Kimberly Robinson
Little Joe (2 of 3)

He stopped drinking last October, because of a heart condition. 
He lives in a small trailer just outside of Warrens, Wisconsin. 
He lives across the street from his step-mother’s daughter, a woman who pops pain-pills like candy, and in typical midwestern mother fashion has high-reaching crispy bangs.  Her eyes look in different directions, and she feels the need to hug me every time I see her, which has been about three times in the last few years (until Dad came back last summer, I couldn't remember ever seeing her at all...but she says I'm her favorite niece...).  A few months ago someone gave her a purebred Beagle pup.  When she decided she couldn't take care of it, it was given to my dad.  He named it Sassy.

Dad can't drive anymore so he spends most days in his trailer, sitting at his kitchen table reading a book or watching what’s going on across the street.  He loves his inherited puppy so much that when I visit, he spends most of the time talking about her.  I'm glad that he has a companion.  He's never mentioned loneliness to me, but I know he must feel it sometimes.

He likes to tell stories, especially when I bring my boyfriend Cody with when I visit.  He likes to fill Cody in on all of the amazing fights that took place between himself and my mom.  Like the time that mom took the keys to his van so he couldn't drive to the bar, and, in a display reminiscent of George Jones, he drove the lawnmower to the bar anyway and then crashed it.  He talks about the time that mom came home to find him drunk, along with all of his friends, when he was supposed to be watching me, and she attacked him with a golf club.  She's also attacked him with a lawn chair and a garden hoe and he's got the scars to prove it.

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