The Pickup Truck

The Pickup Truck

Old, rusty, and brown, that’s me. Once long ago, I was a looker before the years got to me.

My four tires are nearly slick but patched so many times that it counts as more tread. Sometimes my tires look almost flat, but if you keep airing them up, they’ll get you where you’re going.

Lightly pumping my brake pedal will bring you to a nice stop.  Slam on my brake, and I’ll keep on a going. Slam again, and I’ll throw you through the windshield.

Being a standard, I have a clutch and a long gear shifter on the floor.  There is a round ball on the top of the shifter. No lettering there, because it’s as slick as my tires.  You’ll probably have to experiment to find my gears.  Best to do some double-clutching, or I’ll grind and moan.

My cab has a bench seat.  The covering on it is tattered and worn.  It seems like not much seating, but don’t let that fool you. Many people have sat on that seat at one time.  Of course, for outdoorsy type people, there’s a truck bed behind the cab.  No telling how many people can ride back there.

Most days, I start at the turn of a key, then there are those days when I’m feeling a little cranky.  On cranky days, you will need a friend or two to give me a push while you pop my clutch, but if I’m feeling especially tired, you might want to jump off my battery. Don’t remember the last time it was changed.

There is an old radio mounted inside my dashboard.  Most of the time, tuned to country or gospel music.  Sometimes someone will select some new weird station,  but then I start sputtering to cause static.

Back in my youth, on weekdays, I was a true workhorse, but on Saturday nights drove the streets of the town.  I have been to rodeos, picnics, dances, the drive-in picture shows, and lover’s lane.  Once, after I was all spruced up, a Queen rode in my truck bed sitting on her throne.  I purred like a kitten driving down the middle of the road, knowing people at the parade were looking at us.

Rabbit hunting is my favorite thing to do.  No roads are involved, just hills, valleys, high weeds, creeks, and cactus.  For some reason, my rabbit hunting is always at night, but my driver doesn’t use my lights.  It seems a spotlight is a lot more fun.   A person sits on my hood while another one drives, then when a rabbit spotted, the chase is on.  While driving along, I feel like a bucking bronc, and sometimes feel like I’m Superman flying over the hills.

The other day, a new truck came to my home and noticed it appears to be here to stay.  Figuring it will take over most of the workload, and since it’s pretty, probably Saturday nights too.  Those two things don’t matter to me, but rabbit hunting needs always to be mine.

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