The trip for more bulls

I was NOT comfortable with the new truck.  My dad insisted on buying one because he didn't like the one we had.  I play along...biding my time....for the I told you so's.

He bought a red diesel.  I have driven many things, Mac trucks, school buses, tricycles, auto, stick, but never a diesel pickup with power anything.  Suffice it to say the first time I drive it, I literally squeal through 2 red lights in Crossville, running both and almost hitting people.  Apparently you do not push power brakes, you blow on them.  They took it apart, not realizing I was being Herman Munster this time, and did find where some hoses were missing or something, therefore causing less vacuum on the brakes and for them not to work as well (could you imagine if they were working well?).  They also discovered the shoes were misaligned as well or the pads were worn.  I didn't know nor did I care because as far as I was concerned it was a demon possessed vehicle that needed to be drug out to the junk yard and shot.

They drive it again telling me there's nothing wrong with it.  I almost squeal through another red light and that is when I realize my braking problem is my over used hamstring, not the truck.  Imagine my chagrin (I know, it's the latest fad in vocab, but you know I had to use it at some point).

But, they do eventually show how my little bag of I told you so's would not stay shut for too much longer.  We've run out of bulls.  We'll have more customers next spring than we'll have bull calves, and the list is growing.  We've had to quit advertising and ask for downpayments from new customers.  I'm not complaining, just shocked.  So Arlis finds some from across the state we can buy to ease the masses.  I decide it is not in my best interest to drive said truck across the state until we can work out a better understanding of each other, especially pulling bulls in a trailer.  Dad and Arlis take off.  They pick up the bulls and jabber a bit with the breeder who we have a pretty good relationship with already.  Then they head back.

Now dad likes spontaneous adventure.  So do I, and I have been known to pull off for no reason and do something for no reason other than because it's there and I want something different.  I mainly like to eat places I've never heard of before.  (I guess that could be dangerous come to think of it).  But I would not choose to do this with a load of bulls.  My dad does.  Now, bear in mind, he has many more years of experience at driving and hauling trailers than I, and was an OTR driver for some time before I was born I believe, so it's not completely stupid for him to do this, just mostly.  (are you ready for this?)  He pulls off into the WRONG part of town in Nashville and winds up where there are bars on all the windows and a bunch of loitering and they are getting the LOOK.  You know the look.  You're white-go home!  With bulls in the trailer....picturing this is too funny!  Thanks be to God they do not break down there, because they DO break down on the interstate just a bit later this side of Nashville.  They're driving along when they notice oil all over the side of the truck and trailer.  Something BIG has blown up, and they are now quite concerned.  I save my little bag of I told you so's for a more intimate time.

I get the call, on my day off, trying to spend time with Marcus, to come pick them up.  I have to drive the other truck because these bulls can't be left in this weather in a trailer.  And this is where my little blue truck gets to come to the rescue.

My dad has a riding mower he calls Old Blue because as beat up as it is, and as slow as it is, it will always eventually get the job done without costing a bunch to fix.  Perhaps I shall adopt said title for said truck.  So we pack up and stop to fill up and get some drinks at THE red light in town.  It doesn't start.  I call because this has happened before and something is going out on it we think.  They say to let it cool down and try again.  So here I am, sitting at a pump for half an hour waiting for it to cool off in 100 degree weather, and it still doesn't start.

Meanwhile, on the interstate, they add a gallon of oil to the truck and get it started and actually make it home going 40 mph.  We, on the other hand, get to walk the 7 miles home hoping someone will take pity upon us and give us a lift.  Our neighbor cop does, while on duty, and then oogles over Fargo again like he always does.  (Just buy some cows already).  But Fargo enjoys it as always, and it does make me proud that he's as good looking as he is.  (yes, it's an ugly pic-it's supposed to be funny)

Look at me-I'm beautiful!

They get home, and just before sunset, we get all the animals taken care of and head off to the blue truck to find....a broken wire connecting to the battery.  $5 or less later, we're driving the truck home.  They have to rebuild the engine on their truck.  THIS is when the I told you so's were not said, but many bouts of laughter were hidden behind a huge smirk!  And they knew EXACTLY why!!