Two weeks ago, the menfolk decided that the big tiller needed a trip to the repair shop for some serious tuning-up. While they hoisted Big Red into the truck bed with some hydraulic contraption, I tossed in Little Black, the mini tiller, alongside it. Last year, 10-year-old Little Black got sick. His motor would run, and his tines would turn...until I tried to dig. Once those tines hit the dirt, they stopped turning, as if it was simply too much effort to bite into the ground. Pop-Pop said he figured the rotor was worn out, but never got the chance to tear into it last summer to verify the diagnosis. I hoped the small engine repair guy could fix it.
When the small engine repair guy saw Little Black, he said, "What in the world is this?" Though we left it with him, he scarcely glanced at it, and sent it home unrepaired.
I was mightily offended.
Pop-Pop said that if I still had the tiller manual, we could order the part we need. Miraculously, I found the manual, and yesterday Pop-Pop showed me what to order. I brought the manual to my computer desk, intending to order the part, but when I logged on, I got side-tracked reading e-mail and other things, and did not order the part. Good thing, too, because an hour later, Pop-Pop rode up the driveway on his little scooter and announced that Little Black didn't need a rotor, after all; he only needed his breather cleaned.
After supper, Joel and I biked down to Pop-Pop's shop. Little Black's business end was in pieces on the workbench. While Joel and I planted some beans, Pop-Pop reassembled Little Black. He fired up after a couple of pulls, and Joel walked him to the garden to test him. Bless his little 2-cylinder heart, he tore into the dirt and loosened up two rows without missing a beat. He's healed!
And, boy, do I have plans for him today. It's supposed to rain this afternoon, and possibly for several more days. I need to plant more seeds before the rain comes. If I can talk the boss into letting me off early today, Little Black will be busy this afternoon.
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