Tiny Dog Security Team–Episode 1–Independence Day

Usually, during rainstorms, our three dogs go crazy whenever it thunders.  They run through the house with their little paws slapping frantically against the hardwood floors.  They scratch impatiently at my door until I finally let them into the room.  Then, they scoot quickly under the bed and hide until the storm is over.

Because of the dogs’ response to thunder, I was concerned how they would react to the fireworks on the 4^th of July.   I imagined that the dogs would be running around in circles and barking hysterically once the fireworks began.  However, to my surprise the dogs were holding it together much better than I was.

Once the fireworks started, I jumped in surprise every time I heard the loud sizzles, cracks, pops, and rumbles that echoed around the neighborhood.  It has been 25 years since I have experienced a Kansas 4^th of July holiday. For the last 11 years, I had been living in the deserts of Southern California.  Personal use of fireworks is illegal there due to the dryness in the region.  Fireworks are a huge fire hazard in such an arid environment and can only be used in professional displays like at baseball games and theme parks.  While I lived in California, my Independence Day celebration was quiet and calm.  I wasn’t used to hearing the constant explosions happening all around me now and was growing more unnerved as the loud booms continued late into the night.  Every now and then, I ran to the front door to peek outside.  I wanted to see exactly how close the fireworks were to the house.  It sounded like the explosions were happening right outside the front door.  I worried for a moment if I needed to move my car to a safer location.  Was the house secure?  Of course, I was worrying needlessly but the deafening roars of the fireworks continued to unnerve me.  I apprehensively shut the front door.  The light from outside flickered about the dark room and made me feel anxious.  I walked back into my bedroom, shut the door, and took some long deep breaths.

And then….

Oh, goodness, I could hear the dogs thumping down the hallway to my room.  Then, of course, they were soon scratching at my door.  “Okay,” I sighed.  “The dogs are freaking out now.”  I got up from my seat at the desk and opened the door.  The dogs didn’t run into the room, though.  Instead, all three dogs stood in a straight line on the threshold and stared up at me with concern in their eyes.  Then, they came slowly into the room.  But instead of scooting under the bed, they circled around me and looked at me hopefully.  I walked back to my chair and sat down heavily.  To my surprise, the three small dogs surrounded me and stood at attention.  I suddenly realized then that the dogs weren’t looking for comfort; they had come into the room to protect me!  Had they sensed my anxiety?  Did they realize that I was uncomfortable?  Could these three small, incredible dogs actually read my emotions?  They had come into my room not to hide but to unselfishly take care of me.

Once I began to settle down, Cowboy and Friskie returned to the front room.  Only Starburst remained in the bedroom with me.  Starburst is a tiny, older, furry-all-over, white-and-brown female mutt who usually is very calm and low key.  Tonight, however, she stayed on alert.  Though she began to spread out and relax under my chair, whenever I jumped due to another loud crack of fireworks, Starburst would leap up on her four stubby little legs and walk around my chair; she marched around the room as if she was on patrol.  She growled and hissed at any noise that threatened my sense of well-being.  Slowly, she would settle back down beside me again.  She would relax until the next boom occurred just a few seconds later.  And then once again, “Officer Starburst” was back on patrol.  Starburst stayed with me for most of the evening.  She only left my side when I finally turned off my computer and got up from my chair.  After telling Starburst thank you for taking care of me, I closed my door after I thought she had gone back into the living room.

A few minutes later, I opened my bedroom door as I was getting ready for bed.  Oh, my gosh!  To my surprise, I found all three dogs standing sentinel in front of my doorway again.  I was so amazed that the dogs were still protecting me throughout the night.  Little Starburst seemed to be the commander of the Tiny Dog Security team.  She remained stretched out in front of the door as if she was blocking entry into my room.  She looked alert—poised and ready to attack any threat to me.

I suddenly laughed out loud as I got down on the floor.  I happily wrestled and played with the dogs for a few minutes before assuring them that I was fine now even though the fireworks continued.  Though Friskie and Cowboy wandered back off to their bed in the living room, Starburst remained with me throughout the night.  Starburst is Friskie’s mom and I guess when she thought I was scared, her mother instincts took over.  She was, for that night, my protector and defender.  Friskie and Cowboy also continued to check up on me throughout the night.

So with Starburst remaining outside my door, I settled down into bed.  And though the fireworks continued to rage outside, I fell into a peaceful, calm sleep, knowing that I was protected by pure kindness and unconditional love.

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My Personal Independence

Why do these things keep happening to me?

That’s not a complaint.  I’m not whining or asking for sympathy.  I know that I have been blessed.  I know that I have had a good life.  The question is of the straight-forward, searching-for-answers variety that would bring understanding to my chronically crazy life.  I am just looking for some perspective, some meaning for the series of strange events that have occurred in my life lately.  Does everything really happen for a reason?  If it does, than what has been the purpose of incidents happening in the last couple of years?

In particular…

I can’t seem to stop living out of my car!  For the past ten years, I have rented a variety of apartments throughout Southern California.  Yes, it is true…I have moved about seven times since I arrived in Palm Springs, California, in October of 2004.  I have moved so many times that one of my friends told me that she always dedicates a full page of her address book just to me because she knows she will have to make constant updates.  She made the comment, “You move more than someone on the lam.”  She’s right, I suppose.  I do move around a lot.  Is the change due to my constant restlessness and wanderlust?  Actually, no….

There is a deep part of me that dreams of settling down somewhere.  I dream of setting down roots, having a family, becoming a familiar face in the community.  But circumstances have continually caused me to move, not into a house but into the bucket seats of my 2010 Toyota Scion.

Before the Scion was home, my main residence was a 2002 Toyota Tacoma.  Every time I think of that pick-up truck, I get a horrible case of homesickness.  I have more feelings of “Home” for that truck than any place I’ve ever lived in California.  I have never stayed anywhere else long enough, I guess, to get attached to a particular structure.

I moved into my first California apartment in 2004.  I was there for eight months until the owners decided to sell the property.  I was told to either by the rundown, ‘70s decorated one-bedroom place or get out.  I got out…and moved into my truck.  My next apartment was a small studio where I stayed for almost two years until new management refused to repair leaky air conditioners, fix broken windows, and control the roach problem…and then doubled the rent! Back into the truck I moved.  I stayed in the truck until I rented my next apartment in Oceanside, California.  I had been offered a new position with higher pay.  Within six months, however, the Oceanside company folded.  Thankfully, my old job in Palm Springs took me back.  Unfortunately, I couldn’t commute four hours a day nor pay for two separate apartments, so I stayed in my truck until the lease on the Oceanside apartment had ended.

The next apartment I had in Palm Springs was my favorite.  I stayed there for almost two years until my mother moved to California and into the apartment with me.  Suddenly, the studio apartment seemed much smaller.  Mom and I didn’t move into my truck.  Instead, we moved into a two-bedroom apartment that featured a multitude of lizards running around the courtyard.  Little lizards were always waiting on the porch to greet us every time we opened the front door.  Mom and I lived in that apartment for eight months until I lost my mother to colon cancer in March 2010.  I couldn’t maintain a two-bedroom apartment by myself.  I didn’t move back into the pickup this time.  Instead, I was living in a 2010 Toyota Scion which had replaced the truck the year before.  Man, I miss that truck!

Later, I moved into a one bedroom apartment determined that I would make it a home…which I did for two and a half years until mice moved into the walls.  The owners of the building just laughed at me when I complained.  “You’re living in the desert,” they said.  “You’re going to have snakes, mice, lizards, and roaches in every apartment no matter how clean you keep it!”  Oh, the apartment was also haunted.  The manager couldn’t seem to explain away the spirits, which actually didn’t seem to bother me.  My friend, Olga, always laughs at this incident.  She says, “You stayed with the ghosts, but moved with the mice.”  Well, yeah, mice are scary!  Thank goodness, my car doesn’t have mice…or ghost.

My last California apartment was in Palm Desert where I lived for 18 months until more little critters chased me back into my Scion.  Maybe I should have stood my ground and not little the creatures push me around.  Maybe I should have demanded that the critters leave, especially since they weren’t paying rent.  Being nervous about confrontations though, I ended up being the one to move out.  I threw all of my things into storage and sadly moved back into my Toyota Scion, feeling like a complete failure.

My friend, Terry, helped me move the last of my possessions into the storage space on July 4^th, Independence Day.   I was really not happy about the situation when Terry placed the very last item into the bin and I shut and locked the door.  My whole life awkwardly fit into a tiny 5 X 5 space.

Suddenly, Terry looked at me and said excitedly, “Oh my gosh!  Happy Independence Day!  You’re free!” I turned to look at her in surprise.  “This is so great for you,” Terry continued to say.  “I wish I was like you.  Without the apartment and lots of possessions, you have no obligations.  You’re so free.  You don’t get held down by anything.  You just travel and go whenever you want.  What an amazing way to live!”

I stared at her for a moment.  It was an interesting perspective she just presented to me.  I could whine that I didn’t have a home or I could celebrate my freedom.  It suddenly dawned on me that every time I switched apartments, I actually did celebrate.  After I left the first apartment, I drove through Southwestern America.  When I left the second apartment, I drove cross country to the Northeast.  After the third, I think I ended up in Pacific Northwest.  I suddenly began to think about all the great places I’ve been when I was in between homes.  With freedom and my home life contained in my car, I usually just drove everywhere my wanderlust encouraged me.  Now, my sudden new liberty was filling my head with dreams of the very last American state I had to visit—Alaska!

“Yeah,” I smiled back at Terry then, “you’re right.  I do have a lot of freedom.”

“Independence!  Happy 4^th of July!” Terry cried as we hugged each other for a moment.  “I want to be not only free but brave like you!  I’m proud of you.”

And that’s maybe why I don’t have a home.  Maybe that’s why these things keep happening to me.  Maybe there is a reason, a purpose, a plan.  Maybe I am supposed to be on the road discovering God’s beautiful land.

I’m not totally free.  Alaska will have to wait a few more weeks because of my job.  But as I lie down every night in the back seat of my Toyota Scion to sleep, I continue to dream of Alaska and my incredibly bright, unknown, unpredictable future and I know I am home.