Sunday, June 9, 2013

The Operation Was A Success, But The Patient Is Contaminated

D'Hummi is frigid. Ever since last fall, he has given me the cold shoulder. You remember D'Hummi, don't you? Our dehumidifier? That's right. Most of our appliances have names. Except the oven and microwave. Those things I use to warm or heat up food. Not to be confused with cooking.

So I sidled up to D'Hummi and tried to turn him on. He's a good faker. He started purring, leading me on. Twelve hours later, he was still going. That's uncommon stamina. Normally, a charged-up tool such as D'Hummi would rise and fall. If you get my drift. He would suck until the predetermined sign was given, then stop for a while. Until he felt the urge to achieve that level again.

I grew concerned. D'Hummi was exhibiting signs that he was a dirty boy. His filter was not performing up to snuff. I told The Pony to rip out D'Hummi's naughty bits. And he couldn't! D'Hummi was physically ill. Believe you me, I grabbed that filter and tugged until my face was blue. Nothing. OK, that's not quite true. D'Hummi showed some seepage. He sat in a puddle of his own fluids. I did what any concerned co-habiter would do, and called a specialist. Thank the Gummi Mary, I found one that made house calls.

Doctor H poked and probed D'Hummi without even washing his hands. Tried to yank that organ out by force. I thought he had chipped a bone, until I grabbed that white fragment that skittered across the basement tile. It was cold as ice. In fact, it WAS ice! D'Hummi had frozen up. Doctor H decided that D'Hummi needed to cool his filter in isolation. He wheeled him outside the basement door, to be perched on by chickens, peed on by Tank the beagle, and invaded by wood bees. Woe was D'Hummi. He sat there overnight, his entrails exposed.

The next day we brought him back. Plugged him in and yelled, "Clear!" The Pony slid out D'Hummi's filter and replaced it with a spare we had laying on top of the piano, awaiting the transplant. D'Hummi continues to struggle. His fluid balance is off. We pull the plug a couple of times a day. After about an hour, we hear the steady drip, drip of D'Hummi's body fluid. When the dripping stops, we resuscitate D'Hummi. I think it is time he was euthanized. Sent to the big dehumidifier graveyard in the BARn. Doctor H does not. Doctor H says the patient probably just needs a good scrubbing.

We pointedly avoid the words "Silkwood shower" in front of D'Hummi. No need to give the patient a panic attack.

4 comments:

Sioux said...

If Cher or Meryl show up, D'Hummi might try to make a run for it...

Hillbilly Mom said...

Sioux,
Yes, D'Hummi might tuck his plugger between his wheels and take off without looking back. Because even though he says he loves Cher and Meryl, that's not what he means.

Kathy's Klothesline said...

They just don't make them like they used to! He Who mows is about to take his faithful old mower to parts heaven and get a new one. He keeps say that he just bought it ..... 7 years ago. We put a lot miles on our mowers!

Hillbilly Mom said...

Kathy,
Yeah, something just broke on our mower on Saturday. It required a trip to town, and an amount on the debit card of which I have not yet been informed. We have 20 acres here at the homestead, and 10 of it is mowable. Not that we could bale hay and make any money on it, of course.