Horses.

My endlessly tinkering and generally mechanically inclined spouse spent the better part of the last 2.5 days with his head under our toyota truck, trying to figure out why it suddenly wouldn't start. He tore a bunch of wiring apart, tested *absolutely* everything with his ohmmeter and ammeter. He thought he had it narrowed down to the alarm system, but he wasn't sure. He cussed and spat and threatened its family and still it would not start.

Finally, about 10:00 last night, he came in where I was packing last night to say "I have given up. I have tried everything, I can't make it start, so we have to take the bus." His 1981 VW bus does. not. go to Burningman. This was serious. "Let me look at it," I asked. "Sometimes a fresh pair of eyes helps."

He begrudgingly led me under the hood and showed me a couple of things and sighed heavily. I grabbed the keys and jumped in the cab to see what the ignition (or lack thereof) sounded like. When I turned the key, I noticed the low, flickering lights and that some things worked while others didn't. This looked like a classic electrical Gremlin that I had met with before. I jumped out and carefully persuaded him to replace the battery, "humor me," even though his gauges said it was perfectly fine.

He doggedly swapped batteries and I jumped back in the cab where *lo and behold* the thing started up instantly. He just stood a moment with his face in his hands.

This moment brought to you by the Rules of the House of God: "when you hear hoofbeats, think horses, not zebras."