This story is dedicated to people of all races, colors, creeds, and beliefs; and to Jerry Garcia, Mickey Hart, Bill Kreutzman, Phil Lesh, Brent Mydland, Bob Weir, and all Deadheads wherever you may be. “Ain’t no time to hate….barely time to wait”…..
Spot hung out with his two “Top Dawgs”, A Chow named Carlos, and a Black Lab Boggs. Carlos was born, South of The Border; Boggs was Cajun, from The French Quarter.
The 3 of them met, 4 years ago, in a Nevada Desert, to watch Burning Man Glow. Spot in a tie-dye, Carlos, bandanas, Boggs doing backflips while eating Bananas!
They frolicked and laughed, as only Dogs Can, and spent their nights sleepless, discussing their problems with Man.
“I never stopped to wonder in thought, ‘bout the roots of my Dad, or why I’m called Spot. Some call me Black, Black with White dots; some call me White, White with Black spots. Why all the worry? Why the despair? I’m just a Dog; why should I care?”
The party was over, but the 3 Dogs decided: “We’ll stick together; and stay undivided”. First they went West, to see the Pacific; they camped on Dog Beach- San Diego, specific.
Things were terrific, then they got hard; as soon as they got there, Carlos was ordered: “Green Card!”
“Just ‘cause I speak, fluent in Spanish, why have an attitude? Quit acting Manish”.
The Immigration Man, was not too enthused; “Why don’t you leave town, or I’ll say you abused”.
Leave town they did, to see the Atlantic; Savannah was cool, until things went frantic.
“Hey Black Dog, you’re not to be here; time to head out; last chance or Fear”.
Boggs spoke Cajun, in words not too clear, bared his sharp teeth, and left with a sneer.
“Why does Man call us best friend? They treat us like dirt, up ‘till the end; they make us fetch papers, they send us to school; we’re merely their slaves, simply under their rule.”
Spot was disgusted, and then spoke aloud: “We’ll find a place to call home, a place to be proud. We’ll find a land, a land with no people, a Dog Sanctuary, a church with no steeple.”
That’s what they decided, for Spot was correct; “There must be such a land, no Man Disrespect.” Boggs on a roll, speaking half-Cajun: “A place with no worries and no Man is a ragin’. I’m tired of being stuck in the middle; we’re Dogs after all-does that mean second fiddle?”
They ventured across the Canyon’s Divide, saw the Great Lakes, and plenty aside. Sometimes it seemed they were being encircled; perhaps they were-yet none of them quirkled.
They headed North, and soon crossed the Border; Canada seemed fine, until the Magistrates Order.
“You three must leave, it’s time to go; back to The States, the ones down below”.
“No matter what, we all stick together; through good or bad, regardless the weather.” Boggs made that claim; his accent like glue, which kept them together, it’s nothing but true.
They ventured far, both near and wide; through smogged city streets, and vast countryside. The journey they took one step at a time, 3 Dogs together, with no thought of crime.
First they went over, and then they went under, three dog best friends, who’d laugh when they’d blunder.
“Look at us all; dirty and matted; all that has stopped is the people who chatted”.
Carlos said that, and a light-bulb appeared; “You’ve found the answer”, and Spot and Boggs cheered.
“If we’re just ourselves, no human wants us; it’s when we conform, the Humans just haunt us!”
The three kept on going, a mission from Dogwash, the spirit they prayed to, for religion was Hogwash.
They kept on going, no stopping now; their fate was sealed, no matter how. With valleys low, and mountains high, the surf and shore they breathed a sigh..this place is our destination. Let’s call it ours, Dalmatian Nation!!”