August 27, 2010; Relatives

I didn't know how successful I was going to be, but word was getting out that I was looking for my sister, Ceecee. I had twatted about it and I had done my thing on Facebook. But I didn't know, until yesterday, that it was also spreading through the dog and cat community.

I ran into Cleo, with her mangey, psychotic boyfriend, Slicer, and they told me that they had heard through the alley grapevine that I was looking for my sister and they were spreading the word. Part of that word was: If you see a white Jack Russell female with one brown ear, don't kill her—get the news back to Slicer. Apparently, Slicer was very important in the alley world (much like Jeffrey Dahmer was important in the one-night-stand world, I'm sure).

Also, as I walked along the streets with Skeeter or Boo-Boo, I would run into strange dogs and before I had a chance to beat them up they'd say, "Hey, Little Dude, heard about your Sis. I've got my nose in an arse for you!" This is the Dog Speak equivalent of, "I'll keep an eye out!" as dog's get much of their information from jamming noses in strange arses first, asking questions later. Though I was getting help, I was also a little frustrated by this invasion of my privacy. I mean, I'm a fighting dog. I'm supposed to beat up (or at least snarl) at the big dogs not bow my head and go, "Er...thanks, Dude."

It turns out that Bejie was the source of it all; he had read my last blog and had spread the word. When I ran into him and Ginger (and of course the old lady who was Benjie's and Babs who was Ginger's), we all sat down to have a good old fashion chin wag.

"You're lucky," Ginger said. "I ran away from my family. I was raised at one of those so-called accredited kennels and it was like an orgy. I mean, my mother was also my grandmother, my brother was my father and my uncle, my grandfather was also my uncle. This does not make for good dogs. I had one little brother—a bouncing, adorable, drooling puppy who never stopped drooling. I ran away because one of my uncles-slash-brothers was starting to stick his nose up my cootch even before my first heat."

"I love your stories, Ginger," Benjie said. "They're so Norman Rockwell."

"Well eat shit and die, Butt-Fuck!" she growled. "What was your puppyhood like?"

"Oh I was a wanted puppy!" he said. "My old lady had an old bitch who had a litter and all of the puppies went to her daughters and she kept me. And when my Ma died, I just stayed on. She loved us all, the old lady did, and played with us and even when we were separated she arranged for us to visit each other from time to time at her daughters' houses."

"Well ain't that just the sweetest thing in the fucking world," Ginger said. "No wonder you're queer!"

"Knock it of," I said, finally. I liked the pretty pictures Benjie painted. I wished I had had a puppyhood like that instead of at the puppy mill.

"Anyway," Ginger went on, almost as if she was making amends for her lousy mood, "the news is going like wildfire. When Babs and I went to visit her friend ten blocks away, even her dog had heard about Ceecee. I don't know it it'll work..." her voice trembled a little and she sighed and then bucked up again, "but I hope you find her."

"Thank you," I whispered. And then off I went, dragged along by Skeeter. The two dogs did not bark me a goodbye. They just looked at each other and kissed. They were friends. Weird friends.

Family, I guess.