There I was.  Lazily dozing.  A Becker rerun on the tube.  It's 6:45 am in Harrisonburg. Peggy, who had awakened thinking she heard a strange noise from downstairs, decided to go start the coffee.  I snuggled back into my pillow. "Help, Chillie,"  I heard.  Only it wasn't one of those "Honey, get up.  I need your assistance." It was one of those, "Get your fat butt up.  NOW!!!." So, I jumped up, grabbed my Batman cape, slipped on my Captain Marvel tennis shoes, and headed downstairs. Upon entering the kitchen, I found Peggy being viciously attacked by a rabid Peregrine falcon.  The four cats were going bonkers, flying all over the kitchen.  Peggy was bloody and beaten. I picked up a bath towel and got it over the falcon's head, wrapping my arms around its body to avoid being pummeled with its wings like Peggy had been. Somehow, I got it outside and it soared away. Peggy was still dazed, sitting on the floor.  "Look at all the feathers,"  she uttered dreamily. The cats were still going nuts. I calmly walked over, poured myself a cup of coffee and promptly laced it with three shots of bourbon. "What was it?  A terradactyal?"  she asked. "I don't know.  But we'd better get these feathers up before the baby comes down." The past three weeks have been pretty lousy for Peggy and I.   The auction has been slow.  And Amelia even slower.  We did, however, have a record breaker in Richmond.  One of the auction staff reported to us that a dealer was buying everyone lunch . She gave us $147 order.  Nine Ribeyes, ten orders of fries, six cheeseburgers...  I just about had a stroke, but we got it out.  It actually saved the day. Tank has really kept us afloat these past couple of weeks.   Our expanded Walmart program (Wednesday-Sunday) started in Altavista and it went really well.  That earned Tank a road trip,  so the following week, he was in Staunton and bunked at Peggy's with Todd and Kagen.  He had a great five days there even though he had a couple thunderstorms to deal with. This week, he's been in Chicago for his sister's graduation.  Next week, he'll be in Bedford including a huge car show on Saturday.  Peggy and I are looking for an improved week as the auction on Friday should be huge as it runs concurrently with a major equipment sale next door.  I've been told to plan for at least triple what we've been doing. Saturday might be my permanent demise. I've been challanged. Picture this.  Two old fat guys doing a ten lap feature race in these little go-carts going 75 mph.  A crowd of thousands will be on their feet.  The announcer will be giving his version of a play-by-play.  The other drivers will be at the rail rooting for their favorite.  It will be like Ali-Frazer.  Or Billy Jean-Bobby Riggs.  Or Martha Stewart-Donald Trump.  One for the ages. Unfortunately, I'm one of the old fat guys. My challenger is one of the regulars only he's fatter than me.  More like I was before I lost the 135 pounds.  Only he's driven these things before. I'm not sure how I can fit in one of those little cars and if I do, I certainly have no idea how I'll get out.  They sit like four inches off the ground.  But it's got to be worse on Andy. The winner has to buy the loser a Diet Coke.  Probably, I'll be drinking. I am taking this seriously and have started a tuff training program.  So far I've done three sit-ups and two push-up.  I'm jumping into the shower out of starting blocks.  I'm limiting my daily consumption of cheeseburgers to three.  And no doughnuts. My funeral is tentatively scheduled for next Tuesday. One question though.  Do I wear my apron?  Can Peggy handle all of those orders while I'm on the track?  A report to follow. . . if I survive. Oh, by the way, it was really a robin and a tea towel.  But I like it the other way.