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Show Ferguson Lives Butch and Fenn Stories 27 Butch places Ferguson back into the water and then sprinkles a green powder into the water with him, and says: "We're all set." Fenn goes outside and we hand him the transformer through the broken basement window. I climb the stairs and watch Butch circle the entire mechanism below, adjusting the three knobs in front of the set and then plugging it in. In the focused light wearing one playtex living glove, no shirt under that brown robe and his head, thirty cowlicks along the stitches from the cat incident. Butch looks flat out deranged. I love it. I know in a second he will lift both hands slightly as if to hold the applause, and he will skip up the steps behind me. We will be all set. The backyard is a rage of crickets as always, and Fenn is groaning at something which turns out to be Tiny trying to hump his leg. Fenn tries to fend Tiny off and the dog loves to play and starts mouthing Fenn's whole arm, and soon they are on the ground, playing; Fenn is struggling for his life. "Don't pick on the dog, will ya, Fenn?" Butch says. But Fenn is lost, at least until he remembers to roll in a ball and play dead, when Tiny will stand and shake, chagrin-ned and go back and lounge in one of the holes in the yard. Tiny never attacks me; it must be something about the way skinny people like Fenn smell. "You ready?" Butch whispers to me when we are lying on the ground peering in the window. |