My Katrina: Part 27

Previously: The airport looked like a zoo. It had more animals than people, all kind of animals, except giraffes and hippopotamuses—they didn’t have all that. Then the lady say, “Oh, we have space to Washington, DC. If y’all willing to take that plane, we’ll take y’all there.” Now it went back to my mind about that plane that crashed in the 80s. But finally I was on my way, leaving my hometown, thinking how it was goin’ to feel, bein’ where I don’t know anybody. But I’d be with a better roof over my head, not eatin’ cold sandwiches, havin’ hot food, a better place with no more water in the streets, no more nightmares. That’s how I pictured it…
Some people had little bitty small dogs on the plane. The blind people had they big dogs. The airport folks let everyone bring their animals. It was like Noah’s Arc with all the hamsters, parrots, iguanas, and snakes.
Once we got relaxed on the plane the waitress come around and offer you water, soda, peanuts, sandwiches. They told us to let one of them know if we want to use the bathroom, otherwise be seated when the plane bein’ moved. No electronics, which we didn’t have anyway.
A lot of us had a suitcase and pictures of family. I had a bag with clothes and shoes I had taken out of the store during the storm. The waitress showed me how to push a button to make the back of my seat recline. I closed my eyes and all them dogs on the plane got me thinkin’ about Bundy.
Bundy—one of my friends’ dogs—was the baddest dog around. He don’t lose. Last dog I seen him fight, he killed that dog; it was really no fight. Bundy’s owner feed him raw steak and raw chicken. He take all the bones out because bones choke in the throat. Bundy look like a body-building dog. Bundy stays chained up with a mask on his mouth underneath the projects. Both Bundy and his owner weren’t around during the storm. I can tell you one thing: wherever Bundy go, he win the show. You can put your house up on Bundy and you ain’t gonna lose it. I can tell you that.
The police couldn’t even touch the master without Bundy goin’ off. Bundy was a dog that seek and destroy. When I see Bundy lock up on another dog, I say Oh my God, you dead. Sometimes Bundy had a lock on them but they didn’t die.
They fight “under the table,” because it’s against the law to do the dog fight. But you know people do what they do. Some young kids come along thinking they got a bad dog.
Bundy’s owner don’t go looking for fight. Someone come to him. He say, “You sure you want your dog to fight my dog? Bundy might put a damage on him.” Whatever Bundy owner say, Bundy listen. I had some young boys in my neighborhood who could steal dogs, even Bundy. They come and say you think your dog can’t get taken? And you say, no, you can’t take him.
Bundy’s owner Kevin—we called him Kid—had to pay those boys to get Bundy back.
When I see Bundy fight, I just say to myself, that other dog about to die today. I don’t know why the others come around. I think, Please get this dog away, but I admit I be cheering for Bundy because he gonna put in work. Of course, it chills in my body that the dogs shouldn’t fight. But I’m just a guest watching a dog fight; there’s so many going on. I see it a lot. It’s just part of life in the projects. I don’t like to see no animal get bruised.
The plane makes a jolt and bounces me back to realizing I’m way up in the sky and with the jolt and all the animals, it’s like the world comin’ to the end.
(to be continued)