A few months ago when I was having one of those periodic telephone conversations with Dad, the subject matter turned to that of lawn mowers.

Baseball.

Football.

Painting the house.

Repairing the fence.

Politics.

Religion.

Lawn care.

At our respective ages, those are generally the safe topics for telephone conversations which don’t generate hurt feelings or silly questions.

In the process, Dad revealed to me that he had recently purchased a new lawn mower which is not powered by a Briggs & Stratton motor. 

*Scoff*

It would seem that he had attempted to get his old motor repaired, and the powers that be had forbade it because of environmental concerns.

That’s right people.

When the earth burns up from our excessive use of fossil fuels and cows that fart, patient zero will be traced back to an old lawn mower stationed in west Texas.

Ladies and gentlemen, I’ll have you know that every lawn mower I’ve ever owned or used has had a Briggs & Stratton motor on it.  That red Craftsman followed by the yellow Craftsman that Dad had in my formative years as I learned to mow the lawn were powered by Briggs & Stratton.  The two Murray motors I’ve owned over the years were powered by Briggs & Stratton.

The mower he bought uses metric measurements instead of horsepower.

*Scoff*

Insert your own joke about Jimmy Carter and the metric system *here*.

Over the course of that conversation, Dad suggested that he might bring his new lawn mower to me and leave it here in return for taking mine back to west Texas with him.

“Yeah right.”  I responded sarcastically. 

Deep down, I knew that wasn’t going to happen.  At the same time, I didn’t get the impression from the tone in Dad’s voice that he was joking.

But wait. 

There’s more.

For those of you fellow dog lovers out there, you probably know by now that our canine friends have a way of interpreting our thoughts and emotions and adjusting their behavior accordingly.

It would seem that lawn mowers can do that too.

Shortly after having that conversation about a lawn mower swap with Dad, The Red Growler (I name my dogs and I name my lawn mowers) got his dip stick bent out of shape on the premise that I was going to send him to some lawn mower farm up state where he could run wild with all the other free range lawn care tools.

In a brilliant yet violent display of defiance, he hatched a plan to make his worth undesirable to west Texas folk.  He went with a non-invasive approach first by removing his wire from his spark plug.  When that failed to get the job done, he jettisoned his pull cord so that he couldn’t be fired up.

Much to the chagrin of The Red Growler, I got both of those issues fixed.

Even still, the fix never really restored the quality of his growl.

I’ve mowed the lawn a few times since that fateful conversation with Dad.  Each of those times, the mower just didn’t live up to my expectations.  It sputtered and fainted on me a few times and became hard to start back up.  It never did that before.

This morning, at the behest of the TharpSter TreadMill and her desire to defecate on a lawn that doesn’t tickle her poop shoot, I endeavored to mow the backyard started kit. 

The Red Growler was having nothing of it, and found a solution when I was only a quarter of the way done. 

As I pushed him over an area where I know I had cleared fallen branches and other debris, he found something to pull up into his blade.  A loud KA-CHUNK broke the sound barrier and The Red Growler became mute and moot at the same time.

“Don’t you give up on me you red sonuva..” I pulled the cord to start it back up.  Sadly the pulley the cord was attached to was not engaging correctly and it wouldn’t start.

Well crud.

At that point, ladies and gentlemen, I went to the mental chalk board in the limited confines of my skull to perform some arithmetic. 

How long have I had The Red Growler, and how much longer am I going to have it?

At least ten years.  I should be able to get a few more good ones out of it.

Do I have the cash on hand to replace it, or do I need to just spend the cash needed to have someone who knows what they’re doing with small engine repair to bring this red bastage back to life?

Repairing it is going to be tricky.  The last time I had the housing off of it, I broke the head off of one of the bolts that holds it on.  The grumpy old cuss I’ve used before would have to drill that thing out of there and get pretty cantankerous with me on the itemized billing for my previous acts of stupidity.  At the same time, I have a reserve of cash at my disposal which has been designated for household services, repairs, supplies, etc.

“Alright Growler.  If you’re this committed to the Blue Screen Of Death, I’m not going to stop you.”  A trip to the toy store where the lawn care agency had placed The Red Growler with me all those years ago was initiated.

One thing that I didn’t tell you in the first act of this meandering line of Briggs & Stratton is that I’ve given Dad a little pain about his decision to pursue another manufacturer and system of measure for his lawn mowing needs. 

After all, there’s something to be said for tradition.  Abandoning a Briggs & Stratton motor that is good for at least 6 horses has always been up there with suggesting that I was born outside of the state of Texas. 

You just don’t do that stuff.

Well ladies and gentlemen, I’ll say this.

There comes a time in all of our lives where abandonment of tradition in favor of a paradigm shift may not be that bad of a thing.

Granted, I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t have uttered such nonsense prior to walking into the toy store to replace The Red Growler. 

In fact, I’m pretty sure the only reason I said that was to rationalize the decision I made this afternoon.

That decision being, of course, that Briggs & Stratton motor would not appear on the sales ticket today.

Going a little further, that decision also involved changing exactly where the use of fossil fuels appears when it comes to mowing my lawn. 

You see, up until today, every mower I’ve ever used had a direct relationship with the aforementioned fossil fuels in the form of gasoline and oil.

The mower I bought today has an indirect relationship with those fuels by harnessing their energy via electricity provided power plants.

That’s right people. 

I picked up a battery powered by lawn mower today. 

Tesla makes cars that are capable of driving themselves, however it’s still up to me to push my new lawnmower around the yard.

No more gas.

No more oil.

No more spark plugs.

No more pull cords.

I usually listen to music when I mow.  Going forward,  I’ll have to find another reason to crank the volume on my LawnMowin’ playlist because this thing is too quiet to necessitate a voluntary assault on my hearing.

Man alive, the thing also has headlights for reasons that I can understand, yet will never need or use.

When not in use, this thing folds down and is made to store upright.  To look at it in my garage right now, you would think I have a stroller with a 20″ blade on it.

That actually sounds like a pretty darned good idea now that I think about it.

The battery for my new mower can be used to power other lawn care products which sport the seizure inducing, day-glo yellow/green that Ryobi (the manufacturer) claims as its own.  That means when it comes time to replace the hedge trimmer, the weed eater, the pole saw, the chainsaw, and the paint ball gun I use to ward off the amorous squirrels in the back yard, I’ll look to the Ryobi stable first knowing that the batteries will be interchangeable.

Regarding the name of the new battery powered, go kart lookin’ buggy that now occupies space in my garage and occasionally on my lawn, it would seem pretty obvious by the brand name alone that I will need to go with the moniker of “O.B.1”.

That’s right people.

O.B.1 Ryobi.

Dad, you’re welcome to The Red Growler if you still want it.  Just say the word.  I think by now, you know what it needs to make it work again.