The Little Tractor that Could

Last night I asked A. to drive Big Red into the pasture again so I could replenish my dwindling supply of sheep-shit straw for the garden.

I've been doing a lot of mulching, as you saw. That smelly straw goes fast.

Not only did A. drive the truck up there for me, but he helped me pitch the shit into the truck, thereby allowing the two of us together to load up about a thousand pounds of shitty straw in only about half an hour. Pitching shit with A. is a lot better than doing it by myself. Which I think might be the strongest endorsement of our marriage ever. I mean, would YOU like to pitch shit with YOUR spouse? If yes, then you're bound to go the distance.

ANYWAY.

After we got Big Red all loaded up, I gathered up the pitchforks and my gloves while A. drove the truck out of the pasture. Except he didn't. Because the truck was stuck. The tires spun and spun and dug right down into the slick, wet, nasty underlayer of sodden, shitty straw that offered no traction whatsoever.

This is not the first time Big Red has been stuck. Nor is it the first time we've really wished we had a four-wheel-drive truck. But Big Red is what he is, and he was definitely mired down.

A. managed to get one of the snow chains on the rear tire that was causing the majority of the trouble. The MiL came up so she and I could push while A. drove (it would have been better if A. could have pushed, but nobody can really drive Big Red except A., as you may recall). But before we tried that, A. thought he'd see if the lawn tractor could pull the truck at all.

This is the lawn tractor we got after our two-year-old lawn tractor blew up last summer. This latest tractor is a 15-year-old Toro Wheelhorse from back in the day when they were still made in the USA. This thing is solid steel and extremely sturdy. It also has some very low speeds on it, which is important for pulling purposes. I had my doubts it could actually pull a full-sized truck, though. I mean, it's a tough little tractor, but it is, well, little.

But we had nothing to lose by trying, so A. brought the tractor into the pasture and hooked it to the truck. Then I drove the tractor very slowly, A. drove the truck, the MiL pushed, and I'll be damned if that little tractor didn't pull that big ole truck right up and out of that mess.

With this display of pluck, our new/old tractor has earned himself a name. And not a derogatory name, either. A name that evokes the spirit of this brave little machine. Therefore, we officially christen him Tuffy the Toro.

They really don't make 'em like that anymore.