Backroads, We Have a Problem

For those of you who might think all Hick does on a weekend is lounge around in his La-Z-Boy, I present the following true tale from earlier today.

We were on our way to pick up The Pony from his grandma's house to take him out for his birthday dinner. Hick was piloting my Tahoe. He took several phone calls from work, because the world cannot turn on its axis without the careful guidance of Hick. I must have complained about his lack of attention to the road during these calls. I know that's hard to believe. I think my exact words were: "Why don't you just pull over until you're done talking on the phone?" Hick saw no need for that. After all, his sweaving was not that much different than when he devotes his full attention to driving.

"You must have nine lives. I think you're on number seven right now."

"Make that number eight. You almost lost me this afternoon."

"How's that?"

"I was almost done fixing the tire on my tractor. I needed it to roll forward just a little bit. I didn't want to climb up, so I stood beside it and pushed in the clutch. It started rolling, and my hand slipped off. That popped the clutch, and the tractor took off by itself. I fell down. I rolled out of the way so it didn't run over me."

"You mean the tractor was driving itself?"

"Yeah. I would have let it go to see where it ended up, but it was heading for the BARn. I jumped up and ran alongside. Then I thought, 'This is stupid.' I knew I couldn't get on. So I ran along and reached in and hit the kill switch."

"You are a big dumb ape."

"Yeah. That was not a very smart thing to do."

Acknowledging the problem is the first step.