PORTAL Journal of 
Multidisciplinary 
International Studies

Vol. 16, No. 1/2 
2019

© 2019 by the author(s). This 
is an Open Access article 
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Citation: Dwyer, K.A. 2019. 
Simón. PORTAL Journal of 
Multidisciplinary International 
Studies, 16:1/2, 153-155. 
http://dx.doi.org/10.5130/
portal.v16i1/2.6662

PORTAL is published under 
the auspices of UTSePress, 
Sydney, Australia. ISSN: 1449-
2490; http://epress.lib.uts.edu.
au/ojs/index.php/portal

CULTURAL WORKS

Simón

K. Angelique Dwyer

Corresponding author: Associate Professor K. Angelique Dwyer, Chair of Latinx, Latin 
American, and Caribbean Studies, Department of Modern Languages, Literatures and Cultures, 
Gustavus Adolphus College, 800 West College Avenue, St. Peter, MN. 56082 USA. Email: 
adwyer@gustavus.edu

DOI: http://dx.doi.org/10.5130/portal.v16i1/2.6662 
Article History: Received 09/02/2019; Accepted 12/2/2019; Published 13/11/2019

Abstract
This creative non-fiction piece written in Spanglish is called ‘Simón.’ The overarching themes 
of this story are death, spirituality, animals and pets in a non-conventional American family 
raised in Mexico. The narrative voice in this piece provides a unique perspective broadening 
dialogue(s) on Mexican American identity.

Keywords:
K. Angelique Dwyer; Short Story; ‘Simón’

—‘¿Te late?’ Le pregunté. 
—‘Simón.’ She replied.
Simón … casually meaning ‘yeah’ in current Mexican vernacular, is also the name of my 

nephew’s donkey. Following el Piti’s footsteps, he has a vital connection with animals. Los 
caballos, los perros, las chivas y los gallos. That’s where it’s at. Pero la conexión que este niño de 
8 años tiene con su burro va más allá. Somehow, Junior has managed to train this donkey into 
a docile and sweet companion. He stands on top of the donkey’s back, lays down, jumps up, 
ropes and hugs him. Simón is chill. It’s a friendship that reminds me of how my toddler used 
to look at our Golden Retriever. I am instantly hit by the sting at the remembrance of having 
to tell a 5-year-old that her ‘big sister’ had to be put down. 

—‘¡No!’ gritó—followed by a sob—y lo único que nos cobijó fue el viento tropical mientras 
contemplábamos aquella playa. Ese momento la marcó and it defines who she is still. 

DECLARATION OF CONFLICTING INTEREST The author(s) declared no potential conflicts of interest with  
respect to the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article. FUNDING The author(s) received no  
financial support for the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article.

153

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mailto:adwyer@gustavus.edu
http://dx.doi.org/10.5130/portal.v16i1/2.6662


Animals have always been a part of my life, of my dreams, even. El encuentro con un búho 
me ayudó a sobrepasar un reto académico. Un búho blanco vino a avisarle a mi mamá sobre la 
noticia de la muerte de su hermano. La Sra. Linda has always been close to animals in spirit; 
she says it’s because her great grandmother was Winedot and her ancestors were Cherokee. I 
can already hear the readers in my subconscious mind complaining! Esta pinche vieja no solo 
se las da de mexicana, sino además de indígena … White priviledge a todo lo que da. Ojo: I’m 
not claiming this, I’m just telling you what my mom says.  

Una vez en el Grand Canyon mi tía, mi mamá y yo estábamos manejando de noche and it 
could have been the Enigma soundtrack playing in the background or the intense emotions 
we felt during the day: quien haya ido al Canyón del Colorado sabe lo que es enfrentarse con 
esas vistas y a ese viento that strips you down to your core. As we made a turn, standing in 
complete forest darkness, our headlights revealed a regal elk. We pulled over and sat in awe 
of this majestic animal. Olvídate del hecho de que estábamos deslumbrando al pobre animal 
… it was spiritual. No sé cómo más describirlo. Mi mamá y mi tía weaved together different 
thoughts about patriarchy, their dad, and their recently deceased brother, mientras que la 
seventeen-year-old yo tripiaba con la música de Enigma y la emoción profunda que sentía en 
esa oscuridad que le hacía fondo a aquellas astas y a aquél pecho erguido.  

Mine is a family of storytellers. Most of my favorite family stories involve animals 
somehow: there’s the one about the hairy wood rat that crawled down my mom’s nightgown 
as they tried to shoo it from the house (esa es una de las mejores); the snakes that would swim 
by as my parents skinny dipped in Table Rock Lake as newlyweds; el del zorrillo que nos 
meó a Brenda y a mí, el del tlacuache que nos veía cenar noche tras noche por las ventanas 
del comedor; or the coyote that kept coming back for Piti’s chickens.  Our bedtime stories as 
kids were about dogs: ‘Big Red’ and another one about a St. Bernard I can’t seem to remember. 
Luego, los libros cambiaron a cuentos sobre caballos ‘The Black Stallion’ y todos esos. Tanto 
asocio a los animales con los cuentos que hasta mis hijos me suplican:

—‘No more bedtime stories about animals!’ y yo que apenas me estaba emocionando …
One of my favorites was the story about the dog that got stuck in the bear trap. Los Dwyers 

vivían en el bosque de Missouri, junto a un lago, y tenían dos perros: PJ and Mrs. Jackson. 
My dad used to cuddle with them and they would protect my mom and Piti when he was a 
newborn. Una noche, my dad got worried because one of the dogs didn’t come back. Se oían 
unos aullidos a lo lejos, so he and the other dog went on a search. Lo encontraron con la pata 
en la trampa de osos que algún cazador había puesto. My dad tells this story way better … 
but he had to push the clamp in further in order for it to release the dog’s paw y dice que vio 
al perro a los ojos, they locked eyes and he could feel the dog’s trust before it was released. 
Lo cargó de vuelta y lo puso frente a la fogata. Both dogs cuddled and layed by the fireplace 
together for days until the wound was healed. 

My niece’s bed was always covered in plush doggies. The vet set, the dog carrier, the food, 
blankies and other accessories were daily entertainment for her. Uno de sus primeros juegos de 
Nintendo era de perritos. Siempre pensábamos que ella sería la veterinaria de la familia, pero 
fue la otra sobrina quien acabó escogiendo esa carrera, para luego cambiarse. They say our pets 
absorb our negative energies and sometimes get sick because of it. We’ve had two dogs die of 
cancer. What about our energies did they so honorably absorb to the point of self-sacrifice? Tal 
vez es muy egocéntrico pensar así. Se murieron porque se murieron y ya está … el ambiente, la 
suerte, la genética … As a teenager, El Piti rescued a gray and white puppy that was part of our 
family for 10 years. She was loyal, brave and nurturing. She gave us 3 litters of beautiful mutts, 

Dwyer

PORTAL,  Vol. 16, No. 1/2, 2019154



and mothered 3 baby kittens my sister-in-law found in a box. Se murió de cancer, dejándonos 
con los recuerdos de su noble mirada y cálida compañía. She was cherished so much that my 
niece was given the same name. So, perhaps it’s not by chance that she loves dogs so much. 
Hoy día, mi sobrina anda por ahí como Kardashian con sus dos mini perros mejor vestidos que 
mis criaturas, all fluffed up and fab. 

Hace poco fuimos a visitar a unos amigos que rescataron un gatito. Mis hijos se asombraron 
al ver el tamaño del bibi que le daban. This baby kitty took me back to my farming days when 
we had cats galore. Princesa gave birth to the litter that gave us Fluffy, and Fluffy gave us 
Patches, Pickles and Timmy Tip Toes. I still remember discovering them under the camper 
top. I would crawl in through the little window and take her a can of tuna. Nombraba -y 
disque bautizaba- a cada uno de sus gatitos. No me acuerdo quién nos dio a Beethoven y a 
Nieve, pero esos dos gatos blancos no se hallaban: uno sordo y el otro arisco. Once, I opened 
the back door and found 3 white mice cuddled up in a bucket. Ese ya es otro cuento …

—‘Look at their red eyes!’ I said. Y en eso que se acerca mi mamá a pegar el grito en el cielo. 
They were rats and the mama would be showing up soon. I loved every bit of growing up on 
a farm: las chivitas (Bola de nieve y Blanca Nieves) who ate our geraniums and clothes hung 
out on the line as part of their daily routine; el ganado (Uva y Cara Blanca) sus lenguas ásperas 
siempre me hacían reir cuando les daba sal; our rabbits, roosters, turtles and hamsters. 

El Piti knew all too well the pain of having his colts and foals die. The coyotes seemed 
to smell the scent for miles and though he would often sit watch through the night con 
rifle en mano, I don’t think he ever got one. Farm living doesn’t hide reality, eso que ni qué. 
I remember seeing our weimaraner, Jenny, get hit by a car en la curva and die instantly. Our 
neighbor’s palomino, named Señor, drowned by falling into a well. Seis peones trataron de 
sacarlo por las patas y hasta a una troca lo amarraron, but he was just too heavy. Cuántas 
cosas no pasaron que se quedaron forever in my brain y que ahora forman quién soy and how 
I raise my kids. Cuando mis niños y yo nos encontramos a un pájaro muerto en el jardín, le 
hacemos un hoyito en la tierra. Our backyard is practically a dead bird cemetery. So, you’ll see 
that the same girl who used to visit the cemeteries of Mexico with her family -stealing from 
the adorned tombs so that the bare ones wouldn’t be lonely or sad-, still lives within me. Las 
tumbas de los pajaritos y de nuestra querida perrita fallecida. Ante todo, el respeto a la vida … 
ay, la vida, la vida … y el culto a la materia restante del viaje espiritual, como la piel que deja 
una culebra. 

The same boy who rescued the gray and white puppy—y quien de muchacho ‘rescató’ a una 
gatita siamesa como mi regalo de quince- is the gringo mexicano who breaks wild colts today. 
Our childhood animal-loving-selves live within us as we face the adult world. So, though 
Simón has gone to pass and my eight-year-old nephew ahora es pleno quinceañero. That sweet 
boy still lies within the heart of an award winning charro, who trains with his borregos and his 
Australian shepherd, Max—o como le digo yo—Maximiliano Buendía. 

PORTAL,  Vol. 16, No. 1/2, 2019155

Simón