mean streets of Tijuana have at last dispatched something other than
media reports of killings, kidnappings and cartels. The bloody, dusty,
bullet-ridden streets of Tijuana have watched Cejas emigrate, even
without proper papers. You may be wondering, Who is this Cejas of
whom she writes? Is he a Mexican hero? Is he a famous actor using
another name? Is he an undercover foreign agent? Or, since the word
"cejas" means "eyebrows" in English, might it be a code name for Andy
Rooney whose eyebrows enter a room five minutes before he does?
It is none of the above.
Neither is Cejas a gang member out to visit relatives in the U.S.,
a mule for the drug guys or a people-smuggling coyote. However, like
real mules and coyotes, he does have four legs. Cejas is a little
story is much like anybody else's, filled with both sad and joyous
times, and a lot of luckhe didn't get out of Tijuana by himself.
He had the help of many, including angels, perhaps Santo Toribio Romo
Gonz·lez, Mexico's ghostly benefactor of "illegal aliens," and a quick-witted
|Every three months,
missionary trucks filled with toys, blankets, and food, make their
way from the U.S. to poor colonies of Tijuana, as they did last December
when they caravanned to La Colonia El Mont Bonito. Part of their mission
is to bring food, bowls, and water for the unfortunate dogs of the
area. One little fellow caught the eye of Grandmother Reyna, a missionary,
who recalls, "He was 'very matted, dirty, and smelled awful.'" Then
their eyes met, she saw his "sad and tender look" and made a decision
to bring him back with the church group even though other members
wondered why she would take a street dog in such bad condition. And
they were rightly concerned about real trouble crossing the border.
What would the border guards do? Would the missionaries be arrested?
Would Cejas go to doggie detention? After all, he didn’t have the
required records of inoculation, no license, and he looked pretty
bad. But Grandmother Reyna decided to rescue him, despite the danger.
She stayed calm during the 2-hour wait to cross the border. When their
van, driven by her granddaughter, got to first place in line, the
emigration officer asked "What are you bringing back from Mexico?"
They replied, "Nothing." Then the officer peeked in the back window
and spied Cejas asleep. "Whose dog is that?" the officer asked. Granddaughter
replied, "My Gandmama's." The officer grew suspicious and asked Grandmother
Reyna what the dog's breed was. "Terrier," she said, using an innocent
expression. “What is the dog’s name?” asked the officer. Now a little
scared of the real trouble she could get into, her mind went blank.
She could not remember the little dog's name, so she boldly gave him
the first name that came entered her head, "JoJo," and succeeded in
fooling the officer. I would not want to play poker with Grandmother
in the U.S.A., Grandmother Reyna took the little dog to the veterinarian,
who treated Cejas's skin problems, bathed him, extracted many bad
teeth, and neutered him. Ouch! It must have seemed like a strange
welcome to a new land, but Cejas proved himself a trouper and just
shouted “°Ole! Now can I play?”
On March 1st, Cejas came to live with us in California where I am
presently working. Since his upper lip snags on one of his few remaining
front teeth and it looks like Elvis Presley’s famous sneer, I wanted
to rename him Elvis. But Cejas is a tough little guy with street smarts
galore and he simply refused to answer to that name. He insists on
the name he arrived with, and prefers burritos to dog food. He is
not yet bilingual. However, we made a deal: in exchange for keeping
his name, he comes when called, does not enter the house without permission,
and tolerates a leash when we take our daily walk in the forest. He’s
hooked on Cesar Millan’s “Dog Whisperer” show, and looks away from
the TV screen only during commercials.
Cejas, our little illegal, escaped the mean streets of TJ and fearlessly
crossed the border to a new life. Moral of this story: Be nice to
all grandmothers. You never know when she can get you out of a bad
"A Balloon In Cactus" March
12 , 2009 column