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June 8, 2008
Who I Am
Call
me Cesar. Some years ago—never mind how long precisely—having little or no money in my purse, and nothing particular
to interest me anymore in Aruba, I thought I would sail about a little and see other parts of the world...
In truth, my full name is Cesar Cunucu
Cacho. I am an Arubian Cunucu Dog and I landed in Chicago, Illinois, United States
of America, nine years ago because the chief decided it was time for us to leave my homeland of Aruba and go
to America. The first I knew of the plan, was when an Aruban acquaintance of the chief asked what plans were in
store for me. The chief matter-of-factly replied, "Cesar goes with me."
At that point, my fellow Aruban swept me up in his arms, held me aloft toward the heavens and exclaimed, "Look at
you, Cesar Cunucu! Look at you! Born poor and hungry in the cunucu of Aruba and now...? Now, you go to AMERICA!"
My lot was known. I was to be an immigrant! I was not yet one year old.
The chief had concerns that I would hate Chicago with the wind and the cold, but,
the truth is, I don't mind Chicago. In fact, I like it. Being from Aruba, the wind is not a big deal and as for the
cold, I find it an interesting seasonal change - as do most of my kind. Besides, like I have always
told the chief - it doesn't matter where you are, what matters is who you are with.
So, there you have it. We have been with each other ever since I
found him that day, almost ten years ago, along an ancient dirt road cutting through the the dry, windswept cunucu
of Aruba. To be accurate, I will admit it was more a case of him finding me than the other way around, after
all I was just a pup. But, it's not important who found who, what's important is that we found each other.
Much of what is transcribed here is
about the chief and me and our life together - then and now. I do this so that I remember - so that
we both remember.
June 12, 2008
A Quest
The chief and I have initiated an attempt to contact as many other Cunucu dogs from around the world as we possibly
can. I told the chief the whole endeavor seemed quite impossible. I mean, Cunucu dogs
are spread throughout the entire world.
Just for starters, there’s myself, from Noord to Chicago and an old neighbor of ours, a fine Cunucu dog, who
lived at our apartment complex, the Wacamaya Village, with an English girl and an American. They left the island for who knows
where? The adventures of Dushi and her daughter, Laika, the Cunucu cosmonaut, from Sputnik 2 are two of the more incredible
examples. Dushi went from Oranjestad to Moscow and Laika right on up into outer space! It’s
a Cunucu Diaspora of monumental proportions! I’m
afraid it’s a quijotic undertaking to say the least. There is an old cunucu saying that has something to do with not
battling windmills. It’s probably because of the wind in Aruba; there would be no stopping them. But no matter, the
chief says we’ll make it a quest! Quests build character. Quests are romantic. He’ll
be my Don Quixote, I’ll be his Sancho Panza and like Sancho, I’ll likely never be clear why we are doing this.
That’s not to say that I’m ever entirely clear why we do a lot of things.
Some of the things we have done verge on the very edge madness. When we lived in Aruba, we wind surfed every single Sunday.
It was breakfast, stop by the Divi Phoenix job site and then down to Fishermen’s Huts to sail out
into the Caribbean Sea on a skinny piece of fiberglass! Every Sunday! It was insane!
But, that’s the chief.
I
would, of course, try to draw the line on occasion. I could go along with this wind surfing madness as long we sailed
parallel to beach, but if the chief decided to sail out further and away from the safety of dry land, I bailed. I would dive
off that ridiculous board, paddle straight back to the beach, find some shade, dig myself a hole down to the cooler
sand, settle myself in and wait for him to regain his senses. There is a natural limit to what I’m
willing to do, to what any self-respecting Cunucu dog would be willing to do, just for the chief. But I
figure that it’s my sacred duty as a Cunucu dog to demonstrate good sense when the chief seems to have
lost all of his. However, this quest to locate others
from my homeland, that is, Cunucu dogs like me, seems harmless enough and, unlike wind surfing, I am fully “on board”
for the endeavor. So, if you are a Cunucu dog, or know a Cunucu dog or even just know of a
Cunucu dog, drop us an email to cesar@arubiancunucudog.org and we’ll talk! And, if you like, we will post a photo on www.arubiancunucudog,org
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October 15, 2008 CESAR CUNUCU 1997-2008 Today was our last day
together. The cancer had pretty much taken over and although Cesar could still respond to us and walk and even jump into the
back of the car, he refused food since Sunday. Wednesday morning, after a sleepless night for Cesar and all of us, we decided
to take Cesar to his favorite place in Chicago, the Montrose Ave Dog Beach. Cesar had discovered the place soon after our
arrival from Aruba and it always excited him. Eleven years ago, Cesar and I spent our first day together on the beach
in Aruba and, now, our last day together, on the beach in Chicago. After the beach, we rode around in the car for another
hour and then went home and waited together for the vet. The vet arrived in the late afternoon and after prepping him, Cesar
licked my hand, laid down with his head on my foot and passed away. Cesar was the Cunucu Dog of Chicago. He's gone
but he'll always be with us. Forever.
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