her quite a turn and she says "Sheaffer, would you please stop stalking me!" I retire, offended. but before she is halfway down the next side, I'm inexplicably drawn back and begin shadowing her closely and we repeat the whole procedure again.

My favourite mowers are the large green ones that can be ridden like a horse. They are distant relatives of the big field tractors and have fascinating mechanical systems concealed in their abdomens. Occasionally one has a medical crisis and becomes silent and motionless in our paddock. The humans peer into it's depths and go off to find something to revive it. This leaves me at leisure to examine the internal compartment thoroughly. There is a strange rubbery, oily hot smell and all sorts of belts and pulleys. I inhale deeply and conduct tests on various rubber parts with my teeth. I have to watch for the humans' return and pretend to be simply grazing nearby or there are shouts and recriminations hurled at me and then they blame each other for leaving the mower's vitals exposed to my ministrations.

Before these two green mowers we had a duo they called "The Sears Brothers". Ancient and smelly and made entirely of iron - no plastic bits at all. They had wonderfully filthy interiors and I spent many hours studying them. They also had soft yellow, squishy seats. I once began idly mouthing one of these and before I knew it, there I was in the middle of the paddock, surrounded by a sea of little yellow bits and lots of white rubbery stuff. I think it took the woman a full half hour to even begin expressing what she thought of my actions. All that was left of the seat was an iron skeleton. They put some towel arrangement on it but there were nasty mutterings cast my way and it was referred to as the "Sheaffer-ized seat" until the tractor died of old age a few years ago. They certainly can hold a grudge.


billie said...

We had some mowing/weedeating going on here today as well - buttercups are now gone.

I am impressed with your affinity for machines!

robert5721 said...

Sheaffer, CLASSIC....SIMPLY CLASSIC DONKEY !! Your affinity for mechanical stuff is expected, as you are curious about much of life just like the Donks here at our farm. The donkeys here steer clear of a machine (they call them the big orange cow) until it goes silent....then the feast begins!! The Kubota seats must be a lot chewier than yours were, they remain intact so far. Please keep us informed of what you find out, as I may need your help the next time one goes silent!!
Mr Gale

completecare said...

Hi Sheaffer,
This refers back to my comment made relating to your entry, "Stabbed In Our Own House". I need to make a public apology to my mom. I thought I needed to post it here where more people would see it so they would not think my mom is a wimp. I said she was faking her sore foot so she wouldn't have to go out in the rain. I was wrong. According to our Personal Health Care Specialist my mom has an abscess in one of her feet so she really is in pain and not faking it. Sorry mom.

Your fan,


ponymaid said...

Mr. Gale - chewier tractor seats? I'd be very interested in trying those - I like to broaden my epicurean horizons. Next time your orange cow model goes silent, I'd be happy to give you a consult.

billie - same goes for your mowing equipment, though I'm sure young Rafer will soon take a keen interest of his own.

Willy, I've had one of those abcess things and although it didn't hurt, it did leave a big hole in my foot for awhile. Doc had one that made him hop around for a week. Very unpleasant for poor Bert and we all wish her a speedy recovery.I'm sure she'd forgive your human for the small price of some especially nice treats. That usually softens our hearts considerably and helps to blot things out of our impeccable memory banks.