Just Call Me Vel

My owner, George, wrestles with leaves every Fall. Even though I'm getting old and parts of me are breaking down, I'm there for him upon every call. He loves me and refuses to toss or give me away. Because the leaves fall in bundles for weeks, He does his best to keep me prepared for work. He knows that I am among the best, and getting old is not tantamount to becoming useless. I'm the scooping type, not the pitch shovel. I can pick something up, but cannot dig for it. Presently, my handle is broken, but he hasn't found a fix. George is respectful and calls me Vel, short for shovel. My coworker friend, the rusty old tool box, is gone. My master gave Rusty away, hoping a new family will love him too. George gave Rusty away, not because he was no longer useful, but because he felt someone else needed Rusty more. I miss Rusty, and I pray every night to remain in George's family until I die. 081223PS