I'm walking here.

   One day, when she was visiting at our old house, and feeling kind of lonesome, Dorothy remarked that she had no toys from her childhood in her new house.  I went upstairs in the house where Helen still lived,  and looked through the cabinets in our old bedroom and found this penguin.
  He stands about 4 inches tall, with a cardboard body, and head and feet of wood. I can't pinpoint how he came to be in our house, but speculate that maybe our father brought him home.  He always was drawn to novelty  items, and this penguin was high tech intrigue at the time.  Kind of like the Dribble Glass and the Whoopie Cushion that our father delighted in.
  This penguin had no motor or wind up apparatus; he walked as if by magic.  Or so the story went.  I  remember my father using the lid of  his White Owl cigar box to fashion a ramp so the penguin could waddle down it. But the penguin could not maintain a true course and would soon fall over.  His legs would  move but his momentum carried him away, does so even to this day.  I just tried it--no ramp has the right slope.
    The penguin is in my house now, has been for a while.    Dorothy gave him back to me on June 1, 2011.