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.

Can I get a VIA Bus after my cerveza?

Okay, so today I met with Juan Lopez, who, like me, rides the VIA bus. If you live in the city, the bus is pretty good if you're going north/south. It's the crosstown buses and the 551 Looper that drives me crazy. I wish they were more colorful, like in Mexico, and that the drivers were allowed to play their music! This Calvinist heritage! But I love the bus. Babies, tattoos, the elderly, ride the bus. Humanity. For reals. Today, Juan said something really profound. "If the city is so concerned about DWIs (Los borrachos, he means), then why doesn't VIA offer 24-hour service during Fiesta?" Are you listening, VIA? I know you offer special service for the basketball games, the Rodeo, And God knows what else... Or is the City wanting the fines from the DWIs or maybe just wants to put more borrachos in jail? http://www.viasmartmove.com

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.

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.

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