Maybe pinking shears?

Andrew started this week’s mowing last evening, completing the biggest part of the riding, and he went out this afternoon to finish it.  Scott had told him the whole job had to be done by suppertime tonight.

Well, mid-process, the rider quit working, and it seems to Andrew to have the same symptoms that cost him a $100 repair job last summer.  Sigh.  Hopefully this time it’s something simple that Scott can fix.   So, very disgruntled and very discouraged, Andrew headed back out to push mow the rest of the yard.  I heard the mower running for quite a while and then silence.  Some fifteen minutes later, Andrew entered the office, hot, sweaty, dirty, and trying not to scream.  He informed me that now the push mower won’t work, either.  It had run out of gas, he filled it (two processes that he has probably done successfully a hundred times), and he tried to start it.  It would not start for love or money or ME!  I even went out to hold my mouth right and yank the cord, but neither of us could get so much as a sputter out of the beast.

So much for yard work done by suppertime, and we have church tonight.  I told him to go ahead and do the weed-eating, and he did almost all of that, but the mowing. . . who knows?  Andrew and I jointly hate the fact that mowers are in that specific genus of equipment that simply cannot EVER be relied upon to faithfully perform as designed.

Our grass cutting resource collection seems to be shrinking.