My precious mother in law died in 2002. Because she had lived very frugally, she left money for her children. With the inheritance my husband received, we paid for orthodontia work for our daughter, and we bought a truck.
A beautiful burgundy Ford F150. It was to be for me to drive, and I fell in love, hard. It was the only brand new vehicle I'd ever had that was just for me. I loved everything about her, and named her Doozy. We had a great many adventures together... driving with friends to grooming competitions with dogs, fun road trips and lovely vacations with family. Rachel and her pals where schlepped hither and yon in it, too. We moved to Maine with Doozy, (with 5 dogs in the back!) leaving our suburban home to live in the country. As I began to add livestock to our place, Doozy hauled hay and straw and shavings and sacks of feed. Other than being a little tricky to drive in the snow, Doozy never let me down.
Late this summer we took her in to be inspected and have an oil change and got bad news. Rust had damaged her frame and she was no longer safe to drive. I grieved as if I were losing a friend.
We bought a gently used Toyota Tacoma for me to drive, but I couldn't seem to bring myself to put Doozy up for sale. Weeks, then months went by. Then my husband suggested we consider donating the truck to National Public Radio. I sat on that idea for a while, but finally made the decision.
Today I took the last few things out of her console. A few clipper blades, some loose change, one random earring and an ice scraper. This afternoon an enormous flat bed truck pulled up. The driver got into Doozy and backed her out of the driveway. He winched her up and drove away. It made me sad.