Good dog gone bad

We headed due East out of Atascadero across the central California valley to Joshua Tree National Park.

The little town of Joshua Tree is charming, a bit old hippy with coffee shops and second hand clothing festooning the sidewalks. We enjoyed the visitor center. We are going to camp on BLM land and go through the park tommorow.

My favorite factoid from the museum: Minerva Hamilton Hoyt, a south Pasadena matron, went to the desert after her husband and child died. She found solace and a passion, and proceeded almost singlhandedly to persuade Roosevelt to make the area a National Park. Thank you, Minerva.

Joshua Tree

And what is a Joshua Tree? DesertUSA, and the visitor center, both say pretty much: The Joshua tree, the largest of the yuccas, grows only in the Mojave Desert. Natural stands of this picturesque, spike-leafed evergreen grow nowhere else in the world. Its height varies from 15-40 feet with a diameter of 1-3 feet. They grow 2 to 3 inches a year, takes 50 to 60 years to mature and they can live 150 years. Are you actually reading this and paying attention? 150 years. That’s older than you, my friend.

Boondocking

So here we are, the first, exciting official night of boondocking on our trip. We found a patch to camp on just outside of town, got the dog pads out, settled the critters and sank into our camp chairs, awed by the blue sky, warm air and desert expanse.

As we contemplated our pups, we came to the same conclusion. We have two dogs, plus one good dog gone bad.

His Nibbs and Princess Buttercup train a dog

His Nibbs and P.B. have resolve. They are taking things in hand. They are going to train the dog. At one time in the past, Ciba was a good dog. Now, a renegade, he sneaks into the people bed and steals all the room. He is, in essence, a good dog gone bad. As Delia Owens says, “Some parts of us will always be what we were, what we had to be to survive – way back yonder.”

So here we are, camped in the high desert. The sun has just descended, and the cold creeps in surprisingly quickly.

This is the night of change. The dog, Ciba, is perched on a three layer extravaganza of dog beds, tucked in with a blanket. He is snuggled down. We also are cozy. We are in our full size bed, snuggled under a wool blanket, topped with a down comforter.

All is quiet as we drift into slumber. Our minds quiet, our breathing slows. Our serenity is rent by a sudden yip that pierces the quiet. We exhale. We recite: “All is as it should be”. A second yip tears through the dark. A third yip, punctuated by piteous infant-like cries of despair blights the edges of our composure. The desperate moans increase and begin to come in a predictable, tortured rhythm. “Ciba, quiet” we say. We chant “All is as it should be.” Again we drift softly toward slumber. The silence seems to thicken. We sense a presence looming over us. Moist breath warms our faces.

We open our eyes, and as we look into his, we see not Dog, but God. Maybe we have it all backwards. Ciba is training us.

Consider it done.