Ancestor Approved

by Cynthia L. Smith

  3. Mrs. Cruz’s back porch on Sunday afternoons. While it was true that Ozzie would never wear a leash and had no human he called master, he was very fond of Mrs. Cruz. She was by nature a kind and generous woman and the best human Ozzie knew. She had raised three children and many more grandchildren in the little adobe house on the southern edge of the Pueblo of Ohkay Owingeh in New Mexico, the place Ozzie called home. Mrs. Cruz’s house had passed down through her family for generations. It was filled with a lot of pride and laughter. It was also occasionally filled with fried chicken. And Mrs. Cruz, never one to waste, would often give any leftover fried chicken she had to Ozzie, along with any other scraps of tamales, refritos, pastelitos, and calabacitas, if he showed up on Sundays just after the children and grandchildren had been stuffed full of Sunday lunch and piled into their cars and trucks to head back to their own homes. He and Mrs. Cruz would sit together on the back porch watching the setting sun as she picked the bones out of the chicken and fed him the meat by hand. It was, in a word, heaven.

  So it was quite worrisome to Ozzie when, from his perch on the back patio just outside the kitchen screen door, he overheard Mrs. Cruz talking to her eldest grandson, Marino, about having to give up the house. They were sitting at the kitchen table enjoying a late cup of coffee and eating the last of the prune pastelitos. “Maybe it’s time I pass it to your father,” Mrs. Cruz said, sadness tingeing her voice.

  “No, Grandma,” Marino said, distressed. “This is your home. Dad would say so, too. It wouldn’t be the same if you weren’t here.”

  “But this house needs so much work,” Mrs. Cruz said with a heavy sigh. “The roof leaks, the foundation needs fixing, and I need to have someone take a look at the well. I think it’s going to run dry soon.”

  “I can help fix things around the house,” Marino said. He took a sip of his piñon-flavored coffee. He was a nice grandson and Mrs. Cruz’s favorite. He was short and wide, only a few inches taller than his grandmother, with a thick thatch of black hair and mischievous brown eyes. Ozzie knew he was always quick to offer someone a ride to town in his old truck or to haul wood for the Elders, and he had never heard an unkind word spoken about the young man.

  “Oh, Marino,” Mrs. Cruz said, “I wish you could. But what I need is a bit of money.” When she spoke, Ozzie could hear tears in her voice. “I don’t even think I can afford my electric bill this month.”

  “I can make some money,” Marino volunteered eagerly. “I make T-shirts. I can sell them and raise enough money so you can keep your house.”

  Marino had a silk-screening T-shirt business, where he made a variety of clever T-shirts that celebrated Native identity and culture. Ozzie couldn’t actually read what they said, but he did remember that at the last summer street fair, he had sat quietly under Marino’s vendor table watching people come up, peruse the T-shirts, laugh, smile, and finally hand over the twenty or thirty bucks to own one for themselves. Marino came home that night with his pockets full of money and bought his grandmother a new stewpot. Mrs. Cruz was so happy she made green chile stew and even sneaked Ozzie a bowl. Ozzie had wolfed it down (pardon the expression) and then sat in the dusty backyard out under the stars, content. Selling T-shirts sounded like a fine idea to help Mrs. Cruz. Ozzie barked a supportive woof! from his side of the screen porch.

  Marino smiled at Ozzie through the wire door, but Mrs. Cruz was shaking her head. “But where would you sell on such short notice? I need the funds for the electricity bill by next Friday.” Next Friday was less than two weeks away. Marino would have to find a place to sell quickly if he was going to help.

  “My friend Eli told me about a powwow that’s happening this weekend in Ann Arbor, Michigan. She already has a vendor license and a booth. I can set up with her.”

  “But it’s all the way in Michigan,” Mrs. Cruz complained, sounding concerned. “Do you really think your old truck will make it from New Mexico?”

  “Ah, don’t worry about me,” Marino said. “Me and that old truck have been everywhere. Maine to San Diego. I’m sure we’ll make it to Ann Arbor.”

  “I don’t know.” Mrs. Marino wrung her wrinkled hands. “I don’t think you should drive alone.”

  Ozzie had no idea where Ann Arbor, Michigan, was, but he knew he wanted to help. He pawed gently at the screen door, letting out a very restrained whine. Mrs. Cruz looked up from the table. “Why are you crying, Ozzie? You’re usually such a good boy.”

  Ozzie was indeed a good boy. But today he was a good boy with an ulterior motive. He whined again, and this time he added the pièce de résistance: puppy-dog eyes.

  Mrs. Cruz’s whole body softened. Her shoulders dropped, her hands settled around the coffee mug she was holding, and a smile spread across her wrinkled face. “Hey, why don’t you take Ozzie?” she suggested.

  Marino looked back over his shoulder. Ozzie gave him the full puppy-dog-eyes effect, and he added a little excited jump to show just how much he wanted to go. Marino looked thoughtful. “Huh,” he said. “I hadn’t thought about it, but maybe.”

  “You told me that he was so well-behaved at the summer street fair,” his grandmother reminded him.

  “He was,” Marino admitted. He leaned close to the screen door. “What do you say, Ozzie? Want to go to Michigan?”

  “Bowwow!” said Ozzie, which sounded a lot like “powwow,” and the Cruzes exchanged a look of surprise.

  “Did he just . . . ?” Marino asked, awed.

  His grandmother grinned and gave Ozzie a thumbs-up. “I think so.”

  “It will take three days to get there, so we’ll leave on Wednesday. Can you be back and ready to go on Wednesday, bright and early?” Marino asked Ozzie. Ozzie usually slept in the doghouse out behind the old gas station, because there were more people coming and going from there and the chances of getting fed were quite high. Of course, Cheetos and beef jerky couldn’t match Mrs. Cruz’s cooking, but he made do. But he had no qualms about giving up his coveted gas station spot for a few days on the road trip.

  Ozzie gave another bark.

  “Well, okay then,” Marino said. “Let’s go to a powwow!”

  The drive to the Ann Arbor powwow was long, but Marino kept it fun by playing all his favorite music on the truck’s old radio, which he had hooked up to his phone. There was one particular song that Ozzie really liked, and each time it came on, he made sure to sing along, his voice matching the high notes in a series of arooooooos and wroooowws.

  Marino laughed. “This is the Northern Cree Singers,” he told Ozzie. “They sing a style called Northern Drum. They’re my favorite, too.”

  Ozzie arooo’d again.

  They stopped for dinner, and Marino fed Ozzie three delicious ninety-nine-cent fast-food burgers. “Don’t get used to it, Ozzie,” he playfully warned his canine companion as Ozzie munched a double meat with cheese, no onions. “This is a special occasion. And besides, our travel money is running low.”

  “Woof,” said Ozzie, appreciative of the burger but worried about what Marino had said about money. If Marino didn’t sell his T-shirts at the powwow, would they even have enough money to get back to Mrs. Cruz’s?

  The pair pulled into Ann Arbor early Saturday morning. Marino checked his GPS for the location of Skyline High School and pointed his old truck in the right direction. Ozzie stuck his head out the window, snapping at the cold wind and smelling a hint of rain in the air. They pulled into the parking lot, and Ozzie could see that it was already busy with vendors bringing in their wares and dancers in bright, colorful regalia. He barked happily. He knew they were there to try to earn money, but the powwow looked like so much fun!

  Marino parked the truck, a look of consternation on his face. “Eli said she’d meet me in the parking lot, but I don’t see her anywhere. I’m going to have to go in and find her,” he told Ozzie. “Do you want to come?”

  What a ridiculous question. Of course Ozzie wanted to come. Before Marino could ask again, Ozzie wiggled out of the open window and lea
ped to the ground. Marino climbed out of the driver’s seat, stretched and yawned, and then headed for the gym, Ozzie on his heels and ready for adventure.

  Ozzie could see the problem immediately. Eli and Marino’s booth was in the very last row in the very farthest corner, about as far away from the main dance floor and the food and drink concessions as possible. The only good thing was that the booth was close to the area designated for health services, and Ozzie had spotted a very friendly-looking girl setting up a table to sell raffle tickets. He would definitely say hello to her later, as she looked good for a pat on the head and perhaps a treat. But right now he was focused on Marino and Eli and their terrible T-shirt-selling spot.

  “What are we going to do?” Eli moaned. “No one’s going to see us way back here.”

  “Don’t be negative, Eli,” Marino said, setting a box of T-shirts on the table. “We’ll just have to think of something.” He scratched his chin. “Maybe we can make a sign with a big red arrow that points people back to our booth.”

  Eli perked up. “That’s not a bad idea.”

  Marino opened the box and started laying out the T-shirts on the table for display. He even hung some on the wall behind them so people could see them from farther away. “And maybe you can walk around and pass out flyers telling people about our booth.”

  “Now that’s a great idea,” Eli said. “There’s only one problem. We don’t have any flyers.”

  Marino braced his hands on his hips. “Hmm. Good point. Well, we’ll think of something. My grandmother needs this money, so I’m not giving up before we even get started.”

  Speaking of getting started, Ozzie could hear the noise picking up near the front of the gym. The deep bass of the drums, the higher, brighter sounds of the accompanying singers, the jingle of bells, and the rhythmic thump of dozens of dancing feet.

  “Woof?” he said to Marino.

  “What’s that? Oh yeah, you can go see what’s going on. We’re going to finish setting up.”

  “And pray someone notices us,” added Eli, looking morose.

  Ozzie pressed his wet nose against Eli’s hand to tell her everything would be okay, and she patted Ozzie’s head in appreciation before he headed out to explore.

  The powwow was a riot of color and noise and happy people. He saw people representing so many different Native nations of all ages and skin tones and traditions. It was very exciting, almost too exciting for a Rez dog who spent most of his time in the wide-open country. But he was getting used to the crowds. If only Marino and Eli had a way to get all these people to notice their booth way back in the corner.

  Ozzie had an idea. Maybe Marino and Eli didn’t have flyers, but they did have a four-legged friend who could be a walking billboard.

  Ozzie ran back to the T-shirt booth, where Marino and Eli sat, faces glum. The T-shirts were still piled in neat stacks on the table, looking like no one had come to buy them yet. “Still no customers,” Marino said, “but I’m sure someone will come soon.”

  A lot of someones would come if Ozzie had anything to say about it! He perused the T-shirts, looking for just the right one, finally settling on a black shirt with white lettering that said Ancestor Approved. He casually pulled it down from the table while the two friends weren’t looking. Using his front paws and teeth, he wiggled his head into the T-shirt. His body followed. His front legs came out of the arm holes. Voilà! Ozzie was wearing a T-shirt. Now he had work to do.

  He started at the admission gate. There were people still milling about, waiting for friends and holding blankets they would lay down later to save their seats. He wound his way through the crowd, making sure they could all see his T-shirt. Finally a young girl wearing bright purple leggings and an oversize pink hoodie noticed him. “Hey, check out that dog in the cool shirt!” she said to the two friends who were standing next to her. “I wonder where he got that?”

  Ozzie paused long enough for the girl’s friends to admire his shirt before he woofed a follow me.

  “I think he wants us to follow him,” the girl’s friend in the black baseball cap said.

  “I think you’re right,” said the pink hoodie girl. “You all want to go see where this dog got his shirt?”

  “Sure!” said the boy in the cap.

  “Why not?” said the other friend, a girl wearing red sneakers.

  And Ozzie had his first potential customers!

  Next, he trotted through the gym over to where the dancers who had just finished dancing were lounging on the bleachers, the girl in the pink hoodie and her friends trailing him. He walked back and forth in front of a jingle dress dancer, who was laughing and leaning in very close to a boy in beautiful green-and-white fancy dance regalia. They didn’t notice him. He would have to think of something else to get their attention. Just then a drum started up, playing a northern-style powwow song. Ozzie recognized the style from the songs Marino had played on the drive to Ann Arbor. It made him want to dance, and he did a little high-stepping to the beat of the drum.

  “Whoa, is that dog dancing?” he heard a voice ask. It was the fancy dancer.

  “How cute!” said the jingle dress girl. “Hey, that’s a pretty great shirt, dancing dog. Where did you get that?”

  “Woof!” said Ozzie, and the two dancers exchanged a look.

  “Might as well,” said the boy, and they both stood up to follow Ozzie.

  More customers! Ozzie pranced toward the concessions, the girl in the pink hoodie, the boy with the black cap, their friend in the red sneakers, the jingle dress dancer, and the fancy dancer all following.

  The concessions area smelled wonderful. Ozzie’s mouth watered as he smelled fry bread and corn soup and Navajo tacos and hot dogs with lots of ketchup and mustard. But he was on a mission and refused to be distracted. He spotted a long line of people and strolled past slowly enough for everyone to get a chance to read his shirt. Sure enough, people started talking about the funny dog with the cool T-shirt, and when a few people moved out of the line to ask where he had gotten such a great shirt, he knew they would follow him. And follow him they did. So that when he came back to Marino and Eli’s booth moments later, he was leading a parade.

  Eli noticed him first. She looked up from a comic book she was reading, her eyes going wide.

  “Uh, Marino . . . ?”

  Marino lifted his chin and his jaw dropped. He stood up. “What in the world, Ozzie? Where did you find all these people? Wait . . . are you wearing a shirt?”

  Ozzie woofed happily and high-stepped up to the table where the T-shirts were displayed. Soon the crowd was so big and so busy that he had to squeeze under the table to get some relief. He could hear Marino and Eli explaining their shirts and unpacking the sizes people requested, and most importantly, he heard people say, “I’ll take one!” and once he heard a woman say, “I’ll take four!” And Ozzie figured he’d helped out pretty good.

  The powwow went on for another day, and Ozzie made sure to make his rounds and tell people about Marino’s booth again, this time with a T-shirt that said Rez Dawg, which he was pretty sure Marino had made with Ozzie in mind.

  This time, by the end of the day, Marino and Eli were sold out.

  “We couldn’t have done it without you, Ozzie!” Eli exclaimed, giving Ozzie a hug around the neck.

  “You’re the greatest!” Marino said. “Give me a high five!” Ozzie knew this trick and lifted a paw to slap against Marino’s open palm.

  “Goodbye, Ozzie,” Eli said. “You were the hit of the powwow. You and Marino have to come back next year!”

  “Definitely,” Marino assured her, and Ozzie barked his agreement. Marino bent down to rub Ozzie’s ears. “Okay, Ozzie, time to pack up and get back to Ohkay Owingeh and Grandma’s house.”

  And so they did.

  The drive took three days, and once again Ozzie feasted on cheap cheeseburgers and sang along to Marino’s music. (Northern Drum was his new favorite.)

  They pulled into Mrs. Cruz’s driveway late Wed
nesday evening as the sun was setting across the distant mountains. Ozzie hopped out first. The air smelled like fried chicken and fresh bread, and as much as Ozzie had enjoyed his trip, he was happy to be home.

  Home! Ozzie had always thought himself a free-range dog with no particular home. But seeing Mrs. Cruz’s eyes light up as she hugged Marino and watching as tears ran freely down her cheeks as her grandson handed her an envelope full of enough money to fix the house and get the well checked and pay her light bill, Ozzie had to reconsider.

  Perhaps he was free, and perhaps he would never wear a leash or call anyone master, but Ozzie decided right there and then that he had been wrong. There weren’t just three things that were the absolute best about being a Rez dog, there were four:

  1. No masters.

  2. No leashes.

  3. Mrs. Cruz’s back porch on Sundays, and the occasional Wednesday.

  And . . . 4. coming home.

  Secrets and Surprises

  Traci Sorell

  “Shhh. Come in here and shut the door.”

  I hear Nimaamaa’s lowered voice urging Imbaabaa into their room. My parents whisper a lot these days. I gently rest my ear on their closed door.

  “. . . Powwow . . . Don’t think we can . . . No, no, that won’t work!”

  Can’t what? What won’t work?

  Tomorrow we’re leaving for the powwow. We’re going to drive all the way down to the University of Michigan in Ann Arbor. We’ll celebrate my cousin Wenona’s upcoming law school graduation. They’re going to honor her along with other graduating students at the powwow. She is the oldest grandchild, daughter of Daddy’s oldest brother, Makwa. She’s also the first person from Daddy’s family to go to law school.