“What do you have there”, I asked?
“I found her. She was headed over the border,” she replied.
“New Hampshire?”, I asked.
“Arizona. She was dehydrated. Carrying books home for her people. She had walked all the way from Tuscon.”
“She was walking home? She seems a tad tiny for such a long walk,” I observed.
“She’s stronger than she seems,” beamed Coyote. “Why, she crossed most of the miles near the border all by her self.”
“Ahhhh,” I said.
What about the books?” I queried.
They used to be school books. That was weeks ago before the sate of Arizona decided Native and Mestiza writers were dangerous and should be banned. Something about non-whites being proud of their traditions and heritage seemed to bother them. Then there were all those references to stolen lands and ongoing genocide. Not good for tourism.”
“Sounds familiar,” I noted.
“It’s OK for people to dance though. The tourists like that. Silver jewelry is fine, too. The state might even have a contest for best costume!”
“Your pup’s looking thirsty,” I suggested. “How about a bowl of milk?”
“Vermont cows?” Coyote asked.
To read a deep analysis of the Tuscon book banning visit The Real Life of An American Indian.
To read more coyote stories visit Dreaming the World.