Cowboy poet Bryce Angell

My Chevy truck has been with me since 1985. She’d worn a little haggard, but my favorite rig to drive.

My children named her Doris. Seems a strange name for a truck. But Doris is dependable and never had bad luck.

I’ve loaded her with gravel and in summers hauled the hay. We’ve towed more loads of firewood than I ever care to say.

Her seats were torn and sunken in right where I set my rear. Old Doris needed TLC. That never was more clear.

One week I drove her into town. My thirst was overdue. Some big shot pulled up next to me in his BMW.

He waved and then he gave a laugh. “Your truck looks all worn out.” I smiled and then I hollered, “She’s had better days no doubt!”

Well Doris got her feelings hurt. She quit and wouldn’t start. I had the Mrs. tow us home. It dang near broke my heart.

We started with a tune-up and then we sprayed the engine clean. Her V-8: 305 was ‘bout as shiny as I’d seen.

I drove to Harlan’s Wrecking Yard and found a matching seat. I talked him down on tires and rims. A deal you couldn’t beat.

We sanded, blasted, filled the holes, and pounded out the dents. A coat of paint, a new windshield and blew out all the vents.

Old Doris was a beauty. You could hear her engine purr. The rhythm sounded like we’d hired a motor connoisseur.

It must have been a week or two while driving back to town. I saw that BMW beside the road broke down.

So, I asked the big shot driver, ‘’How about a tow today? Old Doris would be glad to get you moving on your way.”

We towed the BMW and flew past Hal’s Garage. I’d say it almost looked like Doris had an entourage.

We pulled the car past city square, then back for its repairs. I sure was proud of Doris. No other truck compares.

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