Bull Riders Do It Best

Grandpa used to use an old Sears tiller on his farm.  When he sold the farm, he donated the tiller to us.  We used it a little, but it ran rough and treated me rougher.  Valerie has said that she used to watch it drag me around the yard.  She called the scene "a rodeo."  (Why did she laugh when I flexed my bicep and insisted that nothing drags me anywhere?)  In any case, the tiller finally quit running altogether and we let it sit in the shed like a piece of furniture.  Grandpa pulled the motor off the frame and took it home, but couldn't find the parts to rebuild it.  As a result, the motor sat in his garage like a piece of furniture.  Until last week.  Grandpa found someone who said he had the parts.  Not only that, but when Grandpa went back to get them, the guy had the motor running.  Grandpa brought it over and spent a few hours reassembling the tiller—now called, of course, The Bull.  By the time he was done, it was ready to ride.  Cowboy, as they say, up.