Pendelton C. Wallace  Author, Adventurer
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My Name is Lilly

1/31/2018

5 Comments

 
Picture
I meet Mom for the first time
My name is Lilly, I think. I got really confused about my name for a while, but my new Mom and Dad are calling me Lilly all the time now, so I think that’s my new name.

I had a previous home and they called me Riley. I got used to it, but when I moved in with my new Mom and Dad, Dad kept calling me Lilly walking around singing a song called “Darling Lilly.”  

I’m a Harlequin Great Dane. That’s the best kind. I’m a beautiful young girl (I don’t want you to think I’m stuck up, but I’m just being honest here.), white with black markings. Mom says that my markings are perfect for a show dog.

As a matter of fact, I was being groomed to be a show dog. I guess that’s kinda like a little girl being groomed for the beauty contest circuit. I had another life, but it wasn’t much fun. I lived in a kennel most of the time. There were three other male dogs in the house and they were always aggressive. One day, when no one was at home, one of them broke into my kennel and did unimaginable things to me.

#MeToo.

I ended up pregnant, but it didn’t go well. I got really sick and my parents took me to the hospital. The doctor put me to sleep and when I woke up, I had bandages all over my belly. I lost the puppies and had my female parts removed.

It took me a while to recover, then my parents couldn’t keep me anymore. I was moved around to a couple of foster homes and ended up in a Great Dane Rescue place.

One day, a pretty blonde lady came to see me. It didn’t take long for me to win her over. I went home with her, but when we got there, it wasn’t what I expected at all.
Picture
You mean I can't pee on the tree?
My fairy tale dream was to live in a big house with a loving family, a Mom a Dan and 2.3 kids. The house would be three bedrooms with 2.5 baths and have lots and lots of yard with green lawn and trees and squirrels to chase.

That wasn’t what I got.

As we pulled into the parking lot Mom said, “Lilly, this is your new home, Chula Vista Marina.”

This wasn't a big house with 2.3 kids. My new mom put me on a leash and let me through the paved parking lot. We walked a long way and came to a gate the led to a long bridge. We went through the gate and walked all the way to the end of the bridge.  

Mom stopped in front of this big white thing with two trees growing out of it floating in the water. She wanted me to jump up on it.

No way.

It didn’t look safe. It just sat in the water. What if it sank and I was on it? Then I’d be in the water.

She took me to an opening in the fence around the edges of the white thing and wanted me to climb a little ladder to get up. Not me, baby.

She put my front paws on the white thing, but I turned away. After several tries, she was fast enough to get my paws up, then lifted my bottom. I had no choice but to go ahead.

I was on the white thing. It was weird. There were obstacles all over the ground. The ground felt hard, like the pavement in the parking lot.
​

There was a kind of little house on the ground. I’d never seen anything like it before. It had a real roof and windows, but it wasn’t as tall as I was. I could look right over it.

Mom climbed up with me and opened a little door in the house. There was a long ladder leading down into a dark hole.

Mom called Dad and they tried to get me to go down in the hole. Uh-uh. If I was worried about being on top of this thing, no way I was going down into it. What if it sank and I was stuck inside. I couldn’t get out. I’d drown.
PictureIn the pilot house of my new home
Dad put a long step about halfway down the ladder. Mom tried to get me to go down. Not in this lifetime.

Dad came up the ladder. Mom went down and held my leash. I couldn’t turn away. Dad, the evil bastard, lifted my hind end and forced me into the hole. There was nothing I could do. I had to go forward and land on the little platform. My momentum carried me forward and I had to jump down onto the wooden floor. I was entombed in the death trap.

That was my new home. If I went forward, I found a cabin with a couple of beds, but they were so high up, I couldn’t jump up into them. Mom lifted me up a couple of times, and they were plenty comfortable, but then Mom went to another room and left me alone.

I wasn’t buying. She was leaving me there to die when the thing sank. I jumped right down.

In the middle of this floating house, there was a kitchen and table. Dad spent a lot of time sitting at the table doing something with his lap top. I never understood what was so fascinating.

If I went further back, there was another room. It was big and comfortable. There were seats all around it and above and behind the seats there were beds. I loved the big bed in the middle, but the old ogre wouldn’t let me lay there. Whenever they left me alone though, I jumped up in the big bed and took a nice snooze.
​

I learned that this floating house was called a boat. I got familiar with it and found out that the front part was called forward and the back part, aft. The kitchen was called a galley and the bathrooms were called heads. (I never figured that one out.)
​

There was something wrong with Dad’s leg. He hobbled around on the boat and whenever we left the boat, he had a metal stick that he leaned on to walk. It wasn’t much fun. I couldn’t run with him the way I did with Mom.


Picture
You should see the other guy

One day, when Mom was at work, Dad was going to take me outside. He had a plywood platform that he attached to the ladder with clamps. We could both stand on this platform and he helped me climb up to the deck. It wasn’t long before I learned to climb up and down the steps by myself, but this was early on.


I jumped up onto the platform and the old man climbed up too. Then something happened. There was a loud crack and the platform fell free. Dad landed on the deck and smashed his head into the cabinet under the chart table. I fell on top of him.

I thought it was very nice of him to fall first so that I had something soft to land on. It scared me out of my mind. I ran into the aft cabin, jumped up onto the big bed and curled up.

Dad lay on the floor with his head stuck inside the cabinet. I thought I should check on him, so I climbed down and walked to the pilot house. He just lay there. I poked at him with my nose and he groaned, laughed and rubbed my ears.

Eventually, he got up and fixed the platform, so we could go out. He climbed up on it and it didn’t fall, so I decided to give it a try. I gingerly jumped up on the settee next to the ladder and tested my weight on the platform. It held.
​

We climbed out of the boat and went to the park, so I could run and do my business.

We lived on the boat for about three months. I had dog friends on each dock and Mom made play dates for us. I found my favorite places to poop and pee, then my world was turned upside down again. Dad had to have an operation to fix his knee and we needed to move off the boat.
​
 What a nightmare.

5 Comments

Jon's Baja Trip

1/5/2018

5 Comments

 
In keeping with my restaurant stories and family adventures, I'm going to introduce you to my brother Jon. Jon is the middle of three brothers and always the wiseacre. He made my life miserable as a teen, but turned out OK as an adult.
Picture
Sunset in Cabo
My older sister Quita died in a boating accident when I was eleven years old. My brothers, Jon and Jim, were six and five years old. That left me the oldest child.
           
As the oldest child, I always had to blaze the trail. When I wanted to do something I usually had to battle stiff resistance from my parents, by the time Jon and Jim were old enough to do what I had wanted, the precedent had been set and my parents’ resistance worn down. Jon and Jim didn’t even have to put up a fight.

           
I wanted a motorcycle the year I graduated from high school. (Spiderman's alter ego, Peter Parker, had just bought a motorcycle, so I had to have one.) Mama thought it was a terrible idea and we fought a long hard battle before I finally was allowed to buy a bike. The following summer I wanted to take my bike on a road trip. It was (and still is) my dream to visit each city with a major league baseball team and see a game in each ballpark. Mama was adamant. I would not go. I was too young and the trip was too dangerous.

           
In the summer between his junior and senior years in high school, Jon got to take my trip. Well, it wasn’t exactly my trip, but he did take a road trip with his friends without parental supervision. At dinner one Sunday evening he announced “I'm taking a trip to Mexico this summer with two of my friends.” Neither Mama nor Papa put up a struggle. I guess where I went wrong was that I asked if I could. Jon just told my parents that he was going.

           
He and his friends took Mama’s Chevy II Nova station wagon and drove down the coast. They crossed the border at San Diego and went down Baja until they ran out of money and returned home on fumes.
Picture
Typical Baja Landscape
The following summer, we opened the La Posada Mexican Restaurant. Papa and I took on the job of remodeling a free-standing restaurant building to make it look like a Mexican inn. To complete the job, we needed to make a trip to Southern California and Tijuana to buy decorations and equipment that wasn’t available in Eugene. While Jim and Papa remained in Eugene, working on the restaurant, Jon went on the trip with Mama and me to California.
 
My uncle Juan had lived in Tijuana for two years when he was waiting to cross the border into the U.S. He knew his way around town. He was excited about our visit and anxious to show us his Tijuana. He knew how to bargain with merchants and what was a good deal. With his help, we loaded down the Nova wagon with all sorts of lamps, decorations and equipment. It was a long, hard day of shopping. As the afternoon wore on, Juan wanted to take us to his favorite restaurant.

We wound through narrow, twisting streets to an unassuming white building along a high sidewalked street. It was typical Mexican architecture with whitewashed stucco outer walls, tile roof and lots of wrought iron. The restaurant was build around a central open-air courtyard. In the center of the courtyard was a fountain, bougainvilleas and other tropical plants helped to lend an air of cool ease. Wrought iron chandeliers hung from the ceilings and murals were painted on walls depicting Aztec legends. In the courtyard wooden tables and chairs with white table cloths awaited us.

The staff was very gracious. They knew Juan and treated him like a king. During his years waiting to get a visa to enter America, he had washed dishes in this restaurant. Now, twenty years later, he was a well to do American contractor. He had made it out.

The menus were all in Spanish; this was a Mexican restaurant for Mexicans. That presented no problem for us, because we all spoke Spanish to some degree or other. This restaurant specialized in meat dishes, not the traditional enchiladas and tamales that you see along the border in most restaurants. I ordered chile verde, Mama ordered carne asada, Juan and my aunt Mellie ordered bistec ranchero, Jon ordered chiles relleno.

After the orders were taken and the waiters left us alone, Jon began to tell us the story of his trip to Mexico the previous summer.

“We’d been driving for hours,” he began. “There were no signs on the road and it just kept going on forever. We were lost and needed directions so we stopped at a little roadside restaurant for help.

“When we went into the restaurant, it was deserted. There were a few miserable miss-matched tables and chairs under a palapa roof over a dirt floor in front. In the run-down little building was the kitchen.” Jon was the only one in his group that spoke Spanish so it was up to him to ask for directions.
Picture
Carne Asada Tacos
“We heard voices out back so I went through the kitchen to find someone. As I walked though the kitchen, there were some open garbage cans with flies buzzing around them. I don’t know why, but I looked in the garbage cans and there were dog’s heads in them.”

Everyone lost their appetite. Mama and Mellie made choking sounds and reached for their bottles of pop. Then the waiters brought the food to the table.
​
The meal lived up to Juan’s promise. The plates were artfully prepared and a feast for the eyes. Jon enjoyed every bite of his chiles relleno, which did not have any meat. No one else, except me, could eat their lunches. I didn’t care if the chile verde was made with dog or monkey, it looked good and smelled wonderful, so I dug in.
5 Comments

    Author

    Pendelton C. Wallace is the best selling author of the Ted Higuera Series and the Catrina Flaherty Mysteries. 

    The Inside Passage, the first in the Ted Higuera series debuted on April 1st,  2014. Hacker for Hire, The Mexican Connection, Bikini Baristas, The Cartel Strikes  Back, and Cyberwarefare are the next books in the series.


    The Catrina Flaherty Mysteries currently consist of four stories, Mirror Image, Murder Strikes Twice, The Chinatown Murders, and the Panama Murders. Expect to see Cat bounce around the Caribbean for a while.

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