Winnemucca, Winnemucca, Winnemucca
- Oscar the Pooch
- 1 day ago
- 7 min read
The real reason we were in the Outback of Nevada was because we both wanted a reason to say Winnemucca. Try it: Winnemucca, Winnemucca, Winnemucca See? It sounds like laughing at a Fozzy Bear joke!
The Wagon found an old abandoned highway a few miles outside of Winnemucca¹ and rolled off the freeway in search of a place to spend the night. This twin pair of dusty lines may have called itself a “highway,” but there wasn’t a scrap of pavement on it. It looked like it hadn’t seen four wheels since it was the most feared section of the Oregon Trail.
A herd of deer grazed on the grass strip between the wheel tracks and the Wagon halted to give them time to scatter. When the road was clear again, Mom looked through all the windows and into all the mirrors. Instead of ordering the Wagon to giddy up, she pushed the all done lever instead.
“This is silly. Ain’t nobody coming down this road tonight. Let’s just camp here in the middle of the road.”
“Hey, Mom. What do you call a blind deer?” I wagged at the herd grazing a short sprint away.
“I’ve heard that one before,” she said with a groan in her voice.
“No-eye-deer!” I brayed. “Winnemucca², Winnemucca³, Winnemucca⁴!”
She didn’t laugh for some reason. She just clicked the leash on my collar before opening the door.
The next morning, Mom tickled the Witch as she drank her poop juice, still searching for somewhere to go. “I guess this trail is fine. Everything looks the same around here, so we might as well go somewhere that’s easy to drive to.”
“What does it look like?” I asked.
Mom looked out the window on the side that didn’t face the freeway. “Like that.”
I looked at the grass and hills for something to say about it. “Oh,” I said.
¹ One Winnemucca! ² Two Winnemuccas!
³ Three Winnemuccas!
⁴ Four Winnemuccas!
“Something looks fishy about the driving directions.” She nudged the Witch to see what she had to say for herself.
The Witch’s screen looked back at her blankly. After a moment, the Witch said innocently, “You will arrive at seven thirty-two a.m.”
“It looks like the route stops a couple of miles from the trailhead,” Mom interrogated.
“Oh goody!” I said. “Extra hiking.”
“You are on the fastest route,” the Witch promised, without mentioning it was Opposite Day.
“I have a feeling the directions aren’t taking us to the trail at all,” Mom said suspiciously.
“Oh goody! Exploring!” I cheered, forgetting what happens when the Wagon explores.
She may have had an inkling that something wasn’t right, but Mom follows the Witch’s orders as obediently as The Wagon follows Mom’s. The Witch pointed the way, and Mom followed instructions as if hypnotized. She aimed the Wagon back onto the freeway and did as she was told when the Witch commanded her to exit. When the Witch announced that our final turn was imminent, a sign appeared to mark the way.
“Whoopee! We’re going to make it after all!” I panted. “What does the sign say, Mom?”
“It says Buffalo Canyon.”
“Hooray! That’s right, right? What were you so worried about? I knew everything would work out in the end.”
“But we’re supposed to be going to Horse Thief Canyon…” Mom said, almost breaking the Witch’s spell, but not quite.
“After they mounted a thorough search for the horse, and a respectful time had passed for grief, I bet they adopted a buffalo,” I concluded. “Hey, what’s the difference between a buffalo and a bison?”
“I told you in South Dakota, I have no idea.”
“Wrong joke. The right answer is that you can’t wash your hands in a buffalo. Winnemucca⁵, Winnemucca⁶, Winnemucca⁷!” She wasn’t laughing, so I hinted, “Get it? Bison? Bason? Wash your hands? Like, because of the boogeyvirus?”
⁵ Five Winnemuccas! ⁶ Six Winnemuccas!
⁷ Seven Winnemuccas!
