LJ Idol Exhibit A - Topic 04 - With a Little Luck We Just Might Get Stuck
o/` "There's a place I know about where the dirt road runs out
And we can try out the four-wheel drive
Come on now what do you say
Girl, I can hardly wait to get a little mud on the tires" o/`
-- "Mud on the Tires" performed by Brad Paisley
I think I've mentioned before that at least two of us are Therianthropes with an attachment to Trickster deities. It's a big mistake to leave two chaos oriented canines --- fox and coyote --- alone and without supervision but that's what happened the other day. Dorie had the unfortunate task of taking Merlin, our bobcat hybrid, to the vet in St. Augustine to be euthanized (congestive heart failure, he was eighteen years old) and Mr. Shapeshifter wanted to cheer me up. He was supposed to be working from home, which ought to clue you in on the fact that the two of us were about to create a gigantic disaster.
All of the boys --- Dee, Mr. Shapeshifter, Callistus, and MIB 3 and 4 --- had been cutting trails through the property in hope of making it easier for me to enjoy rural life. Removing the invasive plant species would also allow those which were actually native to Florida to thrive. A three foot wide path had been cut along both sides of the property and around the center. It ended in a broad circle which we intended to landscape a bit and use for outdoor rituals. I hadn't actually seen any of this and until about a week ago, the rains had made any kind of trip back there prohibitive. Now, with the sun shining brightly, we both decided to take a scenic tour.
You can see where this is going, can't you?
First, Mr. Shapeshifter tried getting me to ride the tractor mower. That might have worked if it hadn't been built for a midget with back problems. Not a proper tractor to begin with, its seat barely allowed Mr. Shapeshifter to operate all of its gears and levers. When I got on the damned thing, the tires sank a good two inches into the ground. I couldn't safely steer because my belly firmly locked the wheel in place. Attempting to extract myself, I slipped and got stuck with one foot on the tractor deck and the other wedged beneath the plank deck. That in and of itself might not have been a problem but I'd decided for some reason to wear slippers. Slippers have no traction and these were a few sizes too big to accommodate my soft casts....which I wasn't wearing because they shrink up painfully when they get wet.
Okay, well the USS Yote (going where everyone has gone before, get it?) ought to be able to take these trails. They were no more narrow, Mr. Shapeshifter assured me, than the trails I'd hiked up at the Devil's Millhopper and not quite as root riddled. My power chair had been built with my lifestyle in mind; instead of a normal chair frame, it had been constructed on a buggy frame (the type you race) and it had two extra batteries and an extra set of wheels. I'd already had it out in the soft sands of the road in front of our house and it had done fairly well. Neither of us saw any reason why this would be different.
The chair did sink in a few spots but Mr. Shapeshifter was able to pull it forward...to a point. Midway to our destination, it went sailing over a dip about two feet deep, rolled around the bend, and then sank to the axle in a sticky combination of pine needles, mud, and roots. No matter what we tried, there was no way we could get it out of that mire and now we were too far from the house for me to walk back!
Plan number two: Mr. Shapeshifter went back for the tractor mower. I heard a rattling and saw the little wagon we use for hauling wood and debris attached to it. He suggested I get out of the wheelchair, crawl into the back of the wagon, and he would haul me back. Two things were immediately apparent: the wagon was never meant to handle human weight and if I did as he suggested then it too would be mired in the soft sticky mud. I contemplated swallowing my pride and calling for help but as luck would have it, this is the one place on the property where we have no cell reception at all.
Plan number three: He got on the tractor, I sat on the tailgate of the wagon, and that would allow the tires to gain traction so we could haul me back to the house. It only worked as long as I was pushing from the back with my lower legs. Otherwise both the tractor and the wagon would sink right back into the muck.
Mr. Shapeshifter headed back to the house, head hung in defeat, to see if he could find our MIB and get them to help me back to the house. The wheelchair would have to be pulled through the worst parts of the trail and then powered up so it could be taken back to the house.
I didn't mind being left behind; the forest was quiet that day except for a light wind, which didn't reach the ground to chill me, soughing through the pines overhead. Sound carries and about twenty minutes later I heard the big pick-up pulling into the drive. I couldn't resist; I started yawping (I'm rather good at mimicking the sounds a real coyote makes) in distress. It didn't take long for the two of them to get back to me. Dorie spent a few minutes laughing at the predicament we'd gotten ourselves into and our abortive attempts to solve the problem but she quit laughing as she traversed that particular spot. She's not a tall person nor was she pleased to sink to the calves in that deep, gooey mud field.
Eventually we worked out a plan of sorts: one of them would hold me by the back of my pants and an arm and guide me across the deep spots. I would lean against a tree and rest while they pulled the chair up out of the mud and then walked forward with it. I'd never been so glad to see weedy grass in my life! I sat down in my wheelchair, gunned it across the last soggy spot, and then manipulated it around the roots and other debris in the yard to the ramp. On the ramp, it gave a tired sounding *meep* and generated an error code. We tried everything from rebooting it to hosing off the mud from the undercarriage and wheels but the chair simply would not move another inch.
I'll bet the repair place gave Dorie an odd look when she brought my poor, bedraggled USS Yote back to them.
"We live in a swamp," she snapped. "A very deep swamp. Are you going to fix the damned thing or not?"
Mr. Shapeshifter and I are no longer left at home unattended. I wonder why? It's not as though we planned on getting stuck in the forest and busting my wheelchair. Things like this just seem to happen when you have that much chaos in one place.
And we can try out the four-wheel drive
Come on now what do you say
Girl, I can hardly wait to get a little mud on the tires" o/`
-- "Mud on the Tires" performed by Brad Paisley
I think I've mentioned before that at least two of us are Therianthropes with an attachment to Trickster deities. It's a big mistake to leave two chaos oriented canines --- fox and coyote --- alone and without supervision but that's what happened the other day. Dorie had the unfortunate task of taking Merlin, our bobcat hybrid, to the vet in St. Augustine to be euthanized (congestive heart failure, he was eighteen years old) and Mr. Shapeshifter wanted to cheer me up. He was supposed to be working from home, which ought to clue you in on the fact that the two of us were about to create a gigantic disaster.
All of the boys --- Dee, Mr. Shapeshifter, Callistus, and MIB 3 and 4 --- had been cutting trails through the property in hope of making it easier for me to enjoy rural life. Removing the invasive plant species would also allow those which were actually native to Florida to thrive. A three foot wide path had been cut along both sides of the property and around the center. It ended in a broad circle which we intended to landscape a bit and use for outdoor rituals. I hadn't actually seen any of this and until about a week ago, the rains had made any kind of trip back there prohibitive. Now, with the sun shining brightly, we both decided to take a scenic tour.
You can see where this is going, can't you?
First, Mr. Shapeshifter tried getting me to ride the tractor mower. That might have worked if it hadn't been built for a midget with back problems. Not a proper tractor to begin with, its seat barely allowed Mr. Shapeshifter to operate all of its gears and levers. When I got on the damned thing, the tires sank a good two inches into the ground. I couldn't safely steer because my belly firmly locked the wheel in place. Attempting to extract myself, I slipped and got stuck with one foot on the tractor deck and the other wedged beneath the plank deck. That in and of itself might not have been a problem but I'd decided for some reason to wear slippers. Slippers have no traction and these were a few sizes too big to accommodate my soft casts....which I wasn't wearing because they shrink up painfully when they get wet.
Okay, well the USS Yote (going where everyone has gone before, get it?) ought to be able to take these trails. They were no more narrow, Mr. Shapeshifter assured me, than the trails I'd hiked up at the Devil's Millhopper and not quite as root riddled. My power chair had been built with my lifestyle in mind; instead of a normal chair frame, it had been constructed on a buggy frame (the type you race) and it had two extra batteries and an extra set of wheels. I'd already had it out in the soft sands of the road in front of our house and it had done fairly well. Neither of us saw any reason why this would be different.
The chair did sink in a few spots but Mr. Shapeshifter was able to pull it forward...to a point. Midway to our destination, it went sailing over a dip about two feet deep, rolled around the bend, and then sank to the axle in a sticky combination of pine needles, mud, and roots. No matter what we tried, there was no way we could get it out of that mire and now we were too far from the house for me to walk back!
Plan number two: Mr. Shapeshifter went back for the tractor mower. I heard a rattling and saw the little wagon we use for hauling wood and debris attached to it. He suggested I get out of the wheelchair, crawl into the back of the wagon, and he would haul me back. Two things were immediately apparent: the wagon was never meant to handle human weight and if I did as he suggested then it too would be mired in the soft sticky mud. I contemplated swallowing my pride and calling for help but as luck would have it, this is the one place on the property where we have no cell reception at all.
Plan number three: He got on the tractor, I sat on the tailgate of the wagon, and that would allow the tires to gain traction so we could haul me back to the house. It only worked as long as I was pushing from the back with my lower legs. Otherwise both the tractor and the wagon would sink right back into the muck.
Mr. Shapeshifter headed back to the house, head hung in defeat, to see if he could find our MIB and get them to help me back to the house. The wheelchair would have to be pulled through the worst parts of the trail and then powered up so it could be taken back to the house.
I didn't mind being left behind; the forest was quiet that day except for a light wind, which didn't reach the ground to chill me, soughing through the pines overhead. Sound carries and about twenty minutes later I heard the big pick-up pulling into the drive. I couldn't resist; I started yawping (I'm rather good at mimicking the sounds a real coyote makes) in distress. It didn't take long for the two of them to get back to me. Dorie spent a few minutes laughing at the predicament we'd gotten ourselves into and our abortive attempts to solve the problem but she quit laughing as she traversed that particular spot. She's not a tall person nor was she pleased to sink to the calves in that deep, gooey mud field.
Eventually we worked out a plan of sorts: one of them would hold me by the back of my pants and an arm and guide me across the deep spots. I would lean against a tree and rest while they pulled the chair up out of the mud and then walked forward with it. I'd never been so glad to see weedy grass in my life! I sat down in my wheelchair, gunned it across the last soggy spot, and then manipulated it around the roots and other debris in the yard to the ramp. On the ramp, it gave a tired sounding *meep* and generated an error code. We tried everything from rebooting it to hosing off the mud from the undercarriage and wheels but the chair simply would not move another inch.
I'll bet the repair place gave Dorie an odd look when she brought my poor, bedraggled USS Yote back to them.
"We live in a swamp," she snapped. "A very deep swamp. Are you going to fix the damned thing or not?"
Mr. Shapeshifter and I are no longer left at home unattended. I wonder why? It's not as though we planned on getting stuck in the forest and busting my wheelchair. Things like this just seem to happen when you have that much chaos in one place.