Whose Dog is that Barking?

It’s 3 am and there’s a dog barking. I’m groggy and annoyed. “Whose dog is that anyway?” I wonder in my melatonin stupor.
“Is that Zara (our dog)?” I mumble to Erez.
“Hmm dunno,” he mutters and pulls himself out of our cozy bed to go check.
“Nope,” he says upon return to slumber-land.

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It’s 6:30 am, I’m still asleep. Erez bursts into the bedroom.
“I found that dog whose been barking. He’s been tied up all night in the park.”

When I come downstairs, I see my husband in the park with the dog. He’s laid down a blanket and has what I can only assume is a bowl of food in his hands. He’s doing some fancy moves walking back and forth, talking to the dog.

That’s when I fell in-love with him all over again.

We just celebrated 10 years of being married last weekend, and right there I see the man I fell in-love with the moment I met him.

He’s the brave one. The risk taker who’s willing to approach the lunging, scared, barking pit bull tied to a tree all night.

I just stand and watch him work his magic.

“Come. It’s ok. He’s warming up to me. I’ve already pet him.” I approach with caution, get on my knees on the blanket and put my hand forward. The dog sniffs and begins to relax. I move in to pet him.

Within minutes, (and after an hour of Erez being with him) he lets us both love him up, rubbing his head, his backside. He offers a kiss.

“We need a name for him,” we say almost simultaneously. “And then what? Facebook? Animal Shelter??”

He has no name tag, his ribs are showing and he needs a bath.

The morning wears on with texts, Facebook posts, calls to shelters, a visit to see if he’s chipped. We relax into the fact that “this is what we’re doing now.” We aren’t going to “get any work done.”

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He migrates with us to our front porch where we keep him on a leash. He’s had a meal, done his business and he’s so tired he crashes on the hard wood floor..

With each passing hour I fall more in-love with him. We’ve named him Cuba. I can feel how I want him to be part of our furry family of two dogs and a cat, but Erez tows the line. “No, we don’t have room or time to take this on. He’s a puppy really. And strong. Not the time.”

I know it’s true. But my seven-year-old heart wants him. There’s room for everybody at the Inn when she is in charge.

With the help of our Corbin Park, yoga and Spokane communities, not to mention friends in other cities lending their kind encouragement, “Cuba” finds a home and is moved to that home in the early afternoon.

I cry. It’s just my nature.

Letting go of him breaks my heart.

I already love him even though I know we can’t keep him.

I love his sweet, fierce, loving disposition.

We pack him off with his new Mama, Denise, who has fallen in-love with him on sight too. As evening comes, I cry some more and Erez holds me, loving me for my own tenderness. I am once again reminded how grateful I am to be married to this man.


I must confess, I’m not who I thought I was!

The Van Go vision had been so clear: that I’d be on the road, jamming to Michael Franti, windows rolled down, hot summer air blowing my wispy hair. I was gonna be hiking in the national parks, drawing and painting, inspired by BIG nature.

I wanted it like a bee wants nectar, and I worked hard to get Van Go prepped. I painted, decorated, got her all cherried out with artwork wrapped on the outside so she would attract my tribe to me. I had baskets of Spring and Summer postcards to hand out, spreading the love, not to mention I had talismans from friends and prayers and intentions from my circle in Spokane.

And then life intervened. There was a new Divine plan that wasn’t mine, and I got redirected home to my art studio.

If you didn’t read the blog on that, check it out on my website, because the full story is a good one, but I won’t repeat it here. Lets just say in a nutshell, “my” plan didn’t work, but I had a great summer.

Since late July I’ve been painting in my studio, exploring new territory on the canvas. I have journeyed inward. As Kabir says, “Don’t go outside your house to see flowers my friend, for inside your house there are flowers. One flower has a thousand petals, and that will do for a place to sit.”

So, what’s the confession you might ask?

The confession is that I’ve sold Van Go! I’ve let the dream go (at least for now) of driving the country in a Van that has no air-con. I got it this summer that I do want more comfort – I want air-con, I want super comfortable seats, I want more space to lay out my art supplies. I want a cabin in big nature, not a van!

But let me tell you how it all transpired, because it’s a pretty cool twist. When I returned home in July, a friends of mine called and said, “I know someone who is interested in buying Van Go if you want to sell her.”

 “No way,” I thought. “I’m not letting go of Van Go. Not yet. I still want to try in the Spring.” But I wrote down her number anyway.

My friend explained that Ann had a dream of becoming the Peace Pilgrim and traveling the country. When she heard about Van Go, she felt like it was the “one.”

It took me a week to call Ann. No harm in talking to her right?

“I’ve had this dream for years to become the Peace Pilgrim,” she told me. We chatted easily for a ½ hour, talking about life, energy, art, our paths. Regardless of the van, we knew we had to meet.

And that’s how it happened.

In person, our connection was even easier, and letting Van Go move along to Ann almost seemed like part of some Divine order. I had merely been the duala for her to get to her next owner.

 “You know, I wouldn’t be buying a van right now if it weren’t your Van Go,” she told me.

“And I wouldn’t be selling her if it weren’t to you.”

In short, Van Go is gone, (though Ann has kindly said she feels like “ours”) but the dream of seeing the national parks is still alive. It’s just going to take a different form – I’m going to create artist residencies in big nature.

So, if you have a cabin, or second home near some beautiful nature or a national park and want to host an artist in exchange for some art, let me know!!