Every once in a while I have to write about the people of Run A Muck Ranch, and this happens to be one of those times. Still, being a blog about the dogs, I will sprinkle pictures of the misfits throughout this entry just to keep you interested.
Let us begin…
So, there I was, finishing my first job of the day. I was cleaning off the street with the Unicorn (what I call the blower… you would be amazed at what miracles people believe a blower can perform), when I turned and had a “That Moment” experience. In my case, “That Moment” was when I realized I had not one, but two flat tires. One on the trailer, one on the truck.
Back when I was young, cute, single and worked in skirts, repair of a flat tire involved the simple act of standing next to the vehicle and gazing at the flat in a confused fashion. The tire usually changed itself within 10 minutes, with the assistance of a gentleman passerby-er. Now that I’m older, married, frumpy and tired, I have to change my own tires.
After battling with my poor excuse for a jack, I finally got the trailer tire changed, and moved on to the truck tire. Problem was, I couldn’t’ get the spare tire to release. Didn’t matter what I did or what profanities I uttered, the darned thing just wouldn’t come loose!
My choices at this point were: 1) limp the truck, with the flat tire to the nearest gas station and hope air and Fix A Flat would do the trick or 2) call my Brave Knight In Shining Armor (Crabby), who works relatively close to where I was stranded, for help.
I decided to call Crabby, get a feel for his mood, and if it appeared he was having an OK day, ask him to come to my rescue. Turns out, Crabby was having a crisis of his own…
Apparently, there was a spider in the Waggin’ Wagon.
At the time I called him, Crabby was attempting to decide whether he was going to set the Waggin’ Wagon on fire, see if a Jeep dealership wanted to buy it, or stick a “Free” sign on the windshield, with the keys left on the hood.
Under no circumstances was he ever again going to get INSIDE the Waggin’ Wagon if a spider was in residence.
Crabby eventually decided the more ‘rational’, if you can call it that, course of action would be to set off bug bombs in the Waggin’ Wagon to dispatch the arachnid with chemical warfare.
Since Crabby needed to get the bug bombs anyway, he was able to come help me with the truck tire. Worry not arachnophobes, he borrowed another vehicle for his errands!
Ladies, show of hands: Isn’t it always the case that when you do something on your own, it’s correct, but if you do the very same thing with a man present, it’s wrong? That was exactly the case when Crabby decided I was not working the jack correctly as I was raising the truck for the tire change.
“Let’s me show you a better way.” He said. I don’t remember the exact words that followed, but he did use paraphrased versions of the statement “these jacks were designed to be used…” on at least two occasions, in his professional explanation as to why his way was correct and mine wasn’t. He continued with this instruction right up until the point the jack handle flew off the crank and smacked him in the head, leaving a nice sized lump.
That he immediately told me to go back to the way I was previously using said jack goes without saying. His remark that ‘obviously’ using the jack the way it was ‘designed’ was “not safe for [you]” meaning me, was, I guess, his way of saying I was indeed correct, without acknowledging any wrong on his part. Pretty smooth if you ask me…
The tire was successfully changed, and I was able to finish out the day.
Crabby purchased a bug bomb kit, setting off 2 in the passenger compartment and 1 in the engine compartment. For those of you who have used bug bombs in your home, you understand that a single bomb will treat 2,000 cubic feet, so yes, Crabby treated an approximate 100 cubic feet of Waggin’ Wagon with enough chemical for 60 times that same area. But, as he said, he didn’t want to take any chances that the spider could be hiding somewhere.
That Crabby made it home with the Waggin’ Wagon means he felt relatively safe. That he arrived home with his pant legs tucked into his socks, to prevent the spider, if it survived, from seeking revenge by running up said pant legs, means he really needs to get some therapy.
This is the life we lead. You just can’t make this stuff up.
So tell me, how was your Monday?