When You Hear Hoofbeats, Think Mini-Ponies, Not Zebras

My mom has been having trouble with her truck. What's that? You didn't know Mom had a truck? Most people don't. She keeps it in the garage until she needs to drive it to the county landfill, where she sees that worker who wears a suit and is really polite to her. He gives her the creeps. Bet you didn't see that coming.

Mom's truck is over 20 years old. Every now and then, she takes it out for a spin. Like twice a year, when she picks up The Pony at school so he can spend the night. Other than that is too much. No need to wear out that truck. My nephew, son of my sister the ex-mayor's wife, borrows the truck in bad weather so he can drive it to his job in the city. Never mind that he makes more than I do, what with my over-25-years of teaching, in his entry-level job with a utility company. No need for him to buy his own truck when he can leave his 4wd vehicle for his wife to drive, and take Mom's truck home until the bad weather is over.

My mom has been having trouble with her truck. At first she thought it was an old battery. She had Hick jump it a few times. Took that truck out for a drive around several country blocks to charge it. Yet still, the battery lost its power. Mom had Hick take the battery out, and she took it to Walmart to trade in on a brand new battery. Hick put it in for her a month or so ago.

Mom went out to drive her truck to the landfill last week, but the battery was dead. Hick was going to look at it the last time he mowed her yard, but she told him not to, because it was the hottest day of the year, and her garage is even hotter. Yesterday Hick went looking for his voltmeter or some such diagnostic tool so he could go check out Mom's truck. Genius has apparently absconded with the meter. Lucky for Hick that he has at least two of every tool. He found another one in the BARn, and set off for Mom's house. The purpose was to hook that meter up to several in-truck sources, to see if there was a power drain. If, for example, there was some short keeping on the radio or the overhead light.

When Hick got home, I asked if he fixed Mom's truck. "Yep. It was easy to fix. The glove box light was on. The door looked closed, but it wasn't latched. So that light was on inside the glove box all the time, but you couldn't see it. I closed the glove box and charged her battery. She should be good to go."

Mom doesn't remember opening the glove box, but assumes that she did. I pointed the finger at my nephew. "Oh, he brought that truck back in April, and it has been sitting in the garage ever since." Exactly. But Mom is taking the rap.

No word on whether Hick was compensated for his trouble. I'm sure he was. I'm just hoping Mom didn't pay him with a bottle of wine so old that it has fermented itself back into being unfermented again. We have to keep Hick healthy so he can repair Mom's truck.