So Long, Old Friend

Yesterday I made the call. I got my information and made the arrangements. My old truck is going to the scrape heap to be recycled. It has been getting used as a shed and there were some tools, lots of nails, far too much garbage. I must take responsibility for my share of that since I practically lived in it while we were digging the trenches for the house. I kept a supply of matches, toilet paper and sometimes food in the truck. The food was probably not a good idea considering the amount of mice we had. Oh well. We learn from experience. Mac also had a very bad habit of tossing trash in my truck. If he spied something blowing around, into my truck it would go. He always said that he would put it in the garbage can when we got back to town. But I don't recall him ever doing that. Hmmmmm.

The old truck was the first vehicle since my marriage that could have been called "mine". It drove better for me then anyone else. It gave me better mileage. It smelled a bit of gas, oil and wet dog. It had enough holes in it that it hadn't gotten to the point of being totally unsightly, but the wind moved through it sufficiently enough to act as a deer whistle. Deer just didn't run out in front of that truck... or possibly it could be that the exhaust pipe had about dissolved. It wasn't exactly quiet.

Smaller side mirrors had been original on the truck. One saturday when poking around the automobile department, Mac picked up a pair of extended side mirrors. I had been wanting the bigger mirrors. They were heavier duty. The supports caused the mirrors to extend from the sides of the truck a good eight to ten inches. I could SEE behind me! No more blind spots. It made it easier when pulling the little trailer we had. It was one of those gifts that showed that he actually listened to me on occasion. Unlike the christmas that I got the blender. My truck... my mirrors, made me feel loved.

I remembered about the mirrors yesterday when cleaning out the truck. Found the saw I had been looking for. My old lead rope that I had made. My hoof pick. Assorted gardening tools. There was a whistle with an extended body and the end of it unscrewed so you could store a bit of tinder and matches inside. Apparently the whistle was for signaling the rescue party or something. It was a gift from one of my kids, who apparently thought I was going to the mountains instead of rural parts of Iowa. I gave it a shake. Still had matches. After a year or more of being exposed to a mouse population, there is no way that whistle was going in my mouth! Years ago, the seat frame had gotten broken and my son in law, as an emergency fix, took the drivers seat out and moved the passenger seat over. The levers for seat adjustment were on the wrong side after that, but the cab was especially roomy. The dog loved the space. There were times when working on the house, when I would take a break, have a nap with Fiona laying in the truck next to me. I would tell people the truck was customized for me and my dog. It typically wasn't their idea of "customized", but it worked for me. It was MY truck Now it is going to be scrape metal. I will get paid something for it and that money will go toward the property taxes. Still not enough money but I'm closer. This is the last act of service that my truck will give to me. If I were the kind of person that cried, I think I just might shed a tear or two over my old truck.

So long, Old Friend.

Louie

The Good, the Bad and the Ugly

The good, the bad and the ugly. That was my day yesterday. Luckily I did start out with the good. I had taken a load of water out to the horses with the truck. They were given their pellets. I unloaded the water. Then made a spur of the moment decision to walk their pasture lot quick and see what trees I had on the ground down in the woods. Logs of the right size can be made into easy jumps, or edge a drive, block an area, so thought it would be good to make an assessment.

I went under the gate wire, walked past the munching horses and descended into the little woods. Some of the logs had been cut and just left where they had dropped a very long time ago. Most of those will be burned in place. Some will be cut for erosion control. Some will be chained to the truck and get pulled out to be used. While I was grading the downed trees I turned to look at a couple of standing trees that I wanted to cull and saw Pip coming towards me.

I was a little surprised by her approach. Due to heat, rain, extreme sun burn, poison ivy, you name it, it has been awhile since we played, and she had grown aloof. At feeding time, I would put my hand over the fence and look away and wait for her touch. It didn't always come and I feared that I had lost everything we had accomplished. I tried to not watch her approach and just continue what I was doing. Cut this one, burn that pile, cull this one. And then there was a great blonde head, resting quietly against the back of my arm. Head down, ears relaxed. I turned slightly and gave her jaw scratches. Her eyes drooped and she let out a contented sigh. Together we worked our way through the little copse of woods. When ever we stopped she became my pocket pony. When we walked, she stayed about a foot behind my arm. Each moment of our time was sublime. It was perfect.

I could have spent the day there but it motivated me to get going! I have holes to dig. A decent fence to get up. A play yard for me and the girls! I drove the truck up behind the house where I have been working on the post holes. I then decided that I would proceed with a new method. Instead of digging on a hole until it was done, I would start a bunch of holes and get them filled with water and soften up the clay. I'd work smarter , not harder. So, I hopped into the truck, turned the key and ...... click, click, click. Okay, that's not good. Turned the key again..... click, click, click. Every time I turned the key, the same clicking. This was the bad part. Not only have the years, the miles and genetics been unkind to me, but now my mood was pretty ugly too.

All this and it wasn't even 11:00! I really hate getting bad news before noon. I then spent the afternoon trying to settle my own mood and figure out how to tell Mac in a fashion that wouldn't upset him. I managed to keep it calm. It helped that I could throw in a comment from a friend, "Larry, thinks it might just be the battery cables"

Well, around seven he went out to check it out. As he got into the truck, I again went through all of the symptoms. He got in and turned the key. It sounded like it wanted to turn over, then went into the clicking. He turned the key back. Waited a second then tried to start it again. It turned right over. As a matter of fact, it started right up six more times. I didn't know if I should be relieved, or totally honkin' pissed off! The truck had made me look like a ...... woman!

Good thing I have my horse, because my truck is totally a traitor!

Louie