Walter

The other day a box arrived in the mail from The Holbs's dad, cranky old Poppa Joe.

Something you must know about Poppa Joe: Poppa Joe is always really cranky. And Poppa Joe is always sending us really strange things in the mail.

When a box arrives in the mail from cranky old Poppa Joe it usually means something funky is afoot.

Once he sent us pictures of the plywood model of the house he was renovating, complete with an aviary for his ceramic falcon collection.

Once he sent us a postcard of a painting on which he wrote,
"I saw this painting once in Iowa, three miles South of where Frank Lloyd Wright built a house."

(Poppa Joe cares very deeply about the geographic relativity of places.)

(And Frank Lloyd Wright.)

(Also, falcons.)

A few weeks ago he sent us a ceramic Schnauzer.

"Look what my dad sent us!" The Holbs proclaimed when I walked in from an afternoon of yard sales.

"What is with your dad?" I yelled.

"I don't know!" The Holbs shouted back.

And then he planted that Schnauzer squarely on the windowsill of the kitchen sink. And whenever I put a dish away, or washed my hands, there he was, that damned Schnauzer.

The Holbrooks have this thing with Schnauzers, it's like their thing. There was once one named Schnapps, there was one named Spritzer. The one named Spritzer came into the family on The Holbs's eleventh birthday and then I accidently inherited him when we got married and then one day Spritzer jumped off our third story balcony and then The Holbs strangled him to death out of mercy.

(Should I have to tell you this story another time?)

Holbsy's sister Holli has a Schnauzer, Holbsy's brother Cannon (like the artillery - BOOM) has a Schnauzer. So then Holbsy has to go and buck tradition by having not just one non-Schnauzer, but TWO non-Schnauzers, being because he married an opinionated brat who does NOT like Schnauzers, thank you.

(Old Cranky Pants + Opinionated Brat = Somehow I think I'm his favorite, and also we like to go antiquing together sometimes.)

Rather than add this ceramic Schnauzer to the pile of random things given to us by Poppa Joe in le old garbaggio, I decided to use this ceramic Schnauzer, use it and love it, dammit.

First it needed a name.

In keeping with the Germanic-sounding liquor tradition I have chosen to call it Walter.

"Uhh, thanks for the Schnauzer!" Holbs shouted at his dad through his vagina phone while I tucked Walter into my purse.

Walter and me, we were goin' adventuring. (But then we moved to San Jose, instead.)

SO, here is Walter with The Holbs, driving to San Jose.


Walter is a terrible backseat driver.

Walter and The Palouse.






And then Walter was with us in Southern Oregon when I had to pee sooo bad.
And I said, Holbsy please, puhleaase pull over the car, I have to pee so bad!

And Holbsy said,
Yeah, yeah, at the next gas station.

And then he said,
Yeah, yeah, at the next gas station,
again.

And then when I thought I was going to die
we pulled into this.

And I said, Puhleease Holbsy, let me pee in the carnival!

And Holbsy said,
You'll use the bathroom in the motel over here, instead.



Only 'cept the motel was CLOSED.
As in,
GHOST MOTEL



So I hunted around and found this charming little hideaway, and this being Southern Oregon, well, I did as Southern Oregonians do, 'course.



I peed right there, to the right of the armchair, one foot on each twobufore.
After all, there is a toilet, like, right there.

Now you know how Peter and Barney must feel all the time!
Holbs said when I was through.
That Holbs, keepin' the perspective.

When we stopped over in Sacramento for a breather I gave Poppa Joe a hearty thanks for the ceramic Schnauzer, pointed out we had Scotties and Wire Foxes, told him I had named him Walter anyway, and that Walter was there to witness my peeing by the side of an abandoned motel just outside of Medford, Oregon. Poppa Joe looked horrified and I felt surprisingly satisfied.

At the end of the road trip Walter was reunited with his kind.



Good, you can keep him.