About 15 years ago, I was living in Lexington, Ky., and specializing in building wood patio decks. One day after work, my buddy Steve and I were heading back to my house. Steve was one of my favorite helpers and best friends. We were close to home when I spotted a bright red Homelite chainsaw case. It was just sitting at the curb, among some trash. It seemed pretty obvious that the homeowner, one of my neighbors, had been doing spring cleaning and had decided to throw out that old chainsaw case.

It just happened that I needed a chainsaw case. My wife of about eight months had given me a chainsaw for Christmas, but the saw came without a case. When I saw the chainsaw case at the curb, I figured I could use it, so I pulled up and asked Steve to jump out and get it.

When Steve got out of the truck, I noticed that my neighbor was still cleaning out her garage. I waved and smiled; even though I didn’t know her, there’s no reason not be cordial while you’re picking through your neighbor’s trash.

I’ll never forget the look on Steve’s face as he picked up the saw case. With a treacherous little grin and eyes as big as saucers, he half-whispered to me, “I think the saw is still in here!”

I was simultaneously amazed, excited, and torn. If the saw really were in the case, I couldn’t just take it, not with my neighbor standing right there watching. That would be stealing.

Steve opened the case, and sure enough, a bright red chainsaw was inside, complete with the owner’s manual and a wrench/screwdriver. The saw appeared to be brand new.

My neighbor had moved out of her garage, so I shouted up to her, “Excuse me, but are you throwing away this chainsaw?”

“Um, well, yeah,” she said. “We couldn’t get it to start. The rope handle thing wouldn’t even pull, so we thought it would be easier just to buy a new one than to try to get it fixed.”

Not wanting more information, I said, “Do you mind if I take it, then?”

“Oh no,” she answered, “go right ahead.”

Still grinning, Steve placed the saw in the back of the truck, then climbed in. He kept his back to my neighbor: He knew we’d taken a brand-new chainsaw from her trash pile.

Thirty seconds later, we were at my house. I backed the truck up to the garage so that we could have some tools handy. We unloaded the chainsaw from its case and had a look.

I pulled on the starter cord, and sure enough, the thing wouldn’t budge. Steve tried it, too, with the same result. While Steve was looking at it, I figured I’d see what the owner’s manual had to say. I spied a little box on page 4.

“Attention: During transit, oil from the automatic chain oiler can seep into the cylinder, creating a condition called ‘hydraulic lock.’ This will prevent the operator from being able to pull the starter cord. To correct this condition, remove the spark plug, pull the starter cord several times to dispel the excess oil, replace the spark plug, and follow the normal starting procedure.”

Well, well, well. I grabbed the wrench from the saw case and followed the repair procedure. When I pulled the starter cord, a bit of oil seeped out. Then I replaced the spark plug, tugged on the starter cord, and voilà! The saw started on the very first pull. It ran like a brand-new saw. It was a brand-new saw. I revved it, then thought, “I bet that everyone in the neighborhood can hear this thing.”

And that’s when I felt bad about taking the saw and shut it down. I didn’t feel so bad that I returned it, though. I was just glad that I’d had the good sense to read the owner’s manual.