Hi, my name is Meagan Morris. I’m one of the Prairieland defendants, and this piece is part one of an essay I wrote about my dogs called “My Boys.” In the time since I’ve been made into a political prisoner, I have missed many aspects of my life. Obviously, the thing I miss most is my found family and loved ones. The pain I feel for missing them feels like pieces of me have been cut away, a very important one. Second most missed aspect of my life, however, are my dogs. I call them the boys. I’ve always loved pets and animals. Growing up as a closeted trans woman with a neo-Nazi father left me with a bevy of social anxieties and trust issues. The brightest spot throughout my younger life has always been my pet.
When I was a child, I had a cat named Asta, means Star from Greek, who came in to sit with me whenever I was crying after my dad had hurt me. She would saunter in like nothing was wrong, cuddle up with me, but she always came in like clockwork. Pets never judge you for anything but bad behavior. They had never stolen from me, called me a slur, seriously harmed me, or done anything but returned the love and care I’ve given them. Before I was taken, I had three dogs: Macaroni, the husky husky, has a bit of a thyroid problem; Hero, the ball-obsessed German Shepherd; and Buddy, my best friend, a very yellow Anatolian Shepherd mutt. I miss them so bad. They are my furry friends who light up our home. All three of them love running with me outside, long hikes, and truly professional grade cuddles.
Macaroni is the youngest of the boys at about three or four years old. He came to us as a puppy. Technically, he came to our neighbor as a puppy. He was just wandering the street as a little boy. I think there’s a husky breeder in our neighborhood because I have seen other huskies wandering around and being [unclear]. Mac originally jumped our neighbor’s fence to try to find a home there with her chihuahuas, but she had nine chihuahuas. She didn’t want to take in a large dog. She had seen us walking with Buddy and Hero, and came over to ask us if we wanted another large dog. Naturally we said yes to a free husky.
We took him in to get him chipped or to see if he was chipped, and he wasn’t, so we just kept him. We originally named him McCready after the main character of John Carpenter’s The Thing. That movie is one of my favorites because it starts with a husky showing up out of the blue. It seemed appropriate. It quickly became apparent that he was too goofy for such a serious name. My wife Stephanie started calling him Macaroni. It stuck. He loves cuddling, participating in conversations, and running around. He only loves chasing balls if they squeak, and he loves making them squeak. As we like to say, he doesn’t give a honk if that ball doesn’t give a squawk. His favorite backyard game is stick run, where I grab one end of a stick, he bites the other, and we run around together, just looping. When we are hiking, he has to be outrider. It means he’s first in front, and if he’s not, he starts pulling and crying and certainly making a big scene. He’s also the number one escape artist.
One time, he got out on the Fourth of July. I think it was his first one, and he got away. We were searching all over for him because we were worried he would be afraid of the fireworks, and we couldn’t find him anywhere. I was taking a shift by the front door while other people were out searching. I started crying a little bit because I was so worried about him. Didn’t want him to be hurt by drunk drivers or get shot by all the celebratory gunfire in our neighborhood. While I was sitting there, all sniffly, I hear a dog coming down the hall. Naturally, I think it’s Buddy or Hero coming to see what’s up. When I turn around, it’s Macaroni. He’s coming down the hall like, “What’s everyone excited about? Why is everyone outside? Can I go outside too?” He snuck back in when no one was looking, and we were all still looking for him.
These commentaries are recorded by Prison Radio.
