Americans: the Mutts of the World?

BC with Gourd Crown

I need to write about BC.  After all, she’s the reason, or at least the inspiration, for my current road trek.  Discovered in a Klamath Falls animal rescue two years ago, the paperwork claimed she was a Bearded Collie, 9 months old, with a chip inserted, the implication being she must be a purebred.  Who chips a mutt?

Sea Czar the Salty Dog

Mutt, Heinz-Variety or Sato, mixed breeds make the best dogs, especially the rescues…they’re so grateful.  Nothing against purebreds; tri-color collie, Czar, taught me how to be a good Mom.  I put hats on him, too.

Buttercup, her given name, had to go.  I’ve never been good at naming dogs and I was relieved I wasn’t responsible for this one, except she didn’t respond to the name so I guessed she didn’t like it either. I tried B-cup, but it was too embarrassing.  BC was the only thing which stopped her in her tracks.  However, when I tell people I think she’s part Bearded and/or Border Collies, I can clearly read the thought-bubbles over their heads,

“BC; Bearded Collie; duh.”

Even an old gal-pal, after reading my initial blog posts, wrote she was glad to read it stood for Buttercup.  I guess, once again, things work out the way they should because my initial blog-names were already taken.

The puppy fur never turned into the full Beardie mane, and she's got the markings and herding instincts of a Border.  But after her recent grooming, the woman said that since I didn’t know for certain, she would swear BC is a Tibetan terrier, or partly.  I’d never heard of the breed but looked it up and sure enough, Tibetan mixes look just like her. 

It makes sense, if that’s what she is. Owners and pets resembling one another. The past two years I’ve been helped along by the PBS special, The Buddha, narrated by Richard Gere.  I’m not particularly a religious person but I believe in the basics, and each time I watch this 3-part series, I get something new out of it.  I especially love, “There is no knowledge won without sacrifice.  In order to gain anything you must first lose everything,” (poet Jane Hirshfield). Richard Gere’s not bad to listen to, either.

If I was interested enough, the groomer continued, I could purchase a sample DNA test kit in a local mega-store and find out within a month.  I couldn’t respond; I’d no idea such a thing existed.  Do they make that for people?  No, thanks, I’d rather guess.  Besides, all I wanted was a dog which looked like it jumped out of a Disney movie, and that’s what I got.

Considering the upcoming Olympic games, I can’t help wondering if Americans are perceived as the Mutts of the World.  My own known lineage includes Brits, Poles, New Zealanders and une petit French, I’m told.  Sharing a cab from the company Christmas party years ago, with two equally intoxicated co-workers, we discussed Tom R's award of the year, which included a trip anywhere he wanted to go.  He checked with a travel agent, and at the time Tahiti was the most costly.

Circa 1920's

"My Grandfather was an Aborigine," I declared as I stumbled out onto the the steps of Penn Station.  The cab driver, a black man, snapped his head around like the Exorcist.

My co-workers, holding me up as we staggered towards our train platforms, asked if that was really true?  Oh, I meant he was an Aussie.

Too bad the cab driver didn't hear that part.

My Mother will surely disown me for this photo but really, this is how we all get mixed up. (Note:  this is the same fellow who sits on a camel in another posting.  To me, he looked happier on the camel.)  Half of the family has decidedly darker characteristics, but I've decided NOT to post another photo as additional proof.  

One of my dark-skinned relations likes to tell the story of how, in the early '60's, he was stopped in a public pool in southern California while escorting his two young nieces (my cousins).

"Hey," an absolute practical jokester, he turned on his White Slaver persona, "I'll sell 'em to you!"  He wouldn't dare make that joke nowadays without being hauled off, no matter how innocuous.

When the security man (aka Lifeguard) arrived, a surprised Uncle Julian had to pull down his swim trunks to reveal his natural color which, while dark, was not dark enough to warrant further harassment.  Our relations may not claim the distinction of being Daughters of the American Revolution or Teddy's Rough Riders, but those who passed through Ellis Island do seem to be more familiar with, and tolerant of, ethnic and religious diversity.

It was a long boat ride.

I'm proud to be a descendant of theirs.  My Sister's progeny has Scots and Germans thrown in; my nephews are more identifiable by their hair and eye color than skin tone.  I wonder how long it will be before we stop having to check those little boxes, categories of which grow but won't ever include my own Heinz 57. Personally, I find having to select "White" insulting.

Whether or not you’ve read the book (I didn’t), both productions of The Lathe of Heaven, a science fiction story by Ursula K. Le Guin, are terrific.  The main character has dreams which alter reality.  Can't trust my memory 100%, but I recall part of the original PBS version whereby everyone was grey; and after experiencing race riots in high school, the socialist in me thought that would be the perfect society.

Today I’d have to opt for my favorite palette, peach and tangerine.