Requiem to a Noble Servant?

Poor Boy Toy. He doesn't deserve the long, lonely nights he has been spending in the wrecked car storage facility while we work out the insurance yaddahs of whether or not a high mileage work truck is worth fixing. He has less than 140,000 miles on him, but that's allot of miles in an insurance adjuster's calculations. There is no evident damage to the cab, but that truck bed is a mess. I haven't peeked at the undercarraige yet. For sure, the muffler is wrapped around the rear passenger-side tire. I am finding some consolation in the fact that the tire needed replacing before the muffler melted part of the tread.

This morning finds me chuckling over the nostalgic personification of a vehicle I was driving simply because it was the least popular vehicle in the family fleet. I still donae have the story of why the grown up boys who brought him home abandoned him, but I haven't tried hard to get the story, either. "Boys will be boys." is explanation enough for me. All I need is transportation. However much I enjoy the sentimental personifications, a tool remains a tool at the end of my day. I don't get overly sentimental over vaccuum cleaners, either. They are only a means to an end.

But I guess I bonded with the *scarred up old gelding* during the long miles of last year's funeral pilgrimage. Maybe. Perhaps I am only responding to GS's 5 year old efforts to understand the significance of Monday's accident and the fact that we were driving the "Funny Uncle's" car as we drove past the scene of the accident to complete the journey to his last week of summer vacation on the farm.

I hate car shopping. I don't much care what tool I use to get any given job done, as long as the job gets done. Save the shopping for the shoppers. My vehicle of choice is a fleet vehicle. Just give me the keys to whatever professionally maintained tool fits the job of the day. Just dreaming. . .