The Red Horse Demon and I

It has finally warmed up enough to til the garden. I asked Husband of Handiness to make sure the tiller ran. In our relationship it is his job to fix and maintain anything with a motor and it it my job to take care of anything that pertains to computers or the internet or children with emotions. He fiddled with it a bit then made a single pass in the garden.

"Ok, it's all yours," he said. "I'm going to go help a friend with a project. I'll be back later."

I knew then that the tiller and I were going to have problems. It behaves reasonably well for him, but it lives to torment me. I think it is still angry about the time I lost control and ran it into a cinder-block wall and ripped its muffler off.

I made it three feet before it died the first time. I fiddled with all the levers and knobs my husband says need to be fiddled with. I swore. I finally got it re-started and made it another three feet. I swore louder and more colorfully. We danced this dance, the demon tiller and I, around the perimeter of the garden. Finally it refused to start regardless of the creativity of my lever fiddling and swearing. I retreated to the house for a sulk and a large bowl of defeat ice cream.

A few hours later my husband returned and started the tiller with ease and tilled the entire garden for me. It never died once.

I am grateful for his help but for the sake of my waistline and blood pressure it might be time for a new tiller.