It may be silly to become emotionally attached to inanimate objects—things—but photographers can get pretty emotional about cameras or even processes, and lots of people become very attached to their cars. Cameras and cars are both pretty animate objects, anyway.
Last week it became clear something was very wrong with Brunhilde, my 1997 Chevy pickup truck. The rear shocks were non-functional, maybe broken. Up on the lift, the mechanics found that the brackets that mounted the shocks to the frame had rotted away—and so had the section of frame they attach to. Fourteen winters in southern New England, and especially the highly corrosive road "salt" the state switched to five or six years back, had taken their toll. There must have been a sort of cascade of corrosion this past winter, rotting out the entire rear half of the frame. Repair is not feasible. The engine still runs great, too bad I don't have a boat to put it in.
For fourteen years, and very nearly a quarter of a million miles, this truck has in a sense been my most important piece of photographic equipment. All my pictures over that time were made after driving somewhere in the truck. Whether working with a tiny digital capture camera, a 12x20-inch banquet camera, or anything in between, the cameras and I didn't get anywhere to take pictures without the truck. End of an era around here.