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There’s moisture in the air, humidity and it feels good. . .damp, salty… salty air?  Hmm?  And, I hear birds, but not the usual chatter of the quail, or clacking of the cactus wrens, it’s in the distance, it’s lonesome and windswept. And there’s another constant rhythmic sound, it rolls and tumbles and crashes…could it be a lost coast?

Hot dog on a stick! This is shaping up to be a really good dream, so hang with me humans.

A Binker Barn

I remember it now… Sea Ranch California, in a Binker Barn. A really cool house designed by William Turnbell, Jr. in the 1960s for construction at Sea Ranch an exclusive mid-century modern enclave about 100 miles north of San Francisco basically in the middle of nowhere overlooking the Pacific and known as the Lost Coast. Turnbell used local vernacular building forms (whatever that means…) and native materials. Inside a Binker Barn you feel a sense of the expanse of the outdoors in an airy and light, yet compact indoor environment… laying on the heated floor, washed in light from the clerestory windows, a cool breeze trailing through the house… Heaven…

The Lost Coast

We’re walking on a path just above the breakers where the ocean mist tickles my nose, which is 800 times more sensitive than a humanoid nose. Yes, Dad I have your scent stuck in my snout and it’s time to shower up when we get back to the Barn. And try using soap this time, lots of it! My snout, which is probably my largest organ, took over there for a moment so let’s get back to the dreamscape of the Lost Coast.

A light band of cool fog is lifting above us and below there is a cliff with waves crashing on the rocks. I could easily kick it into four wheel drive low and climb down there, but my parents, well you know they celebrated their 35th birthdays like a century ago, so maybe later. Just then we enter a tunnel created by a small forest of weathered junipers, twisted and knotted with time. So many scents, so quiet, so serene, so peaceful, so many places to leave my calling card, it’s a fantasy. . .

Hot Piggity Dog!

Lunchtime and we arrive at Howard Station Café, in Occidental, California. Named after “Dutch Bill” Howard, who was not Dutch, nor was his name William Howard, so other than that huge fricking squirrel that just scampered by I don’t know what to think of this place. Anyway, Mom tells me about  “Dutch” who was in search of gold, and acquired an unclaimed timbered plateau in 1849 which became the site of Occidental. Then Mom starts reading the menu to me, asking me what I want for lunch! No fricking wagging tail, she’s reading from the Dog Menu. Virgin fire hydrant, I’ve died and gone to heaven. We settle on the “Hot Piggity Dog”, organic brown rice with generous chunks of grilled ham.  All I remember is Dad saying they should have named me Hoover the way I inhaled it.  Wow, that was the best, and shortest, meal ever!

The Forever Beach

Soft light brown sand between my webbed toes. Cool breeze on my naked belly. Briny sea mist in my snout. And my canine brethren running everywhere. I could run forever, play forever, just be. . . forever. It’s heaven. No, it’s Dillon Beach, California. A huge expanse of sun, sea and sand saved especially for people and their best friends.

Reality Awaits

What’s that?

Wait, where I’m I?

I smell carrots, and is that almond butter? It must be Dad having a snack which means I must have been in one of my Utopian dreams where I bark, snort and run while out cold on my fluffy. Time to let Dad give me an almond butter mustache! I love California Dreamin’.

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  1. You are too happy in California! Come home and we’ll open a doggie restaurant here! But first maybe I should go to California with you to see what it is like ….

    • Stacey Pilcher

      Pokie, my love . . . I think Mom and Dad would let you join us if we have separate twin beds. As for the restaurant, what a great dream idea. WOOF WOOF

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