COLUMBUS _ ``Who wants to go to the dump?’’ Uncle Chet called as he walked in the door at the crack of dawn Saturday.

``Got room for a couple of barrels?’’ I said from the computer, where I was glued to eBay.

``We’ll stuff them under the tarp,’’ he said. ``But I’ve got to go now because we have to be at the war protest meeting at 1.’’

``Where is it?’’ asked Hon, who was mixing up pancake batter.

``In Norwich,’’ he said. ``Next Saturday, it’ll be four years since `shock and shame.’’’

``Well, the dump’s in Norwich. What’s the rush?’’ I came into the kitchen, poured myself a cup of coffee.

``I want to shower, get some things together first,’’ he said. ``But I guess I have time for a quick cup. How about a cute girl going with us?’’

"You’ve got to be kidding,’’ said the little miscreant, who was curled up on the couch reading ``Anne of Green Gables.’’

``I remember when you used to love going to the dump,’’ he said from the stove, reaching for the coffee pot.

Then all heads rotated; We watched Buddy trudging downstairs, his arms outstretched and his eyes crinkled nearly shut.

``Look; that little boy’s sleepwalking!’’ Uncle Chet declared.

``Well, if it isn’t Ed Norton,’’ Hon said. ``About time you got up.’’

"Shh,’’ he whispered, his eyes fluttering as he turned at the landing. ``It’s dangerous to wake me up, you know.’’

``We watched �The Honeymooners’ last night, and Norton was sleepwalking.’’ I grabbed the boy as he came by, put him in my lap. ``Looks like it was contagious.’’

``I remember that episode,’’ Uncle Chet said. ``Must have been 50 years ago.’’

``My parents don’t watch any TV from this century,’’ our teenager interjected sourly.

``But we do have the Internet,’’ I said. ``And I’m seeing more and more video that way.’’

``I was on the Internet this morning, and the news just gets worse,’’ Uncle Chet said. ``Gonzales fires U.S. attorneys for rooting out corruption. Halliburton’s moving its headquarters from Houston to Dubai (no more pretense which side they’re on). And Chuck Hagel’s making more noise about impeachment than any 20 Democrats.’’

Hon flipped pancakes in the two iron skillets, and the aroma, mingled with the coffee’s, filled the kitchen.

``You want to go to the dump, Norton?’’ I asked the bundle in my lap.

``Can I drive down the driveway?’’ he asked.

``You’ll have to ask the truck owner,’’ I said.

``Sure you can, when we come back,’’ Uncle Chet said.

``He’s got to eat first; he’s fighting a cold,’’ Hon said.

``Me, too,’’ I said. ``I’m fighting a tapeworm.’’

``Speaking of fighting, did you see Bush wants to send another 8,000 boys to his desert picnic?’’ said Uncle Chet.

``You mean, the surge,’’ I said.

``No. This is new blood, the gush that follows the surge,’’ he said. ``And no doubt we can count on the Democratic House to come up with a nonbinding resolution against it.’’

``What is this nonbinding stuff?’’ I said, as I cut up Buddy’s pancake.

``Cowardice,’’ Uncle Chet said. ``It’s like a fire truck pulling up to a burning house. The firefighters jump out, grab their hoses, aim them at the blaze, show everyone they’d love to douse that fire, but they don’t turn on the water.’’

``Why not?’’ asked the little miscreant, who’d managed to get to the table.

``They’re afraid of the arsonists,’’ he said. ``Afraid of the big bad Republicans and Fox News. If they stood up on their hind legs, they’d get a tongue-lashing. Then they might be kicked off the gravy train, lose their wonderful single-payer heath insurance that they say is too good for the rest of us.’’

``I thought you liked the Democrats,’’ she said.

``I’d like to like the Democrats, but most of the ones in Congress make it hard,’’ he said. ``They’re not leaders; they’re hang dogs. That’s why we’ve to get out and march, show them the way out of this wilderness. If we wait for them to act, we’ll wait forever and lose another 3,000 dead, 30,000 wounded.’’

"It was like this in the 60s, when we were in Vietnam,’’ I said.

``Something like this, but TV was more honest and we had much better people in government,’’ he said. ``You had Walter Cronkite giving you the news and Bill Moyers as Johnson’s press secretary.’’

``Still, we needed bodies in the streets,’’ I said.

``True,’’ Uncle Chet said. ``So let’s get going. Let’s put some bodies in the streets this weekend, show our boys we want to bring ’em home, and not to the rats and roaches at Walter Reed.’’

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Cooperstown News Bureau Reporter Tom Grace is traveling with his Uncle Chet, who he says is imaginary. Grace’s column appears twice monthly.