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2nd place in tribal college journal writing contest. i'm so dang proud of myself. lol.
My Cousin Coyote, As Told By Dog
I have this cousin who is always up to no good. Nobody really likes his stink ***, but most tolerate him. Every Native on the rez knows him and runs into him at places they’d rather not be, like at a party just before the drama goes down.
Coyote is usually hitchhiking, his fur all greasy and nasty, as though he hasn’t showered in days. He is usually stumbling on his four legs and smells horrid.
Most people driving Highway 93 on the Flathead Indian Reservation are blind to Coyote’s staggering figure. Some hate Coyote and would rather run him over because of that time he messed with their wife or girl and got caught. Some dislike Coyote because he cheated or scammed money out of them.
The rest are people like me, his family, who will pick up Coyote no matter what he may have done or will do. Call it stupidity or family duty, I picked up my cousin Coyote south of Pablo on Highway 93.
“Hey cousin! Boy, am I glad to see you!” Coyote said.
I grimaced slightly at the smell of his breath. Being a dog has its ups and downs. Right now, having a keen nose was definitely a downer.
“Hey,” I said casually, “where are you coming from?”
“Well, I got run over last night trying to walk home from Pablo Bar. Musta stumbled right onto the damn highway. Last thing I remember was flying through the air and wondering what the heck am I flying for? I ain’t no dang bird! This morning, Fox came across my sorry excuse for road kill and jumped over me.”
“Why didn’t Fox give you a ride home to Ronan?”
“Oh. I don’t know. He’s all butt hurt and bored at me. Muttering stuff like bringing me back to life wasn’t worth it anymore. Then he just went off.”
“Hmmm.”
Fox was right. The people have more or less forgotten Coyote. His and Fox’s purpose in the world, to teach, has been lost in a world of microwaves, high-speed Internet, television, and processed food. Who needs a crusty Coyote with a battered liver to learn from when one can turn on the TV or access the Internet and be told pretty much everything there is to know about the world?
“I know what you’re thinking, Dog,” Coyote told me, raising one eyebrow. “But I’m going to tell you this. Not everyone is blind to my teachings. I am still dying for my people, the ones who still believe.
“To them, I still have a purpose. I am like the example of what not to be. Who do you know around here, besides the suyapi, that is uglier inside and out than me? As long as I’m around, I will be here to teach. That was why I was made in the first place. I know my purpose. Do you know yours?”
“My purpose is not the point.”
“I think it is.”
“The Coyote I knew long ago at least seemed to somewhat keep on learning through mistakes. You’re old and crusty with battered liver and matching liver spots. You started drinking when the suyapi first came, and you haven’t stopped yet. It’s been, what, over 500 years?
You lost your land, your family, your honor, and respect. You even pawned your bundle that Creator gave you at the beginning of Creation for 50 bucks so you could keep drinking. Now, even your medicine and power are gone.
At least, the Coyote I used to know, my cousin, would have learned and saved the world by now. I don’t get you; you were a slayer of monsters and even a creator. Now, look at you. You beat up Mole and ended up jailed. Then she left you. You’re always in tribal jail because of your public nuisance violations and DUI’s. Who are your sons supposed to look up to when you aren’t around? You’re always drunk.
Big monster slayer legend my ***! You can’t even destroy something tiny and simple like a beer. That monster, alcohol, has beaten you over and over again. One day, it will kill you, and next time Fox ain’t gonna jump over you. He is sick of your s--t too.”
“Hey, now, quit yer *****in’. I thought you were a dog, not a *****.”
“I’m sick of seeing you like this. Do something with your life already. I pity you. You’re my cousin, my bro.”
“F--k off. Just drop me off at the Club Bar. I’m not going home. You bum me out, and now I want a beer.”
I parked in front of the bar on Main Street in Ronan. I sighed. What was the use in trying to tell him? We’ve been having this conversation for hundreds of years now.
“I’ve still taught you something, little cousin,” Coyote said. “I know for sure you won’t end up like me. Stay in school, Dog. Pray for me, and one day, who knows what will happen. Maybe I will save the world again. Maybe when I get my bundle out of hock and get some instructions from you know who as to how to kill this monster called alcohol, I will be able to beat this. Until then, see you around and thanks for the ride.”
My Cousin Coyote, As Told By Dog
I have this cousin who is always up to no good. Nobody really likes his stink ***, but most tolerate him. Every Native on the rez knows him and runs into him at places they’d rather not be, like at a party just before the drama goes down.
Coyote is usually hitchhiking, his fur all greasy and nasty, as though he hasn’t showered in days. He is usually stumbling on his four legs and smells horrid.
Most people driving Highway 93 on the Flathead Indian Reservation are blind to Coyote’s staggering figure. Some hate Coyote and would rather run him over because of that time he messed with their wife or girl and got caught. Some dislike Coyote because he cheated or scammed money out of them.
The rest are people like me, his family, who will pick up Coyote no matter what he may have done or will do. Call it stupidity or family duty, I picked up my cousin Coyote south of Pablo on Highway 93.
“Hey cousin! Boy, am I glad to see you!” Coyote said.
I grimaced slightly at the smell of his breath. Being a dog has its ups and downs. Right now, having a keen nose was definitely a downer.
“Hey,” I said casually, “where are you coming from?”
“Well, I got run over last night trying to walk home from Pablo Bar. Musta stumbled right onto the damn highway. Last thing I remember was flying through the air and wondering what the heck am I flying for? I ain’t no dang bird! This morning, Fox came across my sorry excuse for road kill and jumped over me.”
“Why didn’t Fox give you a ride home to Ronan?”
“Oh. I don’t know. He’s all butt hurt and bored at me. Muttering stuff like bringing me back to life wasn’t worth it anymore. Then he just went off.”
“Hmmm.”
Fox was right. The people have more or less forgotten Coyote. His and Fox’s purpose in the world, to teach, has been lost in a world of microwaves, high-speed Internet, television, and processed food. Who needs a crusty Coyote with a battered liver to learn from when one can turn on the TV or access the Internet and be told pretty much everything there is to know about the world?
“I know what you’re thinking, Dog,” Coyote told me, raising one eyebrow. “But I’m going to tell you this. Not everyone is blind to my teachings. I am still dying for my people, the ones who still believe.
“To them, I still have a purpose. I am like the example of what not to be. Who do you know around here, besides the suyapi, that is uglier inside and out than me? As long as I’m around, I will be here to teach. That was why I was made in the first place. I know my purpose. Do you know yours?”
“My purpose is not the point.”
“I think it is.”
“The Coyote I knew long ago at least seemed to somewhat keep on learning through mistakes. You’re old and crusty with battered liver and matching liver spots. You started drinking when the suyapi first came, and you haven’t stopped yet. It’s been, what, over 500 years?
You lost your land, your family, your honor, and respect. You even pawned your bundle that Creator gave you at the beginning of Creation for 50 bucks so you could keep drinking. Now, even your medicine and power are gone.
At least, the Coyote I used to know, my cousin, would have learned and saved the world by now. I don’t get you; you were a slayer of monsters and even a creator. Now, look at you. You beat up Mole and ended up jailed. Then she left you. You’re always in tribal jail because of your public nuisance violations and DUI’s. Who are your sons supposed to look up to when you aren’t around? You’re always drunk.
Big monster slayer legend my ***! You can’t even destroy something tiny and simple like a beer. That monster, alcohol, has beaten you over and over again. One day, it will kill you, and next time Fox ain’t gonna jump over you. He is sick of your s--t too.”
“Hey, now, quit yer *****in’. I thought you were a dog, not a *****.”
“I’m sick of seeing you like this. Do something with your life already. I pity you. You’re my cousin, my bro.”
“F--k off. Just drop me off at the Club Bar. I’m not going home. You bum me out, and now I want a beer.”
I parked in front of the bar on Main Street in Ronan. I sighed. What was the use in trying to tell him? We’ve been having this conversation for hundreds of years now.
“I’ve still taught you something, little cousin,” Coyote said. “I know for sure you won’t end up like me. Stay in school, Dog. Pray for me, and one day, who knows what will happen. Maybe I will save the world again. Maybe when I get my bundle out of hock and get some instructions from you know who as to how to kill this monster called alcohol, I will be able to beat this. Until then, see you around and thanks for the ride.”
No but he used to walk up and down 93 and hit all the bars from Polson to Ronan.
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