Last Friday I shared Baxter Black’s poem Boomer and Bernie, this week I need to share a story about my husband Scott and his bomber truck.
If any of you know my husband you know he drives an old beat up farm truck around town and out to the farm, it is usually at least one and a half to two decades old, main color rust and a dump bed on the back with hydraulics to easily remove, hay, manure, garbage, old furniture, lawn mowers and any type of junk. The bed is his pride and joy; he can sit in the front, window rolled down, winter or summer because it doesn’t roll up, just push a button and remove any crap out of the back.
None of his children or me will ride with him in the bomber. Rylan our grandson will ride with papa in the bomber, he is still ego free and likes to be able to eat sunflower seeds and spit the shells right on the floor board, or as he calls them flowerin seeds. The two head out to the truck, (bomber) pump on the gas pedal 10 times try the starter several times then if they’re lucky a huge plum of gray and black smoke will encircle the neighborhood, Rylan unplugs the truck from the extension cord that is plugged into the front of our house, jumps back in with his best incredible hulk maneuver slams the door shut and gets a fist bump from Papa and away they go.
Before Rylan, the only other bomber companion was the kid’s dogs. The kid’s wouldn’t ride with him but the dogs loved trips in the bomber. That is except one day.
It was trash day when Scott and Sailor our black lab loaded the trash trailer up, a handmade trailer made out of the bed that was removed to put the dump bed on the bomber. Got the visual yet.
Sailor riding in front of the truck on the way to the dump decides to ride in the back of the trash trailer on the way home. Scott is riding with his arm out the window, chewing and spitting seeds as he hits a few bumps here and there. He happens to see something out of the corner of his eye as he looks over and looking directly at him is Sailor, with that oh shit—look on his face.
The trailer has unhooked from the truck, it is passing him along the driver’s side. All Scott can do is watch the trailer as it rolls down the road wandering towards a big ditch. Dog still looking straight ahead the trailer hits the ditch, launching Sailor air born about 30 feet.
A year ago my mother gave Scott a book for father’s day titled Wisdom of our Fathers by Tim Russert, she had each of the children write what wisdom they had learned from their father, Tegan wrote, Dad always told her never drive the bomber any further than she wanted to walk. The dog may have said, never ride with Scott any further than you want to fly.
If you've got a story that will make even dogs roll over with laughter share it with us by comment'n to this blog or email me at dshaw@infowest.com.
Have a memory filled weekend,
Danna
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