Running errands around Shawano, I noticed a little light had popped up on my car’s dashboard. I was gun-shy, as just a few weeks earlier another little light had appeared — that one much more serious than this one.
This light was one I could decipher easily. A tire was low. Reasoning with myself, I figured I could probably make it home and have my husband pump it up with our air compressor.
Just then, another thought popped in. I could hear him say, “Why don’t you drive it to the gas station and stick some air in it?”
With his unspoken words in my head, that’s just what I did.
Pulling into 22 Shell station, I saw a guy with a big black truck in front of the air pump. Parking beside him, I got out.
“Ah, hi? I just wanted to get some air.”
“Oh, wait. Sorry, I’ll move.”
After getting closer to the pump, I looked intently into the machine. Too much explanation. Too many decisions. How much pressure did I need? I wasn’t sure. I pressed the plus key up one notch. Taking the nozzle out of its holster, I unscrewed the valve stem on the front left tire — the tire the dashboard showed me was slacking. Clever little thing.
Nothing happened.
Glancing at the guy, I blurted out, “Sorry to bother, but do you know how to work this thing?”
“You have to pay for the air.”
I was speechless. Evidently, even air isn’t free. Who knew? I didn’t. This nice man talked me through the procedure. As soon as I had enough air in my tire, it shut off the air supply but the machine kept going like there was more air left. I’d paid for three bucks worth of air and only used one.
I looked over at the truck guy. “Hey, do you need some air?”
Pleasantly he responded, “I do,” and proceeded to back up quickly, almost colliding with a car coming around the corner to order from Arby’s. A quick beep-beep stopped him in his tracks. Poor fella. In his haste for free air, he almost backed into a car.
Taking off, I noticed my dashboard was clear of my tire-pressure issue. I did it. Noted, with some help.
The other little light weeks earlier took a bit more effort to resolve.
One day, I was again running errands in Shawano when I noticed the check-engine light had come on, unblinking. Calling the dealership where we’d purchased our car, he informed me as long as it was not blinking I could probably safely drive it for errands that day, but advised coming in sooner rather than later to have it checked out.
The very next day, we got an appointment. Getting to the dealership at 9 a.m., we were optimistically thinking it would be a quick solution and looking forward to breakfast out at our favorite haunt before heading home. Much later, we were informed we had a problem.
Mice.
They’d chewed through wires, causing damage to the system. Five hours and a $597.58 bill later, we left. The dealership was sympathetic, offering different methods of dealing with the problem.
This was much more serious than a low-pressure tire issue.
A friend of mine recalled years ago her husband had noticed his truck had started to have a peculiar smell. He took it to Nat and Don’s in Shawano where they discovered about 10 pounds of dog food pilfered from the dog dish. As the truck warmed up, the food did, too.
Our son dealt with this same problem when he lived in California. The rodents there caused thousands of dollars of damage, gathering the soy coating on the wires for their nests.
After getting it fixed, he’d solved the problem by putting a handful of rat repellent bags that looked like hand-warmer packs under the hood, removing them before starting out. He stuck a bar of Irish Spring soap under the car as a last resort and what worked for them was sprinkling wolf urine from Amazon around the perimeters of the car.
We opted for glue traps placed around the front end and stuck a bar of soap on the floor under the engine. So far, no captures, but thankfully no lights showing up on the dashboard, either.
Earlier in the year, I’d hit a deer with my car, now mice invading and a low-pressure tire.
I am not hurt. My car got fixed. I’ve learned lessons. I’m counting my blessings, one-by-one.
(“Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable — if anything is excellent or praiseworthy — think about such things.” Philippians 4:8, New International Version)
Kay Reminger was born and raised on a dairy farm, and she married her high school sweetheart, who happened to farm for a living in Leopolis. Writing for quite a few years, she remains focused on the blessings of living the ups and downs of rural life from a farm wife’s perspective.
