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Cejas and the Great Escapeby
Maggie Van Ostrand | |
The
mean streets of Tijuana have at last dispatched something other than media reports
of killings, kidnappings and cartels. The bloody, dusty, bullet-ridden streets
of Tijuana have wached Cejas emigrate, even without proper papers. You may be
wondering, Who is this Cejas of whom she writes? Is he a Mexican hero? Is he a
famous actor using another name? Is he an undercover foreign agent? Or, since
the word "cejas" means "eyebrows" in English, might it be a code name for Andy
Rooney whose eyebrows enter a room five minutes before he does?
It is
none of the above.
Neither is Cejas a gang member out to visit relatives
in the U.S., a mule for the drug guys or a people-smuggling coyote. However, like
real mules and coyotes, he does have four legs. Cejas is a little Mexican dog.
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story is much like anybody else's, filled with both sad and joyous times, and
a lot of luck — he didn't get out of Tijuana by himself. He had the help of many,
including angels, perhaps Santo Toribio Romo Gonz·lez, Mexico's ghostly benefactor
of "illegal aliens," and a quick-witted grandmother. | |
Every three months,
missionary trucks filled with toys, blankets, and food, make their way from the
U.S. to poor colonies of Tijuana, as they did last December when they caravanned
to La Colonia El Mont Bonito. Part of their mission is to bring food, bowls, and
water for the unfortunate dogs of the area. One little fellow caught the eye of
Grandmother Reyna, a missionary, who recalls, "He was 'very matted, dirty, and
smelled awful.'" Then their eyes met, she saw his "sad and tender look" and made
a decision to bring him back with the church group even though other members wondered
why she would take a street dog in such bad condition. And they were rightly concerned
about real trouble crossing the border. What would the border guards do? Would
the missionaries be arrested? Would Cejas go to doggie detention? After all, he
didn’t have the required records of inoculation, no license, and he looked pretty
bad. But Grandmother Reyna decided to rescue him, despite the danger.
She
stayed calm during the 2-hour wait to cross the border. When their van, driven
by her granddaughter, got to first place in line, the emigration officer asked
"What are you bringing back from Mexico?" They replied, "Nothing." Then the officer
peeked in the back window and spied Cejas asleep. "Whose dog is that?" the officer
asked. Granddaughter replied, "My Gandmama's." The officer grew suspicious and
asked Grandmother Reyna what the dog's breed was. "Terrier," she said, using an
innocent expression. “What is the dog’s name?” asked the officer. Now a little
scared of the real trouble she could get into, her mind went blank. She could
not remember the little dog's name, so she boldly gave him the first name that
came entered her head, "JoJo," and succeeded in fooling the officer. I would not
want to play poker with Grandmother Reyna.
Back
in the U.S.A., Grandmother Reyna took the little dog to the veterinarian, who
treated Cejas's skin problems, bathed him, extracted many bad teeth, and neutered
him. Ouch! It must have seemed like a strange welcome to a new land, but Cejas
proved himself a trouper and just shouted “°Ole! Now can I play?”
On March
1st, Cejas came to live with us in California where I am presently working. Since
his upper lip snags on one of his few remaining front teeth and it looks like
Elvis Presley’s famous sneer, I wanted to rename him Elvis. But Cejas is a tough
little guy with street smarts galore and he simply refused to answer to that name.
He insists on the name he arrived with, and prefers burritos to dog food. He is
not yet bilingual. However, we made a deal: in exchange for keeping his name,
he comes when called, does not enter the house without permission, and tolerates
a leash when we take our daily walk in the forest. He’s hooked on Cesar Millan’s
“Dog Whisperer” show, and looks away from the TV screen only during commercials.
Cejas, our little illegal, escaped the mean streets of TJ and fearlessly crossed
the border to a new life. Moral of this story: Be nice to all grandmothers. You
never know when she can get you out of a bad spot.
http://www.miracledogrescue.org
Copyright Maggie
Van Ostrand
"A Balloon In Cactus" March
12 , 2009 column
Related Topics: Animals
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