Just when you think everything is going to be all right, God, with his infinite sense of humor, reminds you that you're still a village idiot and don't get too cocky about it boy.
I took the advice of this group and pulled the thermostat from the Pilot radiator to do the test recommended with pan of water and a propane torch. The goal is to see if the temperature probe is defective. Appears simple enough and an easy job I thought.
Sporting a new set of legs from my last battle with the Pilot, I waddle over to the Pilot with a host of metric tools, pan of water and a propane torch. It's still sitting in the barn off its jack stands where I left it. It's hot outside so I'm just dressed in shorts and a new white Polo shirt I treated myself to. I?m all by myself and I?m looking forward to a quite afternoon in the barn with the Pilot.
Now I haven't seen Lassie's furry ass for a week and wife unit is concerned something has happen to four paws. Lassie can go rot as far as I'm concerned and I'm still holding a lot of animosity towards the pooch.
Anyway, I set the pan of water down and fire up the propane torch to heat up the water. While the water is warming in the barn, I remove the sender from the radiator with little trouble and pull my multi-meter from the toolbox to test the sender.
Well, guess who shows up? Lassie. Looking like he hasn't missed a meal, his long pink tongue is dragging and he acts thirsty. Looking at me with those soft brown eyes, Lassie's unsure if he's welcome in the barn or not. I see his eyes dart to the pan of water and a quick glance back to me. He's thinking he needs a drink.
I see what he?s thinking and say, "Don't even think about it you mutt", but it's too late. Lassie makes a beeline for the pan of now, very hot water.
Do you know the sound a pig squeals when hurt? Well, multiple that fifty times and you've got Lassie bolting out of the barn at one hundred miles an hour screaming like, well, like a scalded dog. As he bolts down the barn bridge, he knocks over the pan of hot water which splashes on my naked legs and the now still burning propane torch rolls towards some hay bales stacked in the corner of the barn.
In panic, I contemplate whether to save the Pilot, the barn or my butt. I decide to go for the propane torch, figuring to stop the fire at the source. Franticly I pat out the fire with my brand new Polo shirt. Just as I extinguish the fire, wife unit drives up with Lassie sitting in the passenger side seat of my Ford F-250 looking like all is well.
Looking like a bomb victim of the air raids over Dresden in WW2, I sit on the edge of the barn bridge dejected with my smoldering Polo shirt, lobster red legs and sporting 2nd degree burns on my arms. Then my beloved wife asks me ?What did you do to the dog??
I think I?m going to drag the Pilot to the shop or find a new hobby.
