Born in the USA

From Mia Cope

If you were thinking this was about Bruce Springsteen, I apologize. Even though I do like the chorus to his song and its repeating lyrics (“Born in the USA, Born in the USA”), the rest of the words are pretty depressing. Daddy, who was eligible for the draft during the Viet Nam War, says it’s a sad story.

But after this past week, I for one will happily hum and repeat that chorus. You see, I was born in the USA and the United States Supreme Court ruled that the Constitution and the Amendments say exactly what they say. Anyone born or naturalized in the United States is a citizen.

Now, before you go off on a rant, I want to say up front that I realize that decision applies to humans. While the Court didn’t say that I, Mia Cope and American dog, am a citizen, you have to believe down in your heart that it’s true.

Why do I care? I shouldn’t. But I’ve noticed that there’s a lot of misplaced anger and discrimination against people who come from other countries. I see that bias against foreigners as a potential for bias against fur-runners, too.

I was definitely born in USA. It doesn’t matter that I’m mostly Siberian Husky. That’s right. Siberia, somewhere several generations ago, was my homeland. But I’m an American by birth. Not everyone has that privilege.

My love of America is not because of picnics this weekend with hamburgers grilled over open flames, watermelon, and apple pie. Or parades with big bands and kids on bicycles and flags waving everywhere. And definitely not for the fireworks.

It’s because I’ve walked the streets of my hometown. I’ve met the people and sniffed noses with other dogs and picked up their scents along the trail. I’ve crept respectfully (and a little fearfully) around the cats lurking in the neighborhood. I’ve come to understand that wherever you live, you deserve to belong — no matter where you were born.

This morning on our walk, Daddy and I met three young men. They laughed and said that Daddy talked funny. They told us that they were from East Africa and they were glad to meet us. As we walked home, Daddy explained they were refugees who had come to America to be safe and that you shouldn’t have to be a citizen to belong and be cared for.

I was telling Momma about my gladness when I got home. She hugged me. No words — but her eyes got a little moist. Mine, too. I belong here. It’s even sweeter knowing that refugees from East Africa do, too.