"And the beat goes on," (Sonny & Cher). In the ongoing saga of Fu Manchu, it's more a case of a "beat down." The wandering boy was returned to me late yesterday, and then I was handed a bill for over $200. "For a new inner tube?!" "Oh, it didn't need an inner tube. Dirt had gotten in the rim and needed to be brushed out. We did give it a complete service and put on new blades. And, of course, there's the delivery charge." When I picked my jaw up off the ground, I said, "You never called to give me an estimate or get approval!" He went off on a long spiel about the fire at the shop and his health problems and how hard it was to get in touch with customers, on and on ad nauseam. Then he told me how lucky it was that the tractor had survived and that he'd been really easy on me with the labor charges because it took longer than an hour and a half to do the job. Let's just say my sympathy tank was running on empty. He then mentioned that he was "pretty sure" the rolling weed-eater was toast. I will not be replacing that soon as I don't need another Lazarus.
Poor old Fu. All dressed up and nowhere to go. He doesn't even have a room to come home to anymore since John moved in. He breaks my heart as well as my wallet. I'll have to find a niche for him somewhere as he is now sitting sadly in front of the hay barn. At some point I'll try to rehome him and hope that his new owners will appreciate his services as I have. His beat will go on.