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.”
Repairman A shoves the washing machine away from the wall, now that Dick has removed the bi-fold door on the washer side.
Repairman B watches, texts, and sends photos of Dobbye to his wife.
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.
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.
What has clogged the pump? Anteater fur? Really?
Text and pump, pump and text.
Yes, that is a Doe’s Match powdered goat milk replacement bucket. One of dozens in use around The Funny Farm.
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!
Dick can’t resist looking underneath.
Dobbye supervises the retreat of the repairmen.
The daytime IKEA rugs and the Honorable White Rabbit Rug go back into the washer, and they all live happily ever after!