The washing machine was whining its “I can’t go on this way, anymore!” song and then the repairmen appeared, as if by magic. And as if this is a bad neighborhood where cops walk in pairs, they sent two repairmen. “It’s the Winnicks, after all. You just never know.”

Kick, shove, yank!

Repairman A shoves the washing machine away from the wall, now that Dick has removed the bi-fold door on the washer side.

The washer entrails decorate the pantry area of the kitchen.

Repairman B watches, texts, and sends photos of Dobbye to his wife.

“What’s happening?”

Dobbye’s claim on the washer is a natural extension of his kitchen territory. The washer, to a sensitive nose, must smell like a 5 year old male capybara. Named Dobbye.

“My precious!”

Dobbye is right. Sacred artifacts, very personal bedding, and carefully marked rugs have perfumed the washer so that every piece of laundry thereafter exudes Eau de Dobbye.

The wet-vac stalls.

What has clogged the pump? Anteater fur? Really?

*loud whirring noise*

Text and pump, pump and text.

Eau de Dobbye slowly fills the bucket.

Yes, that is a Doe’s Match powdered goat milk replacement bucket. One of dozens in use around The Funny Farm.

Text (left) and unclog the pump (right).

The birds were pretty excited, too. The Pirate, Krumpit, Spike, Vincent, and Jorge, all shrieking with joy for the love of a vaccuum! It’s NOISE!

“Um, we’re actually finished here…”

Now what?

Yes, that is the tuchis of the washer.

Dick can’t resist looking underneath.

The Brave Little Washer rides again!

Dobbye supervises the retreat of the repairmen.

“Aren’t you gone yet?”

The daytime IKEA rugs and the Honorable White Rabbit Rug go back into the washer, and they all live happily ever after!