Working at the Car Wash Blues

When Gretchen Greene, our Outback wagon, took it into her head to exploit the loosely-set parking brake and roll into our fence before landing on a strategically-placed bale of straw, she managed to dislodge a bit of trim and sustained a very small dent  above the passenger's side front wheel well. Not one much concerned with appearances, I considered her repair complete when Jeff--of Barns & More, an all-around handy guy and a very good friend--came by and snapped the loosened trim back into place for me. "I wish I could have fixed it completely," he said referring to the small dent remaining. "Jeff," I insisted, "it is fixed." She's a working vehicle, is Gretheen Greene, and bound to sustain a few scratches and dings in the course of her everyday existence.  "Besides," I assurred him, "down here [in Tennessee] y'all don't salt the roads, so it's not a problem." Had we still lived in New England, the cupped opening toward the front of the wheel trim would have presented an invitation for rapid rust.

When, not two days later, barely a half-inch of snow descended upon Lebanon--falling so slowly that the accumulation happened over two days--the roads were salted quite heavily. I promised Gretchen Greene that on the first warm day, we'll be going to the car wash.

Today, though, when I drove her down to the dairy goats' hut to unload some grain, Sweet Stella came along to investigate and found herself a handy salt-lick. A tad grossed-out by the idea of licking at road salt, I suggested that she leave the car be, but Sweet Stella has a mind of her own and ignored my suggestions. Next, we motored up to the dog kennel to unload kibble. Stella followed her mobile salt-lick. Marcie and Pamela, the two dairy goats pictured, thought to join Stella. By the time I was ready to move the car up to the barn, the goats had cleaned off the rear bumper and Miss Stella had pretty well washed the driver's side of the wagon.

I got the message: put out a salt-lick for the horses, pronto. (The goats have salt in their free-choice loose minerals located in their hut. They didn't need to lick at the car.) When we arrived up at the barn, I was gratified that at least Miss Lucy, her filly Janet, and the fainting goats showed absolutely no interest in the salt; they just wanted the grain I was unloading from the hatchback. That is quite acceptable to me.

Hopefully the weather will warm up soon. The vehicles desperately need baths, and I don't want Stella and her fan club singing an encore of their working at the car wash blues.