I don’t care how popular that country western song is. I don’t think JT’s tractor is sexy. In fact, I think it’s a clandestine vehicle with the sole intent to kill me-or at least blind me. I just can’t determine if it’s the tractor or my husband that’s out to get me.
The weather up at Raspberry Butte Ranch, where our horses winter pasture, has been some of the coldest, snowyest, windy weather I’ve seen in all the years I’ve been here in Montana.
I thought JT was crazy when a) he wanted to buy a tractor and b) he “needed” to get some expensive snow blowing attachment for the stupid thing. Well, after watching Boone (bless his heart) plow and plow and plow with this tiny little bobcat, I finally got it. I was glad he got it….until now.
JT, being the Good Samaritan he is, volunteered to plow out our neighbors road to their house. Then the call came-he was stuck and could I please drive the white pickup out to help pull him out of the ditch. I mean “really”?? I’m just a girl from New Jersey.
But being the faithful wife that I am, I don the carharts, boots, hat and gloves, and head to the scene of the crime. I’ll take the truck. He takes the tractor. Bad move. I can’t budge the truck to pull the thing out of the snow bank. Assuming this was a safe bet, we switch places. Second bad move.
We’re now back to back. I’ve been in a vehicle before that was being towed, and knew there was a quick “jerk” when the chain reaches its end. I’m ready to get this thing out of there, when all of a sudden “BOOM”. I’m hurled to the back of the tractor with lightening speed. Then “BOOM” I’m pushed back against the tractor again. What in Sam’s Hill was he doing??? So here I am, thrashing about the cab of this tractor like a fish in a bowl in an earthquake, and now I watch the tractor slowing tipping to its side. I’m doomed, I fear, as I fight for my life to drive the thing backwards and steer it out of the ditch. I mean, after all, I AM a woman driver.
How we got it out of there without me killing myself was nothing short of a small miracle. Once on the road, I crawled out of the cab and back to safe ground. My knees were shaking so hard I could hardly stand up. Thankfully, I threw a menancing “wifely” glance towards my husband, that only those married long enough would understand, and simply stated: “Don’t ever do that to me again.” And then I drove back to the house to regain my sense of balance.
Not fifteen minutes later, I get a second call. I’m stuck again. OMG. I frantically search the ranch for some other source of testosterone. Damn you Boone for taking time off and going to the NFR. I look to the geldings-no luck there. The only thing I can find to a living breathing male is a very hyperactive ten month old Golden Retriever that’s been neutered and a fifteen year old deaf, half blind, neutered, demented Jack Russell Terrier named Francois Pierre. Nope. No help here.
So it’s back in the truck, and once again I don’t have the where-with-all to pull the stupid thing out. But who’s the stupid one? It’s back to the tractor I go. But this time I have the sense to expect the earthquake-like tremors in the cab when the chain takes force. We slowly move out of the snow, as rocks keep throwing back to the cab windows. The truck spins out to pull us out. Next thing I know the windows blow out and the safety glass is thrown all over the cab. I thought I was going to lose my eyes. Fortunately, all was well, with the exception of the windows, and we were once again back out on the road.
I quietly got back in the truck, passed a “classic” glance to my husband, and drove off. I’m headed for Arizona, I say. And I definitely don’t think “his tractor’s sexy”!!