Thursday, August 28, 2008

The Saga of Killer

The Saga of Killer

My boys had this dog, they named him Killer. Which was funny, because he was a puppy and a wuss. When they went for walks he liked to be carried.
Killer almost died one day when I backed out and he was sleeping under the car. In fact, I thought I did kill him. I kept looking in my rearview mirror for the fuzz. I would look towards my house for "flight for life." All day I was panicked and paranoid that they would take me in for questioning in the murder of Killer.
I realized later, that I had to confess up to my kids. I killed Killer. I was sweating bullets and dog biscuits. I killed him, I said and hung my head, awaiting the sentencing. They laughed. Mom, you're goofy. I still had my head hung, because that sentence is one I hear on a daily.
"Killer is out back eating."
I opened the door and there he was, he cocked his head to one side and wagged his tail. I felt relief and guilt. I must have just stunned him or something because he was completely fine, not like the way he was when I ran him over, rolling around and crying.
Or he was like a cat and had nine lives.
It was a miracle. This little sunka would be legendary someday. My kids would talk of him to their grandkids and so on.
I apologized to them for the attempted murder, and they reminded me something I tried to instill in them. Yes as Lakotas, all life is sacred and must be honored, even animals. They knew that if animals were killed for ceremonial reasons or for food, that they must be honored and thanks must be given. All living deserved honor.
So imagine my kids disappointment when Killer the little puppy was picked up in my yard for not having a leash. The Oglala Sioux Housing Authority put him in a horse trailer with other people's dogs and strays. I was assured that they were "destroyed."
I asked how. I mean, not that I really want to know, but I am sure they were all shot by heartless people who needed the money. But I was the one who had to hold my 9 year old when he cried for his puppy.
I know I should have had my puppy on a leash, but why is this only enforced once in awhile? Why was I not given a warning. I was told this was in my lease agreement. I guess it is, but if it was something that was enforced all the time, I would have had Killer on a leash.
Killer wasn't a bad dog. He didn't bite people. He was babied by my boys. I know of people who are ven cops that have dogs that bite. You can't even walk around my neighborhood without a dog attacking you. You can't live in my neighborhood without a dog guarding your house.
But what are you gonna do? There's no animal cruelty laws here.
So ends the saga of my son's puppy Killer, who didn't die when I ran him over but the Housing shot dead.

Wednesday, August 27, 2008

I did that...

Oh yeah I did.
My first attempt at quillwork. It's just a quilled strip right now, and not very good either....but when it's done I will have the baddest cruzer in the history of cruzers. (Will post a pic when done.)

Oh yeah.

And he didn't teach me, I surprised him and did it when he was gone.
Here's his work.

As you can see, I am nowhere near as good as he is. He's awesome.

Tuesday, August 26, 2008

Those were the days

When I was a little girl, I don't remember the age, but I was little so you know it was way back…my Aunt Kathy used to take me swimming. I mean I am sure there were more aunts and uncles that took me, but I always feel nostalgic because it was her and she only lived until I was seven. We used to go to the swimming pool down by the creek. I remember checking my clothes in and holding onto aunties and uncles while they tried to teach me to swim. I always remember seeing people I knew there, people I went to "jail head start" with and people I was related to. I remember the smell of chlorine and sound of laughter.
I also remember swimming at East Dam. I remember there was a beach and we all would jump off logs into the water. It would be hot summer days, the adults would be standing around on the beach part by their cars listening to music, laughing and keeping an eye on the kids while we all screamed around while swimming. Uncles would be fishing nearby and if they did other things while fishing, I was not witness to it and didn't smell it. Nor did I snitch.
I remember when I used to go watch the movies at the old high school auditorium I saw Jaws there for the first time.
I remember fishing at White Clay Dam and Denby Dam and catching perch and catfish and thinking I was the bomb because of it. I remember watching my dad cut the heads off and gut and fry them right in front of me. I remember trying to eat them quickly because they were so delicious yet having to eat them carefully because of the tiny bones.
I remember sleigh riding off the Cohen Home hill in deep snow and I remember neighborhood softball games. I remember when neighborhoods didn't have speed bumps and kids didn't play in the middle of the street. I remember when fights were one on one and scheduled. Meet me here at 8 and if you got your butt kicked, that was that. You licked your wounds and probably were friends by the next week. I remember Friday Night Videos and slumber parties. I remember when Joy Lynn Parton, Andrea Schreiner, Allie Big Crow, and I mooned a car and it turned out to be the cops. (Apologies to them for not asking permission to snitch on them and I am even sorrier to the mothers who never knew.)
I remember when being a youth on the reservation was about being young, having fun and "not so innocent."
Those were the days when we didn't have to prove anything to anyone, didn't have to act all gangster, we were proud to be Lakota and didn't try to take on another culture. Those were the days we had things to do.
So is it technology and the World Wide Web that brought us here now? Is it the fact that as a community, we really don't have any recreational activities for our kids like we did back then? Or is it that as parents, we should be there for our children, each and every day?
I don't know what it is, I'm not preaching, but damn, I miss those days.

Happy Birthday My Friend

Happy Birthday to one of my oldest friends
Jase, have a good one.

Saturday, August 23, 2008


I think about who I am. Am I really what I want to be. Or am I merely just breathing...and if so is there anything wrong with that?

Thursday, August 21, 2008

Mc Crazy in PR

I started writing my book yesterday.
I am hoping to be funny without offending too many people.
But it's not like i really care anyways.
I saw the Wateca Warrior Princess today...she must know it was about her.
She glared.
Well, she shouldn't be so greedy.

Wednesday, August 20, 2008


And not in a good way either.

I didn't get paid for my leave when my grandma i didn't pay my bill which includes:
I went to bed at 8 last night, i need a good book man.

Tuesday, August 19, 2008

The Rez Will Always Be Home

I lived away from here for 16 years, between the ages of 18 and 34. I lived everywhere. Places that have more things to do recreationally, for both me and my kids. Places where I could sell my beadwork for more than I could get here, because here, everyone and their mama does some sort of artwork for a scheme.

I lived where trash doesn't blow freely and it's a crime to throw a gumwrapper or cigarette butt out the window. I lived where alcohol is legal and not as big of a problem as here. I lived where there are jobs, and maybe more opportunities. I lived where the cultures are diverse and everywhere you turn.

But I also lived amongst people that know nothing of who they are. They don't know that thier grandpa, who is buried across from Chief Red Cloud was one of the first to recieve a Christian name. They don't know how to make wasna. They don't know who their people are, so they buy it. They don't know that pointing with their lips is a local slang. They don't know that the shinier the man, the better the lover. They don't know that coffee in the morning goes with old country, pow wow music and the swap shop on the local radio station. They don't know that the waiting room at the hospital is where you find out what's going on with everyone you know. They don't know that cousins are really "brothers and sisters" and aunties and uncles are "moms and dads." They don't know that an extended family could include over 100 cousins and you're pretty much related to everyone, somehow, through marriage or jail time.

In the city, you might have the world at your access. In the city you rack up high phone bills to catch up on what's going on at home, even though the news is never good. But on the reservation your world is right here and there is no place like it.

Maybe we don't agree with some of the ways around here, or maybe we hate that it is so trashy, but I was born and raised here and feel proud to be from Pine Ridge Reservation.

It's like when someone leaves your block of commod cheese open and it takes on the flavor of an still eat it, because you love it and because it's still commod cheese and a whole block of it.

Pine Ridge will always be Pine Ridge, and it is home to me. I am from here.

Monday, August 18, 2008

Hard Time

So I went to jail last Friday.
I had almost 3 beers, blew a .08 on the PBT thingy, and did 8 hours plus paid $35 to get out.
First off half or more of our own cops walked out and quit on the job. So we have all these new cops in town, which is weird, but if I had to rate the job they did here I would rate them on a scale of 8 on a 1 to 10.
He was very polite, read me my miranada's which I NEVER heard our own coppers do and he made sure the handcuffs were comfy.
He didn't crawl through or break any of my windows which I witnessed last summer from another un named cop that lives in my neighborhood.
He called me m'am.
He also asked what was wrong with our people, our cops, why is he even here. I was like, I don't know, but you are a nice cop.
Too bad he was a cop.
Does anyone really think that by making alcohol illegal, it's gonna do this reservation any good?
I like my beer.
I am human and can admit that. I don't think I need to go to jail for having a beer.
I think the people I see that have tribal or government jobs and deal or do meth and coke need to be jailed.
Making something illegal, can sometimes fall back and fuck everyone over when the things that are supposed to be illegal are widely used and known by all. Taking something away can intensify the problem.

This is one of the things wrong with our people. Our priorities are screwed.

BTW, not that I ever want to be there again but that new jail is nice.

Thursday, August 14, 2008

I REALLY do love animals.

I love cats and dogs and whatever.

For real!

I have a pet dog that I named Ned but they re named him Killer. Killer is such a puss, but I really do love him.

See the deal is, about 2 months ago. I ran him over. And I am such a puss, I ran. Because I didn't want to see him die. and I panicked. I knew I was going to be jacked up for murdering my own my kids. So yes, I did a hit and run when I backed out and heard him crying. I went to work and cried all the way there. saying ohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygod over and over and trying to think of an alibi.

Last I knew he was screaming and rolling around under my bedroom window. I'm a murderer I thought. So I take off from work early that day after keeping a low profile. I realized that Killer was dead and I had to face the consequences, kids. So I walk braveley in the house, go to my room and look out my window.

He was gone.

WTF! Who stole his poor dead body, did the ambulance come get him? I holler at my boys....surely they had to know.

"Guys, I murdered your dog, sorry." I hung my head waiting for the sentencing.

"What you talking about mom, hes eating."


I go look out back where we throw leftovers. He cocks his head to one side and looks at me.

He acts happy to see me, but I know he knows that I hit and ran and did a number on him.

I was so thankful and happy to report that Killer is alive and kicking.

Then the other day, see I love cats. They are the best. But this group of tourists from like, Ohio or something came to the school on a group tour. They come to the reservation all year to "donate" their time, and goodwill to help out all us poverty stricken indians. Anyway, once a week they take time out of painting and repairing the homes of elderly to tour the campus and visit the store. Well that day I was going to lunch right when about 56 or so of them were coming down from the graveyard. So this kid that's like 15 and 6 ft 5 and 300 lbs is carrying this little bitty scrawny kitty.

where did you find that? I ask him.

He came to me right from Chief Red Cloud's grave, he says. I am outside waiting for my man to pick me up for lunch.

Cool, I say. He's holding the kitty and mumbling to it.

Oh bitty kitty, i don't want to leave you.

The fuckin cat is like MEOW PURRRRRR MEOW. Like totally trying to get this guy to take him out of this hellhole rez and back to Ohio. So he puts the cat down and going into the store.

the cats looks at me like he's pissed.

MEOW! he says in the most annoying cat voice.

Go away, I tell him. He stands in front of me. Looking at me. Then he JUMPS onto my legs and digs his claws into my leg. MEOW!

FUCK! I holler back at him. I throw him off me and he does it again. I gently nudge him with my toe to the next tree. Save it for the tourists CAT.

My man pulls up so I get up to go to the car. The fuckin cat chases me and because I AM an animal lover and don't want to run him over next or want him to get run over by another tourist I pick him up and give him a Brett Favre fourth quarter toss into the grass. At the single minute I toss the cat I see the Boy watching from the front of the building. his mouth is hanging open in horror.

Our eyes meet. I can already hear him years away telling his kids how this savage indian chick threw a bitty kitty 50 yards. telling how he survived the wild reservation and saved a bitty kitty.

I jump into the car and say GO!

See I really do love animals, every flea bitten one of them.

Sioux me PETA

Tuesday, August 12, 2008

The Legend of the Wa Teca Warrior Princess

I am sure if you read my column, you know that ever since I moved back to the reservation, I have been fascinated with the Art of Wa Teca. Seriously i am thinking of designing a line of tupperware called Wa Teca Ware, but as long as you can re use butter bowls, coffee cans, and cool whip bowls, my dream of Wa Teca Ware is long and far off. I have heard people talk of the Wa Teca Warrior. A Mythical figure that can wa teca faster than my youngest son can tie his left shoe.
Legend has it that the wa teca warrior is an elderly with a sagye (cane) to beat you off if you so happen to reach into their designated wa teca area. The Wa Teca warrior has many, many takojas (grandkids) to feed, which is why they wa teca quicker than you can say wojapi.
I also found out that the legend is mythical but the Wa Teca Warrior does exist.
Let me tell you what happened without using any names.
I was sitting at a huge feeding last week with some of my homegirls. I was still eating when I saw the usual "wa teca crew." Grandmothers getting maybe one bowl or so of soup and some crackers to take home and eat while watching Wheel of Fortune. Then I saw her.
Yes, her. The Wa teca Warrior is a girl, so in other words a princess. She is not elderly and doesn't own a sagye and has yet to pull a takoja out of the woodwork. She's younger than me. But man, can she wa teca.
She wa teca-ed so fast we all stopped eating to watch her.
"Wow." Someone said as she whipped up 7 bowls of soup with tinfoil that appeared out of nowhere. She already had a huge box to put them in. She threw in bread, crackers and two bowls of salad. Then she walked out.
We all sat with our mouths hanging open, awestruck at the thought of how fast someone could wa teca.
Someone whispered "She wa teca's like a grandma."
Then she walks in again and we watch. What more could she take in round 2? Then I see the sandwiches. She grabs a tinfoil pan and loads it up with sandwiches, grabs the big box of chips and flips open a grocery bag that she then filled with all the lunchbag sized chips that she could squeeze in there. There was no possible way she had any more room, I knew. But yet, she found a way to fit a plate full of cake in the mix. Then she put her shades on, turned ansd waved at everyone and strolled out as if she was Dirty Harry.

WAIT, she wasn't done! I knew I saw her looking at the kool aid dispenser on her way out the door. She comes back in with a plastic jug and shakes the hell out of the kool aid dispenser. With her shades still on, she grabs a passing kid with one hand and makes him hold her plastic jug while she tips the kool aid dispenser until the last drop.....dripped.

Then she leaves. As if victorious in a gunfight after 3 rounds.
And that my friends, is the legend of the Wa Teca Warrior Princess. Keep your eyes open, she can be found at a wake, funeral, memorial, birthday party, baby shower, graduation dinner, feast near you.

Thursday, August 7, 2008

Crumpled Kleenex in my pocket

My eyes feel permanently blurry, but it could be because my alarm didn't go off.

I have been getting more into my artwork, which is a good thing, and it could be because my new guy is an artist and we sit across from each other and create art.

My last load of laundry was screwed up because of crumpled kleenex in my pocket. Maybe because it was the last piece of anything I had left from the funeral. Torn into thousands of shredded pieces of almost nothing except you could see pieces of it all over my clothes. The thousands of tears I cried thrown everywhere.

Maybe because now I am done crying, maybe I am done not talking to aunties, maybe I am done being a bitch through her. Who lived her life that way.

I will always miss her, I will not turn into her. Yet when I chewed out the cashier at the taco stand and wrapped the rest of my taco up into its wrapper and two napkins and stuffed it into my purse, I looked at my brother who was staring at me with big eyes.

I am not turning into her, I said. And I wondered silently why I took my taco like that when I never did.

Maybe because my neighbor's dog is knocked up and they care more about their beer instead of feeding her. Fuckers.

Yep, I am turning into her.