Dave and Jan are ranchers, but Dave’s also an artist (see accompanying drawing) who drives a pickup with a bent frame.

PICKUP DREAMS

I’m not sure what it is about pickups that make men drool. Maybe it’s because women drool over men in pickups. But sometimes a cowboy will overreach.

Dave and Jan came by our house on the way to the city. They were goin’ pickup shoppin’. “I need one that can handle those steep, rocky canyon roads with switchbacks like a bad case of hiccups and nothin’ but washboard between the washouts. It’s gotta be able to pull a loaded twenty-foot gooseneck up the face of Gibraltar without grabbin’ compound,” explained Dave. “I’m thinkin’ a three-quarter-ton, four-wheel-drive diesel with manual transmission.”

That afternoon, they shopped and shopped. Four big dealerships, each with twenty-five to fifty new pickups . . . but not one four-speed manual transmission.

“Everybody wants an automatic,” said the dealer.

Dave stuck to his guns, but with each subsequent shiny macho machine he was shown, the sticker price began to weigh heavier on his mind.

He and Jan had dinner in a restaurant, then stopped at one last car dealer. Twenty-eight trucks on the lot. Twenty-seven had an automatic transmission. His dream truck flexed before him. The adrenaline rush surged through him, washing away all budget concerns. He smelled the new grease, felt the gearshift sorta click around the H. He sat tall. He became General Patton leading his cavalry across the Alps.

A couple times the dark cloud of doubt darkened his glittering vision, but Jan encouraged him. “You can do it,” she cooed.

They drove it off the lot.

Back home in bed, Dave dreamed of shackles on his ankles. He was carrying the truck on his shoulders as the dealer heaped optional accessories on the bed.

As he wound his way through the next day’s chores, he had visions of his children begging on the street, his mother coming out of the nursing home, and his wife selling Tupperware, all to help make the payments. “It’s only fifteen dollars a day for six years,” the dealer had said. “Just skip breakfast!”

Dave tossed and turned that night unable to sleep. Desperation frayed his mind.

Next morning, the dealer called with a problem. Seems Dave’s trade-in had a bent frame. “Can you bring the new one back?” he asked.

Dave gulped, and much to the dealer’s surprise, said, “Gas mine up; I’ll be there by noon!”

And who says cowboys can’t spot a good business opportunity when it hits them in the face?