Ready for Winter?

At the Bakery in Rainy River there was quite a collection of long gloomy faces gathered at a social distance around the debating table. There was some sniffling, but it wasn’t a virus. It was tears of sadness at the passing of summer. Snowflakes were drifting down out on the street. Even Pickle our king tinkerer was a little gloomy.
“Why can’t they bring them in a little earlier?” he impatiently complained as he rattled his cup for his third ‘free’ refill.
“No! They have to wait for a snowfall before they drag out their broken down snow blowers, everyone with its starter recoil hanging out like the tongue of a dead critter. There must be five of them sitting in front of my garage,” he raged as he looked longingly at the Runt’s toast as the Runt studiously trowelled on a thick layer of peanut butter and then trimmed it with Jam.
Striker sauntered up to the table yapping on his phone. “I’m retired but yes I still do a little snow plowing…… No! I don’t shovel walks or doorways.”
It seems snow removal personnel is in short supply since Clancy’s young lad took off for parts unknown looking for more adventure than Rainy currently is offering.
Robbie pulled up a chair and asked Pickle, “You have time to take a look at my snow blower this morning? Preferably before noon? It hasn’t moved since last March when I ripped the starter recoil out of ‘er”
Pickle snorted, “Why, why, why? Don’t you realize how busy I am getting ready for the moose hunt?”
Striker’s cell phone chirped franticly, “Yes I do plow…..No! I don’t shovel!”
Rick, the Mountie wannabe cut in, “Pickle if you are finished fixing my chainsaw, I’ll pick it up before lunch and drop off my other one and my snow blower. They both have hinky starter recoils and weren’t running very well after I dumped that can of old gas that was sitting open in the chicken coop all winter. I strained it before I filled the machines, but maybe my dogs were sniffing it or lifting their legs by it. Maybe you could clean the chicken droppings off them both and would you have gas caps for them? Seems I lost both of them.”
“Cookie, better bring me an order of toast after all. Looks like I’ll need sustenance,” stated Pickle as he held out his cup for his fourth ‘free’ refill.
Maury who had just dashed in from his bus run, came out of the john wiping his hands on his jacket grabbed the pot and obliged.
“Say Pickle, I have my chainsaw out in the bus. It’s not running well and the recoil rope is a little frayed. It’s part of my emergency kit ‘cause you never know when you might have to cut up a fallen tree blocking the school bus route. Safety first, “he giggled as he reluctantly filled the proffered cups around the table.
The Runt finished his toast and licking the crumbs and the last remnants of jam from his digits turned to Pickle inquiring, “Have you finished tuning up that hedge trimmer I brought in last summer? Needed a recoil and some carburetor work? What’s with the blank stare? You didn’t go and sell it to somebody did you?”
Pickle concentrated on his toast.
Striker’s phone started chirping again…. frantically, “NO!! I DON’T SHOVEL!!….”