Vini, Vici, Velcro: I came, I saw, I stuck around.
There have been many iterations of what makes up the collective term “the Casa del Whackos”. While it has been around in spirit for decades, the term was officially coined when Charlie Bravo joined the crew of Mom’s cadre of Finnish Spitz, St Echo the Vomitus and of course, Max E. Million. A short time after Charlie came along, Stevie Mae allowed herself to be inducted, and this batch, the OG inmates if you will, coalesced into the original crew, the Casa, version 1.0.
The only thing that is constant is change. After a short time, Stevie passed in her unique fashion, Mom’s dog Angel passed, Echo basically vomited her life away, and Max’s lofty reign as the grand old man of the Casa was cut short by the dastardly actions of a pack or wandering mongrels. But as tragic as these losses were, this was also around the time that Titus Pullo just “showed up” on our doorstep, and Bull Taco completed his tortuous journey from south of the border. Of course, other dogs stopped in to recoup, regroup, and go on their way, but the rest of the crew were still in attendance. During this time, the Charles was at her absolute zenith as an obnoxious diva, although Titus and the other inmates did their best to keep her somewhat in check; this is when the Battles of Bitey Mouth were a nightly occurrence. This era was a awesome time that I tend to think of as “the Casa 2.0”, the glory days of the Casa del Whackos.
In 2019 came the real adventure, the cross country
trip that Charlie and I completed astride a Honda CB1100 motorcycle; Arkansas to California, up the coast to Washington at the Canadian border, across the Cascades then down through Idaho, Montana, Utah, New Mexico, Colorado, Texas and back home to the Casa. It was at the end of this journey that I noticed a slight slowing in Charlie’s step, and I blame myself; that 8000 mile journey through a plethora of extreme climates was probably a bit too ambitious of an undertaking, even for a dog of Charlie’s caliber, and I think that it took a bit of the perpetual pop out of her pickle.
Then MacDuff showed up, and brought with him a new hope for the next chapter in Charlie’s saga. But it wasn’t easy; even though that we all knew that it was necessary to begin a transition, it was more than a bit tedious to endure the constant chorus of “but what does Charlie think?” every time I would post a picture of MacDuff on the bike. But then MacDuff proved himself worthy beyon a shadow of a doubt when he not only survived but excelled on a very arduous trip across Colorado, and this began the era of the Casa 3.0.
But it was a short lived era, as MacDuff inexplicably succumbed to bone cancer just a few months later, and for quite a while, it seemed like the Casa was irreversibly broken. Then along came Nama. Although I was NOT ready to replace MacDuff in my heart as the heir apparent to the throne, it became obvious that Nama had other plans; could this be the beginning of the Casa 4.0? As a difficult road trip is the perfect litmus test to determine a pair of traveler’s compatibility, a trip west was in order. Although my motorcycle was prepped and loaded to ride out solo the night before, the morning of my departure found me instead pulling out of the driveway in the SUV, with Nama sitting smugly in the passenger seat.
Just a few days into the journey, it became obvious that she was the perfect compliment to the traveling side of the story. I remember the exact instant it became apparent to both of us: it was on the rough dirt road enroute to the the remote Christ of the Desert monastery in New Mexico. But although MacDuff’s time was short, Nama’s was even shorter; while the Duff’s reign lasted mere months, Namacita’s was cut short the very next day, struck down in a beautiful canyon in Colorado.
The term “Casa del Whackos” was coined to give some explanation as to the ongoing weirdness that occurs on a regular basis inside and out of these walls, and it has abated not a whit since I returned from Colorado. In fact, it has ramped up to a fever pitch: a very neurotic mama with a litter of seven absolutely insane puppies, two recent adoptions(Bilbo and Sam), in addition to the old guard of Charlie, Titus, and Marco, all vying for their proper slice of Dad’s attention pie. But even at this, it has not reached the level of cohesiveness that would even remotely classify the situation as the Casa 4.0; I’ve even considered changing through name from the Casa del Whackos to La Vida Loca.
But there is light at the end of the tunnel, and hopefully it’s not a train. Novastar has agreed to take in the puppies as they turn eight weeks old on June 15th. This will take a great deal of the pressure from Mom and I, and even from Titus; as imposing as he may be physically, the pack of marauding puppies absolutely terrifies the big ox. And Bilbo the Hirsute and Sam.I.Am are slowly beginning to find their own voices, at least when they’re not being assaulted by Bassa the Khat. Although neither of them have the innate drive to travel that came as natural as breathing to Charlie and MacDuff, I have to remind myself that even Nama was initially slow to take to the car, and even slower to become enthusiastic concerning the motorcycle; so maybe one of them will surprise me yet.
Or maybe not. Maybe the future of the Casa 4.0 doesn’t involve traveling, although I would be sick about it if it didn’t. The best stories always seem to happen when you’re at your most vulnerable, and you’re never more aware of and in tune with your vulnerability until you’re a thousand miles from home and far from a potential safety net.
And it’s all about the stories.
