I have been reading Zinn and writing my zine, cooped up in this Federal housing on the Zuni Reservation for weeks. Shevy and Max came over and I began to spazz about how silly it was that the carpet was white in a desert filled with red sand and just how on earth the woman who lives here can keep the carpet so white with a dog, a baby and a toddler. I wanted to have the house in the same condition they left it in, but I am simply not a neurotic cleaner. I'm actually a poor cleaner. I think a little dirt and dust is great. But I am neurotic about doing a good job, so I started to scrub the carpet insanely and wailing loudly about how all the mother must do is clean this god-forsaken carpet. I couldn't seem to get one speck of dust out if it. Shevy and Max tried to calm me and took me out of the house for the first time since I've been here. The dog Guinness has severe separation anxiety and so my instructions were to crate him if I left, so he wouldn't pee on everything, destroy blinds, or try to run after the car. This is the main reason I haven't left until now, as during the day it's much too hot to crate him. So I crated Guinness in the backyard and we went off to Ramah to céilí dance.
Céilí is Irish social dancing, a little like square dancing, in sets of 2 partners. We learned the Siege of Ennis and the Fairy Reel. I hadn't had so much fun in I can't remember when! Though it was quite funny, because my gender was confusing to some of the folks and céilí has traditionally specific roles for boys and girls. Shevy drank a bit of Jameson and I drove us back to Zuni in his pickup. They were going to stay the night with me and drive to Gallup in the morning to pick up Sparkles, who was getting his balls chopped up. Shevy was a little tipsy on whiskey and explained his plan for telling Candy Kitchen that I was trans. I thought it was highly amusing, since publicly supporting my decision to be trans in his small rural community would be a testing of the waters, since neither he nor Max is out to most his neighbors there.
When we got to the house in Zuni I was laughing and went out back to let Guinness out when I saw the busted open empty crate and no Guinness. My stomach fell. I called for him, driving the pickup around the Reservation, while Shevy cleaned and gutted trout to fry up for dinner. I grabbed a flashlight and took off in the moonlight through the valley between the mesas to the East. I walked all around almost to the lake, the silvery moonlit grass sticking in my socks. There was no sign of Guinness and the dogs on the Reservation were uncannily quiet. I heard faint coyotes to the North. I sat with Shevy and Max, eating in relative silence, and recalled that he had no collar. We waited, lounging and digesting wordlessly. Shevy and Max finally went to bed.
It was one in the morning and I put on a pot of coffee. In dismay, I formulated what I would say to the couple if their dog didn't come back. I sat in the yard drinking coffee, jumping at every sound and softly calling the dog's name. I was about halfway through the coffee when I heard whining around the side of the house. I called for Guinness and I heard a clamor over the fence. Guinness bounded up grinning like a dog, covered in mud. I squealed with relief, almost in tears. He jumped inside and around all over the white carpet, mud practically flinging, and I was never so glad that the goddamn carpet was getting dirty.