About the most trouble they ever gave us was the occasional too early wake-up moo from the empty grain feeder in the barn or a poorly timed group drink from the water trough in the front field. Anyone in the shower at that moment usually screamed and leaped out from below the suddenly scalding water as the cows slurped all of the cool water from the well.

Except, of course, for some of the bulls. Hormones speeding through their bodies like BMWs on the Autobahn, they got screwy ideas in their heads that almost always involved busting through the fence, electrical shock be damned. Once free, a stray bull would run off to visit the neighbors or stand in the middle of the driveway. One even decided to go after his perceived oppressors, head-butting the corner of the house before galloping off toward my grandfather's garage. On the day when the slaughterhouse truck pulled up, you couldn't help but think of the delicious burgers and steaks they were about to become.

That's more or less how I feel about our Lesharo ECU leaving the ePartsLand ranch today. Not because it did anything particularly wrong while it was on the shelf, but more so for the trouble it was poised to cause. You see, Jeff is fascinated with that era/generation/iteration of motor homes. That unit is likely going to a vehicle cared enough for by its owner to keep it on the road. Jeff is not looking to one day buy that kind of motor home. Always on the hunt for a bargain, we usually end up looking at vehicles where, if someone hasn't been murdered in them, they've clearly been used as a prop on "Forensic Files." 

Now, I'm not silly enough to think that simply selling a Lesharo ECU will solve this problem or end the search. If anything, it will drive Jeff to find another unit for the inventory and for the "just in case" scenario. But, godspeed, little Lesharo ECU. Someone buying you has bought me a little more time to get used to the idea of having one of your kind in our fleet.