It is significant that the condor used my father’s chamber pot.
~ Bruno Schulz, The Street of Crocodiles
We used to make long summer road-trips to Iowa for family reunions. My father bought a CB radio to keep us entertained through the purgatorial stretches of desert highway. We each had to choose a handle, an alias to identify ourselves by. My father’s was ‘Timberwolf.’ It made me think of that scene from the movie version of Never Cry Wolf (1983) when Tyler dreamt he was killed and eaten by a pack of wolves – a dream that forged a spiritual bond between himself and the animal, according to Tyler’s Inuit friend Mike. I always wanted a familiar, something like Prince Rupert’s dog. I never had one, unless it was the little songbird that frightened me by landing on my head, or the moth that flew out of my mouth after I pretended to drink from the toy kettle in the back yard.