Yesterday was the established pickup day for Chucky. Chucky is the Boer cross buck I was buying from a neighboring farmer. I use the term "neighbor" loosely since the farm is about 30 minutes away from mine. We worked the deal online and digitally shook through Facebook (that isn't a thing, we just agreed). The farmer who was selling me the buck had just been through surgery and was unable to drive to deliver him. Okay, new problem: how to pick up buck in rut without a large enough crate or trailer to safely transport him? I didn't want this guy riding shotgun. A horny goat that regularly pisses on his own face and beard for some caprine eroticic sex buzz wasn't my idea of an ideal passenger. So I could borrow a large crate, trailer, or hire someone to deliver him. I was figuring out the options when the amazing Patty Wesner said "We'll go pick him up. He can go in the back of the truck!"
What she meant was her truck. Her brand new Toyota Tundra. If my pickup was a fox with mange, she was rolling in an obsidian dire wolf. Sitting in it felt like the cockpit of a space shuttle. It was a modern marvel. It was so pretty and new. It was not the kind of vehicle used to transport animals into scat porn.
But Patty wasn't hearing it. She was fine with using the bed of truck with its equally-fancy cap on it to bring Chucky back to my farm. And so yesterday we got this handsome fellow into the back of her truck and now my girls have a gentleman caller for the next few weeks. To his credit, he was amicable and sweet the entire time we moved him from one farm to the other. This morning he was wagging his tail when I delivered hay for the little herd's breakfast.
So thank you, Patty. Thanks for being the kind of Farm Gal who doesn't balk at using a truck for farm work. And thanks to the that snazzy Tundra for delivering Chuck to his love nest without issue.