Always something

Night before last as I was finishing my evening rounds I stopped by the ranch house, as is my wont, to chat with the Matriarch and Patriarch and to pick up Nona the Wonder Dog.

It was after dark, this being January and the time being 6:30 p.m. or so. Because I'd had a slip on the ice earlier in the day, I pulled ahead a bit farther in the driveway and a tad to the left so as to avoid stepping out on a patch of solid phase dihydrogen monooxide. In doing this my pickup ended up being parked on a heading of roughly 355, rather than the more usual due north.

Thus were born the seeds of disaster.

Finished chatting and with Nona the Wonder Dog in her usual seat in the pickup, I fired up the motor and backed -- as is my habit -- straight back. I checked the mirrors, as is also my habit, and everything looked fine.

Everything was fine, too, all the way up until the moment I smashed into the pole holding the satellite dish. Ruh-Roh.

Nona the Wonder Dog gave me a baleful glare. I'm quite sure she rolled her eyes as well. I may not speak dog but I got her message loud and clear. "Damme sure didn't hit the master lottery, did I?"

I scrambled out to assess the damage, predictably looking first at my pickup. Taillights intact, no visible dent. Good.

Looking at the satellite dish I noted that the pole was still vertical and appeared to be intact. I glanced through the living room window and my dad appeared to be still watching TV. Through the kitchen window I could see that mom's TV was still on. Yay! No harm, no foul. I considered reporting the incident, but what the hell I thought, no reason to bother them with a non-problem.

The next morning, after the sun rose and the world was nicely illuminated, I glanced outside and saw that the plastic lens on my right rear taillight was broken. Shit!

I quickly drove to the ranch house. The satellite dish still looked okay, though it was bent ever so slightly. Inside the house both televisions were off.

"Is your television working," I asked dad.

"Hasn't been working since you bashed into it last night," he said.

Sigh.

Fortunately the pole bent back into true with only a little effort and the system could once again pick up the satellite signal.

"Well," said dad, after he carefully checked reception on all 300 channels, "maybe you'll get a birthday present after all. But don't count on it."

You can see the tire track.

I came sooooo close to not hitting the damme thing too. But I...



Gotta replace a damme taillight, too. Thank god for Amazon.