Dog Day Afternoon –

Yesterday afternoon I was biking to the YMCA at around 4 PM. Even though it had been another beautiful day—sunny skies and 80 degrees—I had not been outside all afternoon. Gabe was sick and we were having what his dad likes to call a layover day. But by 4:00 PM, after watching six consecutive episodes of the HBO show “The Wire,” I had hit my TV saturation point and needed to get my blood pumping.

Though there are lots of beautiful trails and roads outside the city, there is nowhere pleasant to walk or bike within Tucson - big streets full of strip malls surrounded by small dead-ends with no sidewalks and depressing houses and trailers - so the gym was my only option. I was riding along Grant Road, one of several enormous thoroughfares, when I nearly hit a lean young rottweiler skittishly running in the bike lane. My bike scared him and he darted into the traffic, nearly causing an accident as several cars screeched to a halt and then honked at him to be on his way. I saw some women calling to him from a parking lot so I decided to bike ahead and grab him for them.

The dog ran to a 24-hour taco stand and looked like he was about to place an order. It became clear that those people I had seen were not his people. He left the taco stand and darted down a side street. A woman in a truck pulled up next to him. “Is that your dog?” I asked.

“No, is it yours?”

“Nope.”

We proceeded to chase the dog: by foot, by bike, in her vehicle, for an hour. He darted through the rush hour traffic of Grant Road at least three times, trying to run away from us. We got a tortilla from a second taco stand and lured him over. He returned to Los Betos, his favorite Mexican restaurant, and at one point we cornered him in a driveway, and for the first time he growled at us. Someone gave us his leftover rice and beans and we tried to catch up with the dog. By this point he had returned to a smaller side street, and the woman turned to me and said she was done. If I wanted to continue the chase I could, but she was done being a Good Samaritan. She had already given a ride to someone who had run out of gas and that was her good deed for the day. Plus, she had just seen a news story on rabies, “the world’s deadliest virus,” and didn’t want to chance getting bitten.

“He just doesn’t want to get caught,” she rationalized. Besides, she had already rescued three dogs this year, and the humane society charged $25 for every dog you drop off. Though she didn’t want to see him end up on Grant Road again, she was leaving. I was on my own.
I was ready to call it a day as well, happy that at least he was running along a side street and not in the heavy traffic, when Gabe called. “Where on Grant are you?” he asked. He had hopped in the car with a loaf of bread and a small rope and was ready to catch this dog. We decided that his name was Rex. Rex didn’t like Gabe’s car and took off into an alley as soon as he heard the engine. We followed him through the alley and got him onto another side street. He liked the cinnamon bread much better than the plain tortilla! Gabe lured him close and asked me to go back to the car to get the rope.

The rope was a joke, but on the way back I saw a man working in his yard with a dog. I asked if we could borrow his leash. His wife, a very sweet schoolteacher with a lot of patience and a gentle manner, came out a few minutes later with a red leash. We were sitting on the curb by her neighbor’s driveway. Rex had tired of the bread at this point but really liked the new treats the neighbor had donated. The woman, whose name we never learned, had him eating out of her hands. She was able to see that the collar had proof of a rabies vaccine but no phone number on it. Every time she made a slight move to grab him he leaped away. We were constantly starting from scratch: we’d lure him over and feed him and then a car would pass and he’d dart away. I have never seen such a skittish big dog. He was probably only a year old and didn’t seem upset by the neighborhood dogs stuck behind their fences, who would bark viciously at him each time he explored a new front yard. Rex never barked back and was really sweet, though he was clearly hungry and had protruding ribs.

The teacher’s husband, a gruff and burly man, was getting frustrated. “Just grab the damned dog!” he shouted at us several times. To demonstrate his no-nonsense approach to canine obedience, he let out another bellow. “Hey dog, get over here!” Rex, understandably, stayed away.

The teacher begged him to stop and keep his distance. Rex was clearly scared of men. She asked her husband to go inside but he said he was not leaving. After a while she went to get reinforcements, a bag of beef jerky and a whole bag of treats. The beef jerky were long and chewy and she hoped that it would take Rex a little longer to eat them, giving us time to grab his collar. She assured her husband that we were making progress and begged him to be patient. But as much as Rex liked our treats he would not let us touch him. He ate right out of my hands and would let me touch his chin, but make a move for his head and forget it - he was gone!

I apologized to the woman for pulling her into this drama and for causing trouble with her husband. She assured me that this was no trouble, “I do this kind of thing all the time. In the neighborhood where I work there are tons of stray dogs. A lot of my students have dogs that they can’t afford to register with the city so if their dogs run away they don’t ever see them again. I used to bring dogs to the humane society all the time but now they’ve started charging for it.”

Tucson does not seem to be a good place for dogs. Last week Gabe and I were driving on Interstate 19 and saw a dog wandering around the median. We exited but by the time we got back he was gone. Most unwanted dogs are left in the desert to die. Even urban dogs must learn how to navigate cacti and desert heat from a young age.

“If it weren’t for Rex here I never would have gotten to appreciate this sunset,” the teacher thanked me, “I would hope someone would do this if our dog ran away.”

I have never lived anywhere that has as many consistently beautiful sunsets as Tucson; every night the sky turns amazing shades of pink and the mountains are aglow. I’ve also never lived in a city that gets as dark, as profoundly black as Tucson does at night. It feels even darker than the countryside because the stars are not as bright. In order to protect the Arizona sky and because there is a major observatory nearby, Tucson has one of the strictest outdoor lighting codes in the country.

Streetlights do not use florescent bulbs and are generally 40% dimmer than those in most cities. On top of that the city only has enough money to light the major streets leaving neighborhood associations responsible for funding their own streetlights. As a result most of the city is pitch black by 6:00 PM. So when the sun sets in Tucson, the sun really sets. This is especially noticeable in this season of light, not only are there no Chanukias around there are virtually no Christmas lights or trees. It’s ironic that this is one of the brightest and darkest Decembers of my life.

It was quickly getting dark, the husband was getting grumpier, and Rex was getting full. The husband must have gone inside for a second because he suddenly had a flashlight that his wife begged him not to shine on us. “What are you going to do with that dog if you catch him?” he growled at his wife.

“You’re not bringing him in the house! Don’t put the leash on him! I don’t want you putting the leash on him.”

“Why don’t you go inside honey?”

“I am not going in without you!”

“Then you’ll have to wait a little longer.”

Then out of nowhere this big man looks at us as if his wife is not there and says: “She had a stroke 2 weeks ago. She is not well. Don’t let her touch that dog. I don’t want her to fall down!”

I did not know what to say. She seemed completely with it and competent; she did not look frail or confused. So Gabe and I said nothing and watched as the teacher calmly handed Rex more treats. When Rex took off again she proudly welcomed us to Tucson, thanked us for our effort, and slowly walked home with her husband.

Dejected Gabe and I headed back to the car, or so we thought. When we stepped out of the alley there was no car but there was a Rex. Gabe took it as a sign and ran down the right alley to get the car while I stayed on the pitch-black street with poor Rexy. A woman walking her dog yelled at me to grab mine, I told her that I’d been trying to grab him for over 3 hours. She ran home, scared of a dog fight and told me that the humane society was closed and to watch out because she was bitten last year when she tried to rescue a stray. Has everyone in Tucson rescued a dog at some point?

Gabe put his brights on and we tried one last time to lure Rex into the car. But it was so dark and so apparent, as the first woman told me, that he did not want to be caught. We put my bike in the car and went home dogless and cold to light the Chanukah candles.

The following are some requisite Tucson sunset photos along with a few desert shots, couldn't resist:

Thanksgiving in the Grand Canyon

"I believe in evolution. But I also believe, when I hike the Grand Canyon and see it at sunset, that the hand of God is there also." - John McCain

"I believe in evolution. When I recently hiked the Grand Canyon at sunset, it was really photogenic."- Gabriel Thompson

We decided to go to the Grand Canyon for Thanksgiving (and, more importantly, to celebrate Daniella’s 31st birthday). We arrived without making reservations. A lot of people seem to make reservations weeks or months in advance, and when we arrived we were told that there weren’t any available campsites at the bottom of the Canyon. So we camped out at the rim of the canyon for two nights—doing nice hikes during the day and freezing each evening (low temps in the 20’s)—before hiking into the Canyon and camping two nights. On Thanksgiving we hiked 7 miles down to the Colorado River and spent the evening next to a stream. Then we hiked up halfway and spent the night at the Indian Gardens campground. Then we hiked up.

The trip was fun. And though we’re tempted to give people a thorough run-down of our activities, we’re too young to be that relative in the living room dimming the lights and ruining everyone’s pleasant evening by rambling on for three hours about recent travels, complete with endless slides. So instead, we’re simply posted some photos below, with captions.

Simpsons Clouds (above)

The Grand Canyon is a bit ridiculous to photograph, because everything looks incredible. Eventually one just has to put the camera away or the whole trip will be one big blur behind a digital piece of equipment. Here is a shot along a hike about midway down the Canyon. While we were there, many of the clouds looked like they were straight out of the Simpsons intro.



















Daniella Along South Kaibab Trail
For some reason Daniella really brings out the surreal nature of the place; lots of these shots seem like they've been through the Photoshop ringer. Here she is somewhere near the top, heading down the South Kaibab Trail.




















Kaibab Trail #2
Again along the South Kaibab Trail. Daniella had a habit of walking up to the end of whatever ridge we were on and staring, apparently in deep thought.




















Rim Hike
This is at the top, on our first day at the Canyon during a six-mile hike along the rim. This is also the exact day Daniella turned 31. On this day she was also carded at a local store when purchasing matches. Again, she's pretty close to the edge.





















Grand Canyon Wildlife
This is a resting elk. We decided to take a nearby campground on the rim to be near him. At first it was exciting to be near the beast and snapping photographs, but he didn't get spooked at all, which took some of the drama out of the experience. We eventually forgot about each other.



















Gabriel as Trip Leader
Gabriel trudging along, getting closer now to the Colorado River. One of the coolest things about hiking the Grand Canyon is that your pants and shoes end up changing colors along the path. In a short period the dust can change from red to orange to white. Here his jeans and shoes are peachy.

Mighty Colorado

Now almost to the bottom. This is the Colorado. We crossed the pedestrian/mule bridge below and walked another half mile to the campground. Following a ranger's advice, we didn't take a tent, which lightened our load and made for some nice sleeping under a full moon.

If we haven't bored you yet, you can check out the rest of our photos (no captions) here.

Along the Migrant Trail

*Programming note: This blog is now a joint publishing venture between Daniella Ponet and Gabriel Thompson, which will still adhere to the original promises set forth in the Blog Manifesto.

Words below by Daniella, followed by short video (Daniella & Gabriel) and some photos (Gabriel).

Wednesday November 14, 2007, 5:40 AM

It is chilly when we pull up to the drive through espresso place near our apartment and get caffeinated. By 6:00 AM we are at the church and hopping into the Samaritan SUV with our fearless guide, Kathy. She has been a Samaritan for over a year and spends all her free time when she is not working as a hospice nurse searching for migrants crossing the border who may need assistance. We drive for about forty-five minutes, watching the sun rise slowly over the mountains, before pulling onto a dirt road and making our first stop. We hike on a well-used path under barbed wire fence and towards the Cerro Colorado mountain range.

I am not prepared for the amount of garbage left on the trail. There is everything from water bottles and cans of beans to empty backpacks, old shoes, and clothes to toothbrushes and combs strewn about. People leave in a hurry. Black garbage bags, I learn, are used by migrants to cover themselves so that the helicopters can’t spot them on their journey - not to collect the mounds of trash. Some of the clothes are thrown about in such a haphazard way that I can only imagine the level of heat stroke and disorientation that must have led to stripping those layers.

One of the people in our group calls out repeatedly in broken Spanish that we are church friends and have food, water, and medical supplies - but no one comes out. Kathy found someone recently who had fallen into a cactus. His needle-filled knee was so infected that he could no longer walk. He had not had any water in two days and was quietly waiting to be found. The terrain is relentless. It’s beautiful but deadly. The thorns are everywhere, and even on a busy path with fresh prints in bright daylight I am getting pricked. Most of the migrants walk during the dead of night and off the paths, deep in the maze of mesquite and prickly pears. I cannot even imagine what their feet must look like by the end. We see a pair of black shoes that were clearly a girls’ or a woman’s with tiny feet, the soles were completely bent in half.

We drive by the remains of an ancient adobe hut built when the land was still part of Mexico. We take roads that almost no one drives on in hopes of spotting an injured or dehydrated wanderer. We find no one. We follow the mountains until we get on the busier gravel road and encounter la migra. Border Patrol are out in force today: on horses, in vans, in buses. They caught a group of migrants further north. They look smug. Still, we see no crossers. We see a group of Minutemen with big American flags, horses and ATV’s ready to hunt down “illegals.” We see hunters looking for deer, or maybe people - but still no crossers. We see an abandoned ranch where hundreds of migrants have camped out and signed their names and dates of crossing, a right of passage of sorts.

By 12:00 PM it is 85 degrees but feels more like 90 with the intense desert sun. On our way back we stop along a dirt road that runs next to a golf course and gated retirement community. Migrants are literally walking in people’s backyards. Here we find a huge group of backpacks that cannot be more than a few days old. There are three family photographs stuck together on the ground - one of 2 girls dressed up probably at a graduation, one of a father and son laughing in the kitchen and one of the whole family. The photos make me cry. All day I have felt like we were walking through a cemetery of sorts. I know most crossers make it, we know so many people who have shared their harrowing crossing tales with us. But there are so many people who don’t make it. Being out here reminds me that none of us really know the true number of deaths and deportations that take place every day. Gabe found a receipt from the “Super Coyote,” where a migrant had bought beans and mayo and other random food items before he/she left. Was that the last thing that person ever bought?

It’s hard not to be dramatic in the terrain, with the sun beating down and the plants attacking. With people chasing people and others chasing their tracks for signs of life or death. I keep thinking of all the family photos Jews took with them to the death camps - the family photos that no one from the family ever saw again. Photos lost to death, or in this case to the desert.

We see a Spiderman tee-shirt burnt by the sun but still identifiable. We see a child’s backpack with a little baby toothbrush in it. More and more women and children are crossing than ever before. We search each bag for ID’s or any other items that might reveal a person’s identity.

I keep seeing the shoes from the Holocaust museum in Israel, all the shoes of people who never walked again, piles and piles of shoes. I’d like to believe that the shoes we see today were shed for new ones but it feels like we are wandering in a ghost town, or a hastily abandoned village. We are in the calm after the storm. The only migrants we saw today were sitting in the Wackenhut bus waiting to be deported – hoping to try again.



PHOTOS & WORDS BELOW BY GABRIEL

CACTUS

This is a cholla cactus. While Daniella and the two Samaritans searched for migrants in distress, I steathily tracked a rabbit, receiving a number of cholla needles in my left leg during the pursuit. Try to imagine what it feels like to have cactus needles stuck in your leg, and that's exactly what it was like.

















A-TEAM VAN
There were a number of abandoned vehicles in the desert. This one has been peppered with bullets. One possibility is that the van's engine died, and bored hunters have been using it for target practice. Another scenario could have involved dueling drug lords, a high-speed chase and lengthy firefight, culminating in a massive explosion.

RECEIPT

At 5:42 PM on November 1, 2007, an individual in the Mexican city of Sasabe purchased a number of items from El Super Coyote grocery store, located on Hidalgo and 6th Avenue. A cashier named Angelica rung up the purchases, which included a jalapeno pepper, bread, bologna, beans, mayonnaise, one red apple, paper towels, Gatorade, and a bag of "Sabritas Doritos." The grand total came to 138.80 pesos--about $14. I'm not sure what happened to this person during the next several days, but I do know that less than two weeks after visiting El Super Coyote, he/she was camped under a bunch of mesquite trees with a large group of undocumented immigrants, about 20 miles north of the US-Mexico border. At some point a vehicle driven by a real-life super coyote pulled up. The group dropped everything they had--including this tattered receipt--and jumped in. Though they could have still hit a snag in the form of the roving Border Patrol checkpoints along I-19, I like to think that the migrants have already arrived in the apartments of their brothers and sisters and aunts and uncles, telling tall tales of how the lone superpower of the world was outsmarted.

CAP

I picked this dusty cap up along one path, advertising Mexico's anti-poverty program, Oportunidades, which pays poor families when their kids go to school and visit the clinic. Of course, as the location of the cap attests, Oportunidades isn't nearly as successful as that other anti-poverty iniative, which needs no government funding.

Mr. Thompson's Blog Manifesto

I relocated to Tucson last week.

The plan was to stay here for several months and hang around the reservation of the Tohono O'odham, an Indian tribe just southwest of here. I recently wrote an article to be published soon in The Nation magazine about an incredible organization on the reservation, TOCA (Tohono O'odham Community Action). Among many challenges that the tribe faces is the highest type 2 diabetic rate ever recorded in human history--greater than 50%. The reasons for this are many, including genes, the policy of the Bureau of Indian Affiairs, and grinding poverty. But mostly it is due to the fact that the tribe no longer eats their traditional desert staples, most importantly the tepary bean. The bean naturally regulated the body's blood sugar level and did a bunch of other great stuff. So TOCA has taken over a large farm and is growing traditional foods, and working to reintroduce them into the community. There's a lot more to the story, of course, and I'll post the article here as soon as it is published.

So my plan was to hang around the reservation and maybe try to eventually write a book about the tribe. My ideas were incredibly vague--as they usually are--but the murky plan has changed. I recently found out that a quickly-written book proposal had been accepted, and so now I'm basically just hanging around Tucson with my girlfriend for 6 weeks until I begin work on the book. Since I don't have any current writing assignments, and need a little extra motivation to actually put any words to paper, I decided to create this blog. I'm not a professional blogger, and don't expect to ever blog again (famous last words...). In fact, my grandpa Ralph once asked me if I would ever write a "blob," which is how I have thought about these weird little electronic creatures ever since. Now, of course, I must eat my words, and will be updating this weird little creature until sometime in December 2007, after which it will dissapear into what must be a massive graveyard of no-longer-updated blogs.

Here are my promises for the blog:

1. It will end soon.
2. It will contain a number of gramatically incorrect sentences, and a fair number of misspellings.
3. I will occassionaly use "then" when I mean "than". And vice versa.
4. I will post something new about once a week.
5. I will write about little things that I notice in Tucson.
6. I will never earn money from my blog. I have been advised that one can "Let your blogging pay off with relevant ads from Google AdSense." I have no idea what someone would advertise on a blog called "6 weeks in Tucson" and don't care to find out. My six loyal readers don't need anything new.

There, I've now finished my first blog posting. It took me about 18 minutes. My little observation about life in Tucson for this week is that it is pretty damn hot. Though not hotter then Yuma. Check back soon for another insight.