Mark Twain said, "The reports of my death are greatly exaggerated." Fu Manchu could say the same. Seeing the photos of the burned remains of a yard full of equipment at the repair shop and the post by the owner's daughter, "We've lost everything," led me to believe that Fu was no more. I waited and heard nothing from the shop, and finally contacted my insurance company (the owner had let his insurance lapse). Given depreciation, etc., I was happy to get a check that would cover perhaps half of the cost of replacement, half a loaf being better than none, and signed on the line for John. Camille bought a new weed-eater (that woman is a weed-eating fool!). She'd taken her old one to the shop the morning of the fire and was sure it was also a victim.
There I was, happily going forward and reverse on my new wheels, when I got a call from the repair shop. "Your tractor survived and we'll get it to you soon. We haven't found your rolling weed-eater yet." To say I was stunned is an understatement. Now I was in a pickle. Two tractors is a bit of overkill. (Steve wouldn't have thought so, he who wanted fifty of everything.) Fu and I had a long and happy life together, but I'd already given my heart to John. I called my insurance company to get instructions. They were simple, "Send the money back." Ah, well. Such is life. Camille also got a call from the shop. Now she has two weed-eaters. I'm tellin' ya, we're living high on the hog here in the hinterlands.
All Fu Manchu had needed was a new inner tube for one tire. I'll still have to pay for that. Crum.