1471 Auto Recyclable

I was driving down the street when I saw it. It was a tow truck. And it had the name of the tow truck’s home base. That's what got me. The truck said, “Bob's Towing and Auto Recycling.”
It yanked my head around. Not “Auto Recycling!” Oh no! The passing and rebranding of an American institution. The wrecking yard. Home of the famous junkyard dog. Vicious guard dogs immortalized in many a horror story and Hollywood movie.
Is there anything inherently vicious-sounding about a recycling dog? Separate your compostables or they'll bite your leg? Hungry Dobermans trained to go for your gonads if you fail to sort your bottles and cans.
"Auto Recycling." It sounds so much more genteel than auto wrecking. No more cars sitting in puddles with the rainbow sheen of leaking oil seeping into the aquifer. No more jagged rusted metal edges, waiting to boost a tetanus shot for the unwary toddler accompanying his dad on a quest for a carburetor. No more black widow spiders nesting in the engine compartment, poised to venomously strike an incautious finger groping for the hidden release on a brake fluid repository.
It would be cool if the Auto Recycling could live up to its name. Shiny tables arrayed with equally shiny parts. Cars parked neatly on pavement, fluids drained and processed appropriately, any accidental toxic drippings channeled into runoff catchments and sequestered in environmental neutrality. Lead core batteries removed and sent to locations for proper reuse and not diverted to illicit toy manufacture.
Attendants in clean white coveralls. With immaculate grease-free knuckles. And the total absence of smoke from a cigarette clenched in their grimacing lips, causing their eyes to squint menacingly.
Auto Recycling or Wrecking Yard?
Which would you rather read about in your next suspense novel?
America, ya gotta love it.