That is what I called my first truck- the perfect purse. It could carry all I needed for work and barn, and if folks didn’t like the dogs in front, it had a shell on back they could ride in- along with assorted saddles and art supplies, boots and feed.
My trucks are always bought used and more practical than pretty. Mine is scratched and dented and never had a jump seat, leaving more room for tools and dog beds. I lost the tailgate unloading 900 pound big bales using tie straps. Sometimes I intentionally use my ball hitch as a weapon, other times it’s just an accident.
This particular truck is my first lemon. I had so many repairs on it the first year that friends bought me a set of tires out of pity-it was that bad. We persevere, like you might with a stray dog that never quite joins up but doesn’t actually leave either.
Sometimes in town, I see men driving fancy trucks with spotless bed liners and I wonder what do they use them for? Do they only drive them to get their nails done? I bet that truck looks at our load of demolished fencing with envy. Does washing and polishing embarrass a truck- like a tomboy forced to wear a Sunday dress?
This week my truck let loose a serious stink and complained mightily- while pulling a trailer with three horses up a hill. I am waiting for the call from the shop now.
I do love the right tool for the job; a truck whose tire tread thinner in back from pulling, and side panels with equidistant scratches the size of a T-post. There is beauty in such work strength, but I am not sentimental about machines.
In the end, I would hate my truck to be mistaken for my primary form of transportation. That position will always be held by a handsome, well-groomed horse –with more tune-ups than my truck and more hair product than me.
Anna Blake, AnnaBlakeTraining.com