Dearest Durango,
When I first met you, I had big dreams. Together, we would go places my decrepit Saturn could never take me. We would haul and tow like the big boys. We would travel off the beaten path while mocking less equipped,"wimpy" vehicles. In you I felt safe and warm. You kept me entertained on long drives by channeling NPR into my ears. You hauled my stuff time and time again without complaint. You were my portable house as I traveled from residence to residence, and within your dark windows, I always knew you were keeping watch over my beloved possessions. True, we had our difficulties- you were always obnoxiously loud, and you absolutely insisted on checking out each and every gas station we passed. But we came to really care about each other. You accepted that I started our relationship as a "user" (I only wanted you because I needed to pull a horse trailer), yet you never made fun of me (as some did) when that dream was not realized. You tried to talk me out of a more economic replacement, then stood patiently by through weeks of benched driveway time until the replacement failed me miserably. Instead of mocking me for such a poor decision, you were simply excited to get to be with me again. But I have to tell you that our time has come- I have to give you up. This is hard for me to do, but I made sure you have a good home to suit your personality. You're going to live an exciting life with a police officer who will love and cherish you as I have. I'm sure that with him, you will go places we never could have gone. Trust me that this is for the best. Be well, my friend, and know that in the future when I hear the loud roar of a power muffler, I will think fondly of you.
Yours in hauling,
Laura
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