We had this snowblower. It was a huge beast, bright orange, 1980s vintage. We got it for nothing when the husband of a friend of ours passed away. The snowblower probably weighed twice what the woman weighed, and she was clearly not going to be able to use it.
It worked out OK while Son Number Two was still at home. He is a mechanical genius and when belts slipped and snow clogged the intake chute and other unspecified woes befell the machine he would grumble and put it back to right.
When he went off in the world it missed its Master and complained more often, but an occasional kick and curse would keep it going.
But this year when I needed it for a late winter blizzard it just would not run.
I looked at it and said *cue Darth Vader voice* "You have failed me for the last time".
We did not have an immediate plan for its disposal, although various options were floated. Repair it. Scrap it for metal. Put it at the local auction barn. Finally we just curbed it.
In our little community many households keep a sign like this in the garage:
In a sixteen minute interval two guys with trucks slowed down to take a look at it, before a third fellow pulled up and laid claim to it.
Here it goes, on its way to a new home.