Dear Mister Ed

First I gotta tell you a bit about my Unkle Walt.

Well he ain’t reely my unkle. They say he’s my second cozzen once removed, on accounta bein’ once removed from the Legion Hall.

Walt put in 22 years as the Mare of Dingwells Pond, ‘coz no body else wud do it. The job don’t pay anythink, but evry year they gave him a big sack of spuds and a bucket of lobbisters. Walt figgered he got the best of that deal, since the Mare don’t do nothin’ anyways.

Not like the Mare of White Horse, whos a reel busy body.

Walt never had a reggular occupashun, but he made a bit here and there pickin’ up bottles and doin’ odd jobs fer folks. More like jobs fer odd folks, most times.

He ain’t the shinyest bulb on the fambly tree, but he’s desp’rate smart when it comes to money. Tite as a pickle jar, but if theres a ways to turn a dime into a dollar he can find it.

Some of the local news bags say he useta run off a batch of pottata shine from time to time and sell on the cue-T. I got nothin’ to say on that ‘sept that it was allways good clear stuff with a kick like a Clidesdale.

The reeson I’m tellin’ you all this is I got a letter this week sayin’ folks back home is worryed about Unkle Walt and wud I please check up on him.

Y’see Walt hit 84 years old this past Febwary, without ever goin’ off the Island and without so much as ever winkin’ at a woman in his life.

All on a sudden a few weeks back, he up and flew off to Brutish Columbia to meet this lady he learnt about on the interweb.

Nachurally, some of the kinfolks that figger he mite of put them in his will are a tad fretful that his gears are missin’ a few cogs and this hotsy-totsy gal is gonna take him like a lam to the slotter.

Now Darrol, you know I ain’t one to stick my nose in a nother fellers bizness. If a body Walts age wants to die with his boots under some one elses bed, its none of my nevermind.

But the fambly says I’m the best one fer the job, on accounta B.C. is jest around the corner, and Walt allways liked me best.

So the long and short is, I’m packin’ up my haff-a-car and headin’ off to Vicktoria. I don’t reckon it will be that hard to track him down. Can’t be more than a few folks Walts age in a modren town like that.

Merna says don’t worry about a thing, her and the kids can keep an eye on my garden and make sure the chickins get there grit. Like Merna says, its somethink to keep her outta the pool hall.

So Darrol, you stay where you are and I’ll keep you posted.

Yer pal,

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