top of page

Ikwezens Miinwaa Wiijkiwenh, Gishkishenh Roxy

Ojibwe Translation: A Girl and her Friend, her dog Roxy. Spiritual mother to Daisy - but that is NOT the rest of the story, shout out Paul Harvey. Trigger warning - there will be Karens. And bitches. Canine and humanoid. You've been disclaimed.

Shockingly enough, there will also be another example of corruption within the tribal government of the Sault Sainte Marie Tribe of Chippewa Indians...but this time, we're going to throw in a dash of Chippewa County Michigan Animal Shelter & Animal Control. Whose best interests are not aligned with the best interests of the "rescued" and surrendered animals they are the guardians of. Or perhaps gatekeepers of would be more appropriate. At least, not if you don't make a phone call in the allotted time you've been provided. Cryptic? More on the corruption and violation of tribal jurisdiction by a state authority later.

First - Roxy. Full name Roxanne Banana Fish, aka FishFace aka Banana Pants, aka Nana, aka Roxana Banana. If you've had the blessing to share space with a domesticated animal, you know why there's so many aka's. It's a dawg thing. But, let it be known, that she was ONLY called Roxanne when she had been especially mischievous, like the time I went to grab a napkin and came back and the top bun of my burger was missing. And she was sitting thisclose....but not looking at me. We both knew what happened. She could NEVER wait, we always shared but she positively LIVED for that first bite. But, she was a lady...she only took the bun, not the burger. But still, I would have to (for posterity's sake) admonish her just in case anyone was around and didn't understand that she was my bitch, literally and figuratively.

"Roxanne! You better change your rotten ways or you will have to turn that red light on." Kind of apropos that song is written by The Police, as I had to police Roxy's antics or her positive joy de vivre would have probably been her demise. Like the time she took off across the 4-lane city street in San Antonio, hell bent on making it to Popeye's chicken across the street - one whiff and she was off, after having snuck out the front door of the apartment while we were bringing groceries in. I watched in horror as the cars did not slow down...and neither did Roxy. She got hit but was fortunate enough to get knocked down and out of the ways of the back tires of the car...who kept going, didn't even slow down. I ran into the street because the cars were STILL NOT SLOWING DOWN and stood in front of her limp body and put my hands up like I was some kind of traffic cop. Thankfully, they stopped or it would have been both Roxy and I headed to the hospital. Crying, I managed to pick her up and get her to the side of the road, the same side as the chicken place. She almost made it.

An angel pulled up and asked if we needed help and, though anyone that knows me knows that I loathe asking for help (stubborn af.... but trauma does that), I cried and said, yes, please help, I don't know what to do, my puppy is about to die. She helped me load Roxy into her shiny black SUV and took us around the highway to the emergency vet. She asked if she should wait and I said no, I would call friends to come get us once I knew what the outcome was for Roxy. I thanked her again, tears rolling down my face, and she hugged me, gave me her business card and said to call her if we needed to get home, or anything else.

I still have her business card - it reminds me that not everyone is a douche canoe, there are some people out there that remember no one gets out of here alive and the trip is so much better being kind. Imagine my surprise when it turned out Roxy's angel was the director for player relations for the San Antonio Spurs, who at the time were in the peak of the NBA Championship ring domination. Our angel was someone who probably had a monthly income 10x mine, and I was averaging a salary in the high $60K range at the time. She did it because it was the right thing, not because of any benefit to her. That's how the #GSG family is - good people.

Anyway, Roxy ended up with a fractured pelvis and some cuts and bruising, but thankfully no internal bleeding. I carried her outside to go potty and upstairs every night so she could sleep with the rest of us - every night and day for about a month. When she stood up on her own the first time after that, both my mom (who was visiting me in Texas at the time) and I cried. Roxy lived another nine years after that, making the cross-country trip to Michigan after we moved when I had my first son.

Ride or die all the way - she passed away nearly a year ago, February 4th, 2023. She was 15 years old - a good solid run for a half Pitt / half San Antonio, Texas street dog. She has left an absolute hole in my soul that could only be filled by my boys, ages 3 and 7. It's like she knew she had to hold on until they arrived and she knew we could take care of ourselves. She was our Nana, in all the ways that mattered. RIH, Nana Fish 2008-2023, you were SUCH a Good Girl. The Best Girl.

Dawg, I mean.... don't tell Grace I said that - she'll cat ninja me. Yes, from the other side of the Rainbow Bridge, too - she's that petty. RIH Grace The Cat, 2008-2023. I never knew I could be a cat person until you bamboozled me. That's a story for another day, though. And Orly, I know your grouchy old dawg self is watching from the other side of the Rainbow Bridge, too - calm down, you're a boy. The original Good Boy, and damn right the best dawg ever, hands down. That's another story, too.

We'll get there, promise. <3

Now, the story of how I "rescued" Roxy is an....interesting one. Not necessarily fully legal - but also totally necessary or she would have died just like the rest of her brothers and sisters - run over by cars, dying of malnutrition, or stolen. Or, hopefully, "rescued" like I did for her a warm night in San Antonio, Texas over fifteen years ago. In my 43 years on this earth, I have adopted 5 animals, 4 dogs and one cat. As I've said to a few people over the years - I'm a sucker for lost animals and people. I've never adopted any people though - maybe tried to save a few that couldn't do it themselves, but I'm working on that. Another story, another day.... maybe.

Roxy was the only one I adopted through somewhat nefarious action - but for the record, I did take a vote on whether she should come home with me that warm First Friday evening in San Antonio and it was a RESOUNDING yes. So, there's that.

See, what had happened was - my boyfriend at the time and I were just exiting a taxi at our friend's house in Southtown San Antonio (google it, it's a beautiful historical district of San Antonio) where we were meeting up with everyone to attend First Friday. First Friday is an event held in San Antonio held - wait for it - every first Friday of the month. Texas LOVES to party, just make sure it's a day that ends in Y. Anyway, this particular event was one of the best parts of living in the Alamo city. Local artists, musicians, craft and food vendors would take over the streets of Southtown, live bands playing from porches, art galleries opening free to the public for tours and free wine, street artists doing everything from interpretive dance to drumming to jiu jitsu. SO MUCH LIFE, it was amazing every time we went. It just so happened this time was a little bit more so.

After walking miles of sidewalk, going to all the beer gardens and art galleries, we ended our night at Vince's house, where we started. Walking up the sidewalk to his house, this little ball of something wriggling caught my attention from the corner of my eye. I am absolutely MORTIFIED by the size of cockroaches in Texas so anytime we were out and about, especially in old town SA, I was on the alert, ready to perch on the nearest elevated surface until someone saved me. Not much scares me but those suckers do. Something about how they move so fast and that weird color...ughhhh, heebie jeebies for DAYSSSSSS.

This, however, was NOT a cockroach, praise sweet baby Jesus. THIS, my friends, was a PUPPY. With the sweetest chocolate brown eyes I had ever seen and the biggest little belly ever, as she ran over to me from the fence she had just escaped under, rolled over right in front of me, stopping me from going any further up the sidewalk. She positively squirmed with happiness, even though it was clear her belly wasn't big from food but from worms and malnutrition. Not only that but, as I would find out later, when she followed me up the steps and kept rolling over in front of me and Vince answered the door, her mom was Princess, the full-bred Pitbull Terrier that occupied the fenced yard next door. Princess's owner bred her so he could sell her puppies for $500 dollars each. He ONLY bred her; she stayed locked up in the fenced in dirt yard all day every day. Any time we would come over to Vince's, I would spend at least some of my time hanging out at the fence with Princess, giving her pets and sneaking her brisket from our parties. She was the sweetest little mama.

Except this time, a street dog had gotten into the fence and mated with Princess. So, the little ball of fur in front of me wasn't sellable as a full breed dog - she was a mutt. My favorite kind of pup. But not good enough to even feed for the owner of Princess. Vince told me the owner had let all the other puppies die - either from getting run over after escaping the fence, starvation, or stolen by hopefully decent people. ~ Crosses fingers and toes. ~

Vince said every once in a while, the owner would throw an open can of beans in the yard but that was it in terms of puppy food, beyond what Princess could provide. And her teats damn near dragged on the ground when she walked. My heart broke for this little brown puppy's siblings and the thought of it happening to her was too much. Not on my watch. ;)

The puppy hung out in the backyard with us all night, as the guys played guitar and we played beer pong. Roxy, though she wouldn't get her name until the next day, loved it! She was the star of the party and made sure everyone had equal time to admire the softness of her belly. She was adorable and a heart stealer from the jump - those eyes, worked every time, even 15 years later. When it came time to call the taxi for the ride home, we were all sitting around the fire in the backyard bullshitting. I asked everyone who thought I should take Roxy home with us, her forever home. It was unanimous. She was coming home with us, via Yellow Cab.

Even though her "owner" clearly could care less about her, I still knew I was "technically" stealing her. Not that it was going to stop me, but still. This was The Great Dog Rescue Caper and we had to make it to the taxi without being detected. Duh.

As soon as the yellow minivan showed up, I was off, Roxy in my arms, tongue and tiny tail wagging, it was like she knew her whole life was about to change in the best way. Thankfully, or maybe not, the minivan had automatic doors that swung open just as I reached the taxi because I did NOT slow down. One too many Lone Stars had slowed my reaction time, apparently, and both Roxy and I tumbled into the backseat, a mess of fur and a tipsy transplanted Yooper girl. I managed to quickly ensure with the driver it was okay I had my dog with me - yes, my dog - and he said, "of course, little lady." Because, also yes, they really do talk like that in Texas. Why it will ALWAYS be home, too. I may have been born and raised in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan, but I grew up in Texas. God bless Texas.

And that was how Roxy came to be part of our family. We took her to our vet who estimated she was about 3 or 4 months old and positively infested with worms - but nothing he couldn't fix. Shout out to Churchill Veterinary Hospital, ya'll always took such great care of our furbabies.

February 4th, 2023 is when Roxy crossed the Rainbow Bridge. She was fifteen years old and had been through so much with me - breakups, babies, promotions, a move across the country - she was always by my side. Literally thisclose. I constantly had to remind her that it was physically impossible for her to occupy the same space I was, but she never stopped trying. She loved the snuggles, she was a definite mama's girl. See you on the other side, Fish Face. #ily

What, pray tell, does the shenanigans of over 15 years ago have to do with today? And corruption? And bullying? And tribal oppression?

Meet Daisy - formerly known as Luna Mae when she was a resident of the Chippewa County Animal Shelter.

Half Australian Shepherd, half Blue Heeler - she's what is commonly referred to as a Texas Heeler. I didn't know that when I adopted her, but...of course she was a Texas Heeler. I needed one.

I saw her picture on the post of the local animal shelter and those eyes. They're the same ones that Roxy gave me and I could NOT stop staring into them. She needed me and I needed her. I reached out to the shelter to ask about Luna Mae. They said she was an owner surrender and that the previous owners had no business owning a dog. Apparently, Luna Mae was so scared at the shelter, she had constant accidents and cowered when anyone approached, except for the volunteer who introduced us to Luna when we arrived. She stayed in the corner with her tail tucked and seemed terrified of all the noise and construction going on. They warned me to please not be discouraged if she took some time to approach us and to please give her time to get comfortable enough to see if it would be a good fit. When I say that the minute she locked eyes on my 7-year-old son and then myself and literally LAUNCHED into our arms - she positively catapulted into us. All wiggles and giggles and, yes, a little dribble on the cement but so what. It was an exciting moment. We took her home for what was to be a one-week trial visit but, as I told the shelter volunteer as we left, if we left there with her, I would never surrender her back. I don't dog dump. And let's just say Crazy Daisy, as my son named her, immediately made herself at home - she knew she was home. And she knew we were her people.

My sons and I live on reservation land in Sault Ste. Marie, Michigan. The "Rez" as its commonly referred, is land that has been placed in trust by the federal government of the United States for the use and habitation by Native Americans. The land we live on is held in trust for the Sault Ste. Marie Tribe of Chippewa Indians, of which I've been an enrolled member since I was an infant. My grandfather and grandmother were Odawa and Ojibwe, respectively, and my mother was one of 7 siblings.

Tribal reserve land and the tribes inhabiting those lands are considered sovereign nations by the federal government as written in treaties signed between the federal government and tribal nations over a hundred years ago. Basically, that means tribes are considered foreign nations within a nation, the bigger nation being the United States. However, tribes have been granted autonomy and the ability to self-govern by the federal government. Kinda.

See, jurisdiction in Indian Country (yes, that is a legal term which tells you exactly how respectful the federal government is to their nation's original people) is an abysmal swampy no-man's land of selective justice and rampant abuse. Depending on who you are and what you've done determines which governmental agency has authority over your personal judicial process. Whether you're native or non-native, whether it's a federal law being broken or a state law or a tribal law.... it's a maze that few understand and, as a result, while the national violent crime rate has decreased, on tribal reserve land it has increased. To the extent that the abuse and murder of indigenous women has resulted in an entire movement focused on justice for those that have been forgotten for so long. But we the indigenous never forget. It's in our blood. #MMIW

Back to Daisy and why tribal jurisdiction has anything to do with being an animal lover. If you've read my previous articles, you've noticed I've spent the last year sharing some hard truths of what being a tribal member of a federally recognized tribe can be like. Except, plot twist, these articles show that when your tribe is run by a corrupt board of directors with no separation of powers and absolute authority that they yield over the citizens of the Sault Tribe nation with absolutely no regard to the best interests of the whole but only the personal agendas of few, no one except the top tribal 1% wins. Yes, tribes have their 1% too, usually modeled after their local government. Good ole boy type of thing - we the minorities know exactly what that means. Sault Ste. Marie, Michigan is the oldest "city" in Michigan and one of the oldest cities in the United States, established in 1668. Once thriving, the population is now about 13,000, most of which is made of tribal members even if City Council doesn't want to admit it. Where would they get their funding then, if they didn't get in bed with the indians? But shhh.... don't tell, they don't want anyone to know they've all been bought by those dirty indians from Shunk Road.

As a result of the content of my Facebook posts and other social media truth-telling, they have spent an abnormally obsessive amount of time harassing myself and family. Local government offices with bitter employees have made changes to my records in their establishments resulting in the loss of food benefits for my children for over two months. The local Friend of the Court office sent a letter to my oldest son's father stating he was in arrears on his child support even though he has never missed a payment. Ever, in seven years. When I spoke to the Michigan State Child Support Office, they advised the local office should never have reached out to the non-custodial parent residing in Texas, it should have gone through the Texas Office of the Attorney General.

But they've never lived in The Good Ole Soo. Where it's not about doing what's right or legal, it's who you know and what they can do for you.

Two days ago, nearly a year to the day since Roxana Banana crossed the rainbow bridge, I received a call from the Chippewa County Animal Shelter. Though I usually don't answer my phone, I'm a texter, I picked up this time. I knew it was the shelter and wondered why they were calling. I totally should NOT have answered the phone.

It was the Director of the Chippewa County Animal Shelter. She proceeded to tell me that though I had adopted Daisy on December 7th, paying the $100 adoption fee, the shelter had strict rules that stated all adopted animals must be scheduled to be spayed/neutered within 4 of being adopted. The $100 adoption fee covers the surgery, as well as a deposit to ensure the spay takes place. She stated that it had been 8 weeks since I had adopted Daisy and I was in violation of my adoption contract. It hadn't really been 8 weeks, that would've been February 9th is February 3rd as I type this article, so yeah. It wasn't 8 weeks. But, no worries, let's keep going.

I told her that yes, she was right, I hadn't yet called to make the appointment. Winter in Michigan can be a little rough and it has been more so this year. We've gone from 48' unseasonable highs to -2 degrees within a matter of a day. There is currently not enough snow to cover the ground and usually we'd be damn near snowed in, check out my social media posts from a year ago. We received like 3 feet of snow in one storm - and it was in December. Needless to say, the wonky weather has wreaked havoc on our immune systems, especially with the introduction of Covid. My youngest son, 3 years old, and I were diagnosed the first time back in October of last year. It was the first time since Covid was released that my boys or I had been diagnosed with it. Suppose it was a good run, but...less than 6 months later, we were diagnosed again, this time on January 24th, 2024. My oldest son somehow managed to stay virus free both times, he's kind of amazing. If you ask him, it's because he has Shining Golden Eagle power. And I tell him he's right, every time.

Anyway, in the roughly 50 days since we adopted Daisy, we dealt with Covid, the flu, Christmas, and school. I am a full-time student working towards my law degree and a full-time single mother. A full-time STAY AT HOME single mother, if you can imagine. This is possible because I have positive and cooperative relationships with the father of my children. They have supported my decision to stay home until both boys were enrolled full-time in school, helping out financially and physically. I realize what a rarity this is and am so very grateful that though I may have chosen the wrong partners for me, I chose the perfect fathers for my children.

That being said, it's not easy. Though our financial situation hasn't always been easy the last couple years since I chose to leave the corporate world, our quality of life has increased so exponentially that I would make the same choice EVERY SINGLE TIME, if given the opportunity. The time I've been able to spend with these boys is irreplaceable. They say you're gonna miss it, when they've grown up, and I know I will. However, I have NOT missed it while it was happening and I will be forever grateful to their dads for that. Chi miigwech.

When I explained to the shelter director what had been going on and why I hadn't yet called and if it would be okay if I called now, it had just slipped my mind with everything else going on....she refused.

Ikr? She said it had taken me nearly one month to officially adopt Daisy and now, 4 weeks after the original deadline, I had still not made the appointment to have Daisy spayed. She was not wrong. Though I had brought Daisy home the first day and she had remained with us since, I wasn't able to fill out the adoption paperwork in its entirety until I had the $100 (cash only) adoption fee to hand over. I had spoken with a volunteer there when she contacted me about completing the paperwork and she had allowed me the extra time to pay the fee, knowing I was a single mom just trying to do the right thing, she showed a little grace. Again, chi miigwech, you know who you are.

I told the shelter director on the telephone that my son and I were still positive with Covid, having just been diagnosed again the week prior, but I would call to make the appointment for the spay once we were out of quarantine. She told me I had demonstrated I was an irresponsible pet owner for breaking my adoption contract and she had would be at my house shortly to retrieve the dog. THE DOG. Our Daisy - but her Dog.

I reminded her we had Covid, she said she'd be picking the dog up anyway, I told her fine, come pick her up because WHAT was I supposed to say? Was this actually happening?

I thought about not answering the door, but I don't lie, its kind of the one thing I actually HATE. But I figured if she did show up to my house on tribal reserve land, I would see if maybe I could ask her when she was here about giving me 5 MINUTES to call and make said appointment. Boom, problem solved. And, if she still insisted on being the Karen she was on the phone, I'd simply refuse to surrender my family member, Daisy the Dog. This is TRIBAL land, Miss Karen has no jurisdiction as a state employee or official to order civil action against a tribal member living on reserve land. This is literally a TREATY RIGHT. The exact definition of tribal sovereignty and what so many millions of our ancestors died trying to protect.

But, our ancestors didn't know about Karens. And corrupt AF Tribal Law Enforcement officers.

Karen, not her real name but we'll use it for its accuracy and to protect this individual from personal recognition for her lack of kindness, knocked on my door on tribal reserve land about 20 minutes after the call ended. I stepped outside to speak with her as my 3-year-old son was inside and as mentioned previously, we STILL have Covid. Even as I type, my head literally feels as though it's been stuffed with cotton and set on fire. Good times.

DISCLAIMER - There is video evidence of the following interaction I'm about to describe but, again, because I'm NOT a douche canoe, I won't post it here. Keep reading.

~ If you send a direct message, I will provide the video - I'm not into shaming people for being douchey but I will provide the evidence to support what transpired below. Veritas Super Omens.

She states again she's here to pick up Daisy, as her walkie-talkie crackles on her hip. I begin to ask again if I can have time to make the phone call, I had my phone with me so I could call in front of her and we could both go about our day. But Karen had a point to prove. I clearly needed to be chastened for my failure to make that phone call.

She interrupted me before I could finish asking my question, saying again, no, I had shown I was incapable of being a responsible pet owner. When I attempted to interject, she talked over me and refused to allow me to speak. So much so that I actually asked her, "Can I talk?"

And this bitch (sorry, not sorry) said No. She actually told me I could not talk.

I'm a pretty chill and laid-back individual. Except when it comes to someone telling me I cannot do something that I know damn well I can do. Like talk, when I want, where I want. I'll take responsibility for whatever it may be that I say, but I will not be silenced. Ever.

Especially when it comes to things that matter to me, and nothing matters more to me than my children, little boys or furry pups, I'll go in for them EVERY SINGLE TIME. The same way I'll go 0 to 100 REAL QUICK when it comes to defending those that go undefended, unvoiced, and unprotected.

Kind of like when the former disgraced and censured Chairperson Aaron Payment thought it was okay to cyberbully his opponent during a tribal election, even erecting a billboard in our town to DEFAME this individual. That's how my whole tribal corruption exposure crusade began, ya know.

So, Karen tells me no, I can't talk and I interrupt her to remind her that, in fact, yes I can. I explain that she was right, I didn't call and I was wrong for not adhering to their timeline. I said that didn't justify taking my son's dog away from us, especially when it was JUST a phone call. I explained there was virtually no risk of Daisy coming in contact with an intact dog male during the wait to be spayed, but Karen was having none of it.

Holding her red leash like a crucifix to exorcise the demon that was this little tribal woman having the audacity to break her contract, she began to move to enter the house saying she was taking "the dog." I stood in front of the door and said verbatim, "Do you want Covid, then go ahead and go in and retrieve your dog." As stated, my son was inside and both of us had been diagnosed the week before and the symptoms this second time around have been horrible and there's no doubt in my mind, having been quarantined for the last week, that the inside of our home was positively covered in those tiny little minuscule droplets.

Alternate Universe Version: Karen retreats and agrees to put off the repo of Daisy since we're clearly ill and allows the call to be made, ending the entire scenario with a mutually beneficial outcome.

What ACTUALLY happened: Karen backs up and clutches her pearls, in this case, her walkie talkie. Telling me I'm acting very aggressively and have just THREATENED HER WITH COVID, she speaks into her walkie talking and says, "yep, I need assistance."

But who, pray tell, was she talking to? Call in the cavalry! Just not the same one that massacred all those pesky indigenous women and children at Wounded Knee, South Dakota...but the tribal cavalry, the Sault Ste. Marie Tribe of Chippewa Indians Tribal Law Enforcement. Tasked with upholding the laws of the tribal reserve, protecting its citizens, and respecting the tribal sovereignty that CREATED IT ALL, including HIS job.

Karen begins spinning her narrative, saying I threatened her with covid EVEN THOUGH the video demonstrates the complete and total lie of that statement. She waves her paperwork in the tribal officer's direction and the only words I can make out amongst her self-righteous squawking is, "but she broke the contract!" The tribal police officer told me to get Daisy and I refused. Why did I refuse? Am I a bad person, a lawbreaker, a menace to society?

No, I refused because the situation was mind-bogglingly ridiculous. I admitted being wrong, told Karen she was right, and begged her to not take my son's dog, to please let me just make the call, and yet here we were. Tribal police ordering me to turn over my furry family member. That was the last straw in a year of them attacking myself and my little family because I WILL NOT SHUT UP about how corrupt they are.

I began to explain to the officer that I was refusing to turn Daisy over due to the fact that tribal jurisdiction PROHIBITED serving a civil action by a state agency against a tribal member residing on tribal reserve land. Additionally, she did not have a court order demanding return of the property, otherwise known as Daisy.

But, before I could finish my statement, the officer interrupted me, admonishing me, "this is a contract, you will return the dog." What the actual fok? Does this officer of tribal law not know the laws he's sworn to uphold? Reasonable assumption. Or is this just another attempt to silence my exposure of the truth, especially since I just announced my candidacy as a Unit 1 Representative as a Board Member for the TRIBE...the members - not the money. They're scared of me, so they Jane Wick'ed me and stole my dog.

Remember how Karen's walkie talkie was crackling and she requested assistance? I forgot to mention Tribal Police were parked down the road, about two houses down, waiting for her to call them and let them know she was there. See, she had called beforehand and had been given permission to illegally obtain tribal property from a private tribal member residence on tribal reserve land. By tribal law enforcement. Ruh-roh.

Even knowing the law and that they had no authority to remove property from my home, I knew what I was and am up against. With tears welling in my eyes, I silently accepted the red leash from Karen and praise Creator that I am NOT a douche canoe or the savage the Zhaaganash (white) people claim us natives to be because as she handed that leash to me, I looked into her face and the smug smile I found there came thisclose to getting smacked the fuck off. But I'm learning to handle the anger that rises inside when the ugliest of humanity shows itself so instead, I went inside to retrieve Daisy to hand over to this woman who pretends she serves the best interest of the animals she shelters.

The minute Daisy saw the red leash in my hand, she took off into the boy's room.

Remember how they said she was "scared of the construction" and didn't approach anyone at the shelter? Her reaction to that red leash told me all I needed to know about how Daisy felt about going back to That Place. It was only reinforced when I finally got her to go outside and as soon as she saw Karen, she tucked tail and tried to run back in the house. Karen grabbed the leash and Daisy sat down and refused to go, trying to hide behind me. I looked Karen in the eyes and told her she was a horrible human being. And I meant it and still do.

Because Karen DRAGGED Daisy down my sidewalk when Daisy refused to go with her willingly and the tribal law enforcement officer just watched.

This was 2 days ago and I still don't have the heart to tell my boys what happened. I told them she got sick and we just have to keep praying she gets better. And the fact that I'm LYING to my children absolutely breaks my heart but I don't know what else to do. I could tell them the truth, I have no problem with that, but HOW do I explain that someone took their newest family member, who arrived once we were finally ready to let someone maybe try to fill some of the space Roxy took...HOW do I explain to them she was taken because I, their mother, failed to meet a contract deadline and didn't make a phone call. I don't have any problem telling them I made a mistake, my boys and I talk about how important the truth is all the time. But I don't know how to explain how someone could think that the contractual obligation was worth breaking all of our hearts and taking a loved member of our family back to the animal SHELTER. Shelter. Pffft.

I don't know how to explain that some people are so hell bent on keeping their dirty money coming in that they are willing to break federal law and tribal jurisdiction just to put a loud little indian girl in her the corner, quiet, speaking only when spoken to.

They haven't met someone like me before, though. I will stand up for myself, EVERY SINGLE TIME. And when it comes to my children, I'm Chumba Wumba in this bitch, knock me down and I'll get up EVERY SINGLE TIME.

What's next, since Chippewa County Animal Shelter is now in possession of stolen property?

Either return Daisy or the $100 fee I paid when I adopted her - they can't keep both. I would recommend they return Daisy - as my boy's happiness and quality of life is sacrosanct to EVERY SINGLE THING else, to include money.

This kwe can't be bought.

If they choose to not do the right thing, I have already notified the Sault Ste. Marie Tribe of Chippewa Indians Tribal Court that I will be filing suit against the Chippewa County Animal Shelter for violation of tribal jurisdiction in perpetration of theft of privately owned tribal property: one Texas Heeler, otherwise known as Crazy Daisy. Additionally, due to the online bullying, harassment, and shaming conducted by employees of the Animal Shelter against me and my children, to include defamatory statements and lies, I will not only be seeking the return of said Crazy Daisy, but I will also be seeking restitution AND damages. They should know by now that I keep everything - including photographic and video evidence of their law breaking. And, hate to burst Karen's bubble of privilege, but Indigenous Rights are SO in right now.

Checkmate. Free Daisy.

Wahsay Geezhgo Kway

"Shining Sky Woman"

For media inquiries, please contact:

UK - 020 3404 2295

USA - 0650 278 4440

AUS - 02 9072 9499

All of our writers risk it all by telling their stories and any support you can provide will make a big difference. Firstly by showing them that their words matter, but also by helping them keep the lights on and food in their bellies. Donate if you can and know every dollar goes to supporting our writers and authors.

69 views0 comments


bottom of page