I’m beginning to think Arizona is trying to tell me something.
I’ve been here for two weeks.
TWO. WEEKS.
In that time, I’ve experienced a dust storm that looked like Armageddon rolling across the desert, a thunderstorm with BASEBALL-SIZED HAIL, and a freaking TORNADO.
A TORNADO.
IN ARIZONA.
And not just regular weather, either. Oh, no. The kind that comes with emergency alerts screaming through your phone like someone is launching nuclear missiles.
“IMMINENT THREAT.”
“DESTRUCTIVE.”
“ZERO VISIBILITY.”
“PULL ASIDE, STAY ALIVE!”
I’m sorry, WHAT?!
I moved to the desert. I was expecting sunshine, palm trees, and the occasional scorpion with an attitude.
Not the opening scenes of Twister.
At this point, I have to wonder…
Is it me?
Did I bring this with me? Is Michigan upset about the breakup? Did I offend the entire state of Arizona before I even finished unpacking?
I have questions.
And apparently, the weather isn’t the only thing around here that’s completely unhinged.
Let’s discuss the dogs.
First, if you’ve seen the picture of the dogs piled on my bed, let me clarify something.
That’s not my bed anymore.
Although, who am I kidding? When was it EVER my bed?
I’m merely the person who pays the mortgage and occasionally gets permission to sleep on the edge.
Anyway.
Today, Sadie, my nine-year-old German Shorthaired Pointer, decided she’d had enough of domestic life and let herself out the front door.
Just… left.
No collar. No leash. No forwarding address.
The front door hadn’t latched completely, and apparently she saw an opportunity.
And took it.
We didn’t even know she’d escaped.
Until we did.
Cue ten minutes of sheer panic, Greg and I searching the neighborhood, imagining every horrible possibility.
And then a gentleman appeared on a motorized bike.
“Are you looking for your dog?”
I heard Greg answer, “Yes! German Shorthaired Pointer!”
“Super sweet dog. I’ve got her at my house. I live up the hill.”
I could have KISSED this man.
Not only had he rescued my collarless delinquent from the streets, he’d gone BACK OUT to find her family.
WHO DOES THAT?!
Good people. That’s who.
So naturally, I bought a thank-you card and some gourmet chocolates.
Sadie even wrote her own note, which ended with:
“PS My mom says I’m only allowed future visits if I make an appointment. As you can tell, she’s ZERO fun.”
Greg delivered the card and chocolates this evening while walking our other psycho.
These people are SAINTS.
And Sadie?
Sadie is an asshole.
A very sweet, very beautiful, very loved asshole.
But an asshole nonetheless.
And here’s the thing.
THIS IS NOT HER FIRST OFFENSE.
The first time was when the movers were delivering our belongings.
Somehow, in the chaos, Sadie escaped.
And I chased her.
ON FOOT.
Through my brand-new neighborhood.
Now, I need you to understand something.
I have absolutely NO business running anywhere these days.
None.
But there I was, sprinting after a dog who apparently thought we’d signed up for a delightful neighborhood fun run.
She was having the time of her life.
I was wondering if my life insurance was paid up.
Eventually, another wonderful human being caught her.
Thank GOD.
Except…
No collar.
No leash.
Because Sadie NEVER runs away.
Obviously.
So I had to CARRY her home.
My fully grown German Shorthaired Pointer.
Through the neighborhood.
After running so far that I was completely lost and had to use GPS to find my own freaking house.
By the time I made it back, the movers had gone from concerned to mildly amused to full-on hysterical.
And honestly?
Fair.
A sweaty, exhausted, middle-aged woman stumbling home carrying a large dog while navigating Google Maps probably wasn’t on their moving-day bingo card.
You’re welcome, gentlemen.
But WAIT.
THERE’S MORE.
Because apparently the dogs have formed some sort of escape committee, and nobody invited me to the meetings.
The DAY AFTER Sadie’s first adventure, Leo decided to participate.
Leo, my Braque du Bourbonnais, spotted a bird in the backyard.
And decided the bird needed to be pursued.
Immediately.
With absolutely no regard for property lines or the fact that HE IS A DOG AND NOT A FREAKING OLYMPIC POLE VAULTER.
He jumped the wall.
THE WALL.
Between my yard and the neighbor’s yard.
A little while later, there’s a knock at my door.
“Hi, I’m your neighbor. Do you have a dog that looks like some sort of pointer?”
“Yes! Oh my gosh, is he barking? He’s in the backyard. I’m so sorry!”
“Um, no ma’am.”
Pause.
“He’s in MY backyard.”
OH.
MY.
GOD.
“LET ME GRAB A LEASH!”
Because apparently that’s how we’re meeting the neighbors now.
Not with a friendly wave. Not with a plate of cookies.
Nope.
Trespassing sporting dogs.
At this point, I’m surprised the HOA hasn’t called an emergency meeting.
So, let’s recap.
Two weeks in Arizona.
One apocalyptic dust storm.
One thunderstorm with baseball-sized hail.
One tornado.
Two Sadie escapes.
One Leo wall-jumping incident.
One woman lost in her own neighborhood.
And a moving crew that will probably be telling stories about me for years.
Meanwhile, the dogs are sleeping peacefully in MY bed.
Without a single ounce of remorse.
I moved across the country for a fresh start.
Apparently, the universe interpreted that as a request for a full-blown circus.
But you know what?
In the middle of all this ridiculousness, I’ve discovered something pretty wonderful.
There are really good people here.
People who stop for a lost dog. Who take her home. Who go looking for her family. Who show kindness to a complete stranger without expecting anything in return.
And people who politely knock on your door to inform you that your idiot dog is standing in their backyard.
I’ve barely been here two weeks, and already, strangers have reminded me that there’s a whole lot of good in the world.
I think I’m going to like it here.
Assuming the tornadoes stop.
And the dogs stay put.
And I can eventually reclaim six inches of my own mattress.
But seriously, Arizona.
Please tell me it ISN’T me!
🤦🏼♀️😂🐾
