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Replacing Wiper Blades, Traumatizing My Dog

I like to do things myself if I’m able. I don’t see any point in paying someone to perform a simple service for me if I’m capable of taking care of the issue. I am no mechanic, but I’ve been replacing my own windshield wiper blades for several years.

My Charger came with high quality windshield wipers that are just now wearing out after five years. It’s a simple enough task to change them, and they aren’t very expensive if you buy them from a store instead of a car dealership.

I decided to use Rain-X wiper blades. I used them on my Impala, the car I had before my Charger, and they worked well. So, I went to a store that sells auto supplies and bought my blades. I installed them Sunday evening around dusk.

I waited so late in the day because I was trying to wait out the heat wave we’re having in Missouri right now. Due to my lack of light, I was concerned that perhaps I did need the extra parts that were left over after I replaced my blades.

I went out to the car yesterday afternoon in full sunlight to test my wipers. The last thing I need is one of them flying off in the middle of a storm. I’ve already been there and done that. (No, I’m not the one who installed them that time.) I started the car and pressed the windshield washer button which squirted cleaner on the glass and activated the wipers.

My driver’s side wiper had a vibration that I didn’t like. My husband, who had been working outside in the heat for several hours, looked at it and suggested I pour more water on the glass. I surveyed my car critically and had to admit that it really needed washed. I figured the car wash was as good a place to test my wipers as any other.

I decided to bring my husband and our Chihuahua with me. Jim needed to cool down from working outside and Taco had been restless. It seemed like a good idea at the time. We all piled in the car, and I drove to the local car wash.

All was fine until the water started hitting the car. Taco lost his mind! He barked and snarled at the arms that dispersed the soap and water. He fought Jim’s hold and lunged for the dash. The fur on his back stood straight up as he prepared himself to protect Jim and me from the evil car wash.

Poor little guy! I never meant to scare him. I had no idea the car wash would traumatize him. Taco enjoys car rides, and I thought it would be a nice outing for the three of us. Jim pointed out that it must seem like a thunderstorm in a cave to our poor sweet baby. I’m glad I bought the quick wash and wax instead of the super duper wash that lasts for ten minutes.

Even though Taco was furious, my mission was accomplished. My wipers stayed connected to their arms and worked just fine. My car was washed, and my husband wasn’t in danger of heatstroke by the time we got home.

It was just one more day in the life of Ozarks Maven.

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