Stoge sits for her portrait before setting out for the Stump House!
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Stoge, the lady otter, had outlived
her useful life, so she had become a writer. She gathered local stories for the
Stumptown Memory Flogger and Social Review. Her articles were handwritten by
herself on sheets of newsprint provided by Millicent Price, who still used her
own name as a byline.
Publications appeared irregularly, depending on if anything unusual was going on. She only had to produce about ten copies. They got passed around among the literate forest citizens. There are a few! Thaga and Ooog were a couple of them. Ramona could read and was teaching her children. Maeve was literate, as was her sister, Deirdre, and Bob, but not Berry.
Stoge had heard about Uncle Bob living in a big stump and she determined that she wanted to interview him. Probably she had been chatting with Maeve.
One day when it wasn’t raining, so she could bring her notepad and not get it wet, she went looking for her subject at his stump. She didn’t warn him that she was coming. Stoge felt that she got fresher material when subjects didn’t have time to concoct nice smooth stories that made themselves look smart and virtuous.
Therefore, with notebook under her right arm and ballpoint pen on a string around her neck she made her way to the Stump House. As she was walking up, it appeared as if no one was around. There was no fire or smoke at what was obviously his little fireplace area in front of the little door Ooog had made to fit the stump’s opening and had painted a nice dull red.
Stoge stood there and cleared her throat loudly. A snore came out of the stump. “Ah ha!,” she thought. “Caught him at home!” she thought.
“Uncle Bob!” hollered Stoge. “Are you in there?”
“Huh?” said a muffled voice in the stump. Then there was a sharp whack on the inside of the stump.
“Ow!” said the voice. “Is somebody out there?”
Using her huskiest, most intriguing voice, Stoge said, “hullo! Uncle Bob, I want to talk to you!”
“You do?” said Uncle Bob and he opened the wee red door and crawled out on his hands and knees. He was a sight, all dusty and paunchy, and his half open eyes squinted in the light.
“Oh, you’re just an otter. Why’d you wake me up?” he said.
“I’m here to interview you for the Stumptown Memory Flogger and Social Review!”
“Um, I’m not very interesting and I can’t remember anything,” announced Uncle Bob.
Undaunted, Stoge said, “what’s your real name? Are you really an uncle?” She looked up sharply from her notepad, holding the pen poised over it.
“Oh, fine! Mama called me Robert because she said it was a respectable name among human people and that it sounded better than Saslingua names to them,” said Uncle Bob. “You can just call me Robert if you want. I ain’t nobody’s real uncle. Write my real name down.”
So she did.
“I’m interested in how you know Ralph,” said Stoge. “Creatures wonder what the story is!”
“I thought everybody knew! We were kids together in the same bunch. His mom and dad and mine were related somehow, I don’t know how. So they hung around together and raised us together! What did you say your name was?” said Robert.
Stoge straightened up and said, “I’m Stoge. I thought everybody knew that!”
“Nah, I don't and I can’t read, and I know everything I need to know anyhow, Stoge lady.”
“Well, that’s probably debatable, Robert. But tell me about Ralph when he was a kid.”
“He was just like the rest of us, but he was bigger and had better ideas,” reminisced Robert happily.
“What kind of ideas?” said Stoge, scribbling away.
“Oh, you know. Jokes. Tricks! Fun stuff, lady!” he chuckled.
“Example?” she said, looking up from her notepad.
“Stuff nobody ever figured out! Like one time we changed all the direction pointers to some other direction. Grownups were wandering around in the woods getting spooked because they were sorta lost. Weirded them totally out! They thought the woods might be haunted by little boogers or something! They would talk about it at night, all big eyed and freaked out!
“The best stuff was messing with people. They would come to the woods with picnics and kids and dogs and make a bunch of noise. Ralph and I weren’t even very big yet, but we would go find one of their camps and just go stand in the middle of the whole scene and watch em scramble!
“Crazy noises were fun too. We made sounds none of us really used, to spook the humans. Either they would echo it back and give us the giggles, or they would run to their cars and book it out of the woods! Sometimes they stood around banging on trees and waving recorders and cameras around! Ah, what days those were!” said Robert, aka Uncle Bob.
“So, what happened? How did he end up king of the Mt. Baker-Snoqualmie National Forest, and you ended up in this stump?”
“That’s the dumb part,” said Robert.
“How’s that?” said Stoge.
“Ralph was a great guy, everybody loved him, he was learning stuff and doing stuff, and I was left behind smoking weed,” admitted Uncle Bob. “Pretty soon, that’s pretty much all I was doing. I don’t remember much after that. But I do remember after I quit smoking it. There are some years in the middle that got all smoked away.”
“Well, I really like your Stump House. With that cute red door and that little roof on top. I think you ended up pretty good, Robert. I really do. Sometimes we wander a bit before we land, you know?” said Stoge, as kindly as she could.
“That’s a really cool way of saying at least I’m not a total idiot right now,” said Uncle Bob, cheering up considerably.
“Thanks for letting me sneak up on you like this, Robert! I think I have enough here. If you ever need me for anything, get Maeve to find me. I run all over and she can find me quick,” said Stoge, while closing her notebook and clicking her pen shut.
“Yeah, sure, man!” said Uncle Bob. He didn’t even bother trying to figure out why he might need to call a writing otter. “You never know!” was his whole philosophy.
Stoge took off, ready to get down to the business of a one otter newspaper publisher.
Uncle Bob looked around at his Stump House, and he saw that it was really cute. He looked at his cold fireplace and shrugged.
“I think I’ll go to Ralph’s place and see what Ramona's making for dinner!” he told the surrounding air, as the evening just started to darken.
The wind tossed some leaves around. The local birds piped down for the night, and Uncle Bob headed down the path to his friends’ place, full of the story of being interviewed by a lady otter.
Publications appeared irregularly, depending on if anything unusual was going on. She only had to produce about ten copies. They got passed around among the literate forest citizens. There are a few! Thaga and Ooog were a couple of them. Ramona could read and was teaching her children. Maeve was literate, as was her sister, Deirdre, and Bob, but not Berry.
Stoge had heard about Uncle Bob living in a big stump and she determined that she wanted to interview him. Probably she had been chatting with Maeve.
One day when it wasn’t raining, so she could bring her notepad and not get it wet, she went looking for her subject at his stump. She didn’t warn him that she was coming. Stoge felt that she got fresher material when subjects didn’t have time to concoct nice smooth stories that made themselves look smart and virtuous.
Therefore, with notebook under her right arm and ballpoint pen on a string around her neck she made her way to the Stump House. As she was walking up, it appeared as if no one was around. There was no fire or smoke at what was obviously his little fireplace area in front of the little door Ooog had made to fit the stump’s opening and had painted a nice dull red.
Stoge stood there and cleared her throat loudly. A snore came out of the stump. “Ah ha!,” she thought. “Caught him at home!” she thought.
“Uncle Bob!” hollered Stoge. “Are you in there?”
“Huh?” said a muffled voice in the stump. Then there was a sharp whack on the inside of the stump.
“Ow!” said the voice. “Is somebody out there?”
Using her huskiest, most intriguing voice, Stoge said, “hullo! Uncle Bob, I want to talk to you!”
“You do?” said Uncle Bob and he opened the wee red door and crawled out on his hands and knees. He was a sight, all dusty and paunchy, and his half open eyes squinted in the light.
“Oh, you’re just an otter. Why’d you wake me up?” he said.
“I’m here to interview you for the Stumptown Memory Flogger and Social Review!”
“Um, I’m not very interesting and I can’t remember anything,” announced Uncle Bob.
Undaunted, Stoge said, “what’s your real name? Are you really an uncle?” She looked up sharply from her notepad, holding the pen poised over it.
“Oh, fine! Mama called me Robert because she said it was a respectable name among human people and that it sounded better than Saslingua names to them,” said Uncle Bob. “You can just call me Robert if you want. I ain’t nobody’s real uncle. Write my real name down.”
So she did.
“I’m interested in how you know Ralph,” said Stoge. “Creatures wonder what the story is!”
“I thought everybody knew! We were kids together in the same bunch. His mom and dad and mine were related somehow, I don’t know how. So they hung around together and raised us together! What did you say your name was?” said Robert.
Stoge straightened up and said, “I’m Stoge. I thought everybody knew that!”
“Nah, I don't and I can’t read, and I know everything I need to know anyhow, Stoge lady.”
“Well, that’s probably debatable, Robert. But tell me about Ralph when he was a kid.”
“He was just like the rest of us, but he was bigger and had better ideas,” reminisced Robert happily.
“What kind of ideas?” said Stoge, scribbling away.
“Oh, you know. Jokes. Tricks! Fun stuff, lady!” he chuckled.
“Example?” she said, looking up from her notepad.
“Stuff nobody ever figured out! Like one time we changed all the direction pointers to some other direction. Grownups were wandering around in the woods getting spooked because they were sorta lost. Weirded them totally out! They thought the woods might be haunted by little boogers or something! They would talk about it at night, all big eyed and freaked out!
“The best stuff was messing with people. They would come to the woods with picnics and kids and dogs and make a bunch of noise. Ralph and I weren’t even very big yet, but we would go find one of their camps and just go stand in the middle of the whole scene and watch em scramble!
“Crazy noises were fun too. We made sounds none of us really used, to spook the humans. Either they would echo it back and give us the giggles, or they would run to their cars and book it out of the woods! Sometimes they stood around banging on trees and waving recorders and cameras around! Ah, what days those were!” said Robert, aka Uncle Bob.
“So, what happened? How did he end up king of the Mt. Baker-Snoqualmie National Forest, and you ended up in this stump?”
“That’s the dumb part,” said Robert.
“How’s that?” said Stoge.
“Ralph was a great guy, everybody loved him, he was learning stuff and doing stuff, and I was left behind smoking weed,” admitted Uncle Bob. “Pretty soon, that’s pretty much all I was doing. I don’t remember much after that. But I do remember after I quit smoking it. There are some years in the middle that got all smoked away.”
“Well, I really like your Stump House. With that cute red door and that little roof on top. I think you ended up pretty good, Robert. I really do. Sometimes we wander a bit before we land, you know?” said Stoge, as kindly as she could.
“That’s a really cool way of saying at least I’m not a total idiot right now,” said Uncle Bob, cheering up considerably.
“Thanks for letting me sneak up on you like this, Robert! I think I have enough here. If you ever need me for anything, get Maeve to find me. I run all over and she can find me quick,” said Stoge, while closing her notebook and clicking her pen shut.
“Yeah, sure, man!” said Uncle Bob. He didn’t even bother trying to figure out why he might need to call a writing otter. “You never know!” was his whole philosophy.
Stoge took off, ready to get down to the business of a one otter newspaper publisher.
Uncle Bob looked around at his Stump House, and he saw that it was really cute. He looked at his cold fireplace and shrugged.
“I think I’ll go to Ralph’s place and see what Ramona's making for dinner!” he told the surrounding air, as the evening just started to darken.
The wind tossed some leaves around. The local birds piped down for the night, and Uncle Bob headed down the path to his friends’ place, full of the story of being interviewed by a lady otter.
🤎
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