The main character of my new book Big Claus is an engineer by training and a rancher by trade.

I happen to be married to just such a man. Over the years, Bernie has resurrected many ailing appliances and vehicles that should, by rights, have been delivered to the scrap yard. He put a new motor in my twenty-three year old vacuum cleaner. He brought our twenty-year-old dishwasher back from the brink of salvage on three occasions, including the Christmas Eve miracle. He even limped our 1999 Dodge Durango through three by-passes, a kidney transplant, liver cancer, and leprosy. But recently, after I became concerned about driving the Durango in town for fear of being ticketed for noise violation, he scratched his head and asked me to take it to our favorite mechanic.

When I dropped it off, I told the guys at the shop that if they would declare the old beast Dead on Arrival, I would bake them cookies.

A woman of my word, I dropped off oatmeal chocolate chip cookies.

But after the old girl had been collecting dust in the mechanic’s lot for a month, it occurred to us that the best vehicle we ever had for tagging, weighing, and processing new calves was the old Durango. The added benefits now would include that we wouldn’t have to keep up licenses and insurance, it wouldn’t matter if we got it muddy or yucky (calf placenta has a unique composition that converts from liquid to geologic solid in an hour or less), and I would never, ever have to drive The Blue Bomb on public roads again, meaning I would never be stranded more than a mile from home.

So, just in time for Easter, we have our own little Resurrection on the Ranch.