Now that snow season is here, its time to drag out the snow blower and start it up. I am always up toward doing so before it freezes outside. I am not so great at moving the snow blower though. The blower itself weighs more than I can comfortably drag around without it being motorized. I did attempt to start it this fall.
It doesn't have a manual. It is composed of a lawn mower engine bolted onto the old base for a Canadian blower. You can tell it is Canadian because the french writing on the original control panel has not worn off yet. The English instructions are rusted out.
Fortunately I can read french. I cannot however figure out how to start it this year. Looks like a job for Super Husband!
I did attempt to start it. I dragged it out of the shed, turned on the choke, yanked the chain, heard the clicking noise, and saw a small brown creature with huge black eyes poke its head out of the snow chute. Awe! How cute! A mouse!
Yank two had the mouse attacking my foot.
Once I finished a neat little dance, the thoroughly freaked out mouse ran back in the shed, and the thoroughly freaked out me went back to yanking the chain. Another mouse attacked! then another, and another.
By the time four sets of baleful black eyes were staring at me, my nerves were worn out, my shoulder hurt, and the engine was just starting to make "going to turn on in ten more minutes of intense attention" noises. There was nothing else to do. I took the snow blower and I rolled it back into the shed. I ushered the disgruntled residents back into their home, and closed the door.
Then I mentioned to my husband that he might want to wear long pants and boots when he goes out to snow blow the first time. He looked at me as If I was a total idiot. Perhaps I should tell him why...
Nope. He's always saying that he loves surprises.