We’re talkin’ abnormal affection here.

EDSEL’S TRUCK

They say that dogs often take on the behavior of their owners. Chuck loved old vehicles, especially trucks. They rusted pretty quick in the heat and humidity of southeast Texas, so finding one whose body was in good shape was like striking gold.

His wife, Judy, didn’t mind his harmless collecting. The ranch had lots of places to park old trucks, and his hobby was a reliable source of amusement for her over the years.

Enter Edsel. A year-old German shepherd pup who could not pass the rigid registered-breed physical exam. He showed a tendency to hip dysplasia, and his ears would not stand up straight. The softhearted breeder had him neutered and gave him to Chuck, who gave him the name in honor of that crack in Ford Motor Company’s good judgment that had a life span shorter than a cream pie in a food fight.

Edsel adopted Chuck’s love for old vehicles. He and Chuck would walk out to the pasture littered with molding REOs, IHs, Studebakers, Caminos, Model A’s, Power Wagons, and Chevys. They would pull open a door and climb up in the cab with its bare springs, crystallized glass, wooden crates, and grass growing up through the floorboards. They covered many an imaginary mile on quiet afternoons.

One day, they had a visitor in a sleek, racy, low-slung Cadillac DeVille. The ranch driveway was gravel with water-diverting speed bumps. They parked in front of the house and came in. Seeking muffler contact or warmth or shade, who knows, Edsel crawled underneath the Caddy. When the visitors went to leave, they heard a yowl! Thinking they had hit a dog, they jumped out. They had managed to high-center Edsel between the car and the speed bump. He couldn’t budge. It took a bumper jack and two Vienna sausages to get him out from under.

Chuck came home one day with a “fairly good” 1940 black Ford pickup, with the intention of fixing it up. Edsel shared his enthusiasm. Although the windshield was out and it wouldn’t run, the wheels still turned and the hood ornament was intact. Dear Judy refused to be persuaded to join him, but Chuck would have his son chain up the old Ford with his tractor and pull him around the yard. Actually, out on the highway occasionally. Judy said it was a sight to see: Chuck at the wheel, smiling serenely, and Edsel in the passenger seat, tongue lolling, nostrils flaring, and ears blown straight up in the steady breeze as they circled past the kitchen window, around and around. Edsel developed a deep attachment to the truck. He began sleeping in it and storing bones in the bed.

Alas, one day, a neighbor took a liking to the ’40 Ford and offered Chuck more than it was worth. The problem of the dog came up. They worked it out. Chuck retained joint custody and visitation rights, and Edsel stayed with the truck. And, until Edsel went to dog heaven, on pretty afternoons you might see a tractor pulling an old ’40 Ford pickup down a Harris County road with a man and a dog ensconced in the seat, a picture of contentment. Out on a date, some might say.