The Crow Dog

The Crow Dog

I kind of used my dog, Chooch, for the head of this piece.  He is a handsome motherfucker and if he wasn’t fixed he’d get more pussy than Sinatra.  Whenever I walk him people “ooh” and “aah” over him.  He is a tough little bastard.  Don’t get between him and his food or he’ll fuck you up.  He is vigilant about keeping squirrels out of my yard and the squirrels give him a wide berth.  There was one who insisted on hanging out on the back porch and taunting Chooch, talking all kinds of rodent-smack.  One day, Chooch caught his ass in the middle of the yard and settled his hash for good.  That day a fuzzy-tailed rat got to meet Jesus.  Since then, word has gotten around the squirrel and rodent community that my yard is off limits.  Fuck around with Chooch and he will stack asses.

Mexican Indians are big believers in the Shapeshifters, as in a big black bird landing on the ground and then turning into a black wolf.  Nature is a trickster capable of adapting and changing shape.  The Mestizo make figures that imply many species of birds and animals cobbled together with interchangeable features suggesting magic and that nature itself is the almighty.  Hopi prophesy also speaks to this.

I’ve always loved mythical creatures like harpies and griffons with their lion bodies and bird wings.  When I was a kid, I had a habit of drawing people with bird heads and birds with dog heads, and I was delighted by making these things.  It used to freak out the nuns and they were forever sending me to the school shrink, who was a dandruff laden dip-shit who spit when he talked.  I thought he was a putz and I would make up shit to make him think I was a head-case.  I remember leaving a bag of dog shit on his desk once with jelly beans in the top half so he would reach in and when he grabbed a handful . . .

I hated when they wouldn’t just leave me the fuck alone in Tony-land, I was happy there.

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