And so as the buck truck chugged along the back road, I eventually came up to where a blue ’74 vw dasher was pulled off the road with the hood up and steam coming from the radiator.
I pull up and HM WeenerMan steps out from behind the vapor, "’Bout time you showed up," he growls.
I take a look at the steam spewing from beneath the hood of the RodneyMobile, "The Wet-Weld Goop gave out," he explains, "Good thing your trucks here," he goes on, "Need to tow these over to the Estate."
"It will do wonders on the clutch," I grumble.
"That clutch hgas been threatening to go out the past six months," the WeenerMan points out, "It’ll hold up to the Estate."
I shrug, and help move the hitch to hook it up onto the rear bumper.
"Gotta keep moving," WeenerMan advises, "The lady at the Frieght House told me that prime time of planting for organic production is running out."
"She also told me you were heading over to the Old Horse Farmer’s to pick up some used bedding for mulch."
"That’s right," the WeenerMan confirms, "I got a deal with him to build him a rabbit hutch for a load of his used horse-bedding."
"With Rodney out of the action, how are you planning on getting the mulch home?"
The Weener Man takes one look over to where the buck-truck sits idling, "The bed of your truck of course."
"You want me to pull a trailer-load of cement block, and while I’m at it, haul a full load of horse bedding?"
"Hold the hitchup while I slip the pin in," thed WeenerMan remarks, "Need to keep moving if I’m going to beat the Organic Planting Deadline."