Skip to main content

La Perra died and it's my fault

I found her this morning.  La Perra was lying besides one of the creek's pillars under San Jacinto.  I don't
think she had been dead too long  because her body was not very cold.
The men at the Picnic tienda where I fed her last Sunday across the street tell me that she's been going down for a month.  I know that she starved to death, and that is the worst death of all.
Last Sunday I wanted to take her to the dog shelter here in San Anto, but they're closed on Sunday. I have two dogs in my tiny yard, and I was afraid to keep her with me.  On Monday I had to deal with my 91 year-old father's pre-funeral wishes in Raymondville, four hours away, and I was afraid to delay his wishes.  La Perra ate a little barbacoa on Sunday morning and I left food with the men, who promised to feed her.  I looked for her on Monday night, Tuesday, Wednesday, all week.  She must have been alive, just waiting to die.  I should have pressed Juanillo the homeless man when he told me that La Perra slept with him to help me find her right now.  I should have taken her to the Animal Defense League last Sunday, which is way north on Nacogdoches here, except they are very hard to reach, and the last time I needed their help with the dog I have at home now, they refused.
Still, this is my fault.  I didn't think my girlfriends would help me.  They just tease me and don't really want to know. 
La Perra died because I was afraid of my landlord, of rejection from the ADL, giving up on my friends who don't want to see that a starving dog is the most vulnerable creature in a world of social injustice.
I"m so sorry, La Perra.  I should have, I should have loved you more.  Please forgive me.

Comments

Unknown said…
Barbara, you did your best. Thank you for trying to be La Perra's angel.
Tiffany
Austin Boxer Rescue
kimberlya said…
You are so beautiful, Barbara. Thank you for your bodhisattva ways.
Monet said…
I'm so sorry about La Perra. I know that you tried your hardest. I'm an MFA student at Texas State University, and my Chicano/a literature class just read and discussed your beautiful novel. It was the favorite book we read over the semester, and I wanted you to know that it made a profound impact on me as a writer. Thank you!
monetm1218@hotmail.com
http://anecdotesandapples.weebly.com

Popular posts from this blog

Twelve Heads in a Bag: Hector Saldana's Krayolas painting in bold, true colors

Longleaf pines are native to the southeast United States, and their conservation status is vulnerable. Only three percent of this historic, unrottable pine tree forest that can live up to 500 years remains. With long leaf pine (no smack gum) by the comeback sensations, The Krayolas, it is clear they intend to make great music for the long haul. I’m talking about one song in particular, “Twelve Heads in a Bag,” a deceptive rock-ballad (written and sung by Hector Saldana, with Max Baca on bajo sexto and Michael Guerra on accordion). Twelve Heads… is dedicated to the beheaded victims of Mexico’s drug wars. As has been said before but needs to be said again, it is the first corrido of the 21st century and it’s for the history books. Twelve Heads in a Bag makes you want to dance with a Lone Star in your hand, no matter the barbeque stains on your Tshirt, wondering why it wasn’t you in that bag.

Bloody Towels & Jerry Joe Pittman, Asst. Police Chief of San Antonio

Assistant Chief Jerry Pittman has called the San Antonio Observer, San Antonio's leading Black newspaper, to say that he's human, that he's made a mistake. But I suspect he's thinking twice about retiring, because he needs another year to get his full pension. He’s scary . When I first saw Asst. Chief Jerry Pittman en persona , San Antonio ’s highest-ranking black cop, and certainly most-controversial, my gut talked to me. I was at Pittman’s press conference downtown, orchestrated by the most expensive public relations firm in town, Connolly & Company, on March 11, 05, where he announced his exoneration from rape allegations brought by his step-niece, a 39 year-old working-class, black, woman. Chief Pittman, a 6’5” blue-black brother, with bullets instead of eyes, would’ve shot me if he could that day because of my questions, while the rest of the media kissed his grits. Look, I’m a middle-aged woman who trusts her intuition about men, and I
Today is Tuesday, May 3rd, and so much has happened.  A brain tumor.  More yoga and walking.  A little less combat.  Weight dropping.  Spirit rising.  Back in the city, where I belong.  Looking for good photos to give you, organizing my crazy files.  And a new President!  So much to say, more than beating up on him -- that will only take us so far.  Time to hit the streets, challenge the fears that he represents.  Don't be afraid, no tengan miedo.  If I survived a massive brain tumor -- big as a grapefruit -- we can survive and transcend this. More tomorrow.  One day a week from now on.