On April 30, 2011, I left dry and almost hot again Southern California for good. The nearly 900 mile drive to our home in Crescent City in my red Ford Ranger packed with four large crates of rabbit pairs, a guinea pig, two cats, supplies and a change of clothes, one of my daughters – a hellish event.  The guinea pig didn’t seem affected, though Meika, behaved oddly.

Meika, big game hunter. (in her dreams)

As it turns out, Meika had cancer of the worst kind.  It saddens me to think of how she endured 19 hours in the little truck. She was euthanized a few weeks later.  She would have loved life here and I planted a paw-paw tree in her memory in the back of our property.

The day before I left, I had a surprise visitor at the sliding door.  Though he and his mate would come into the back when the dog wasn’t paying attention, he never came this close.

I don’t know what prompted him to come to the door, linger and go.  Did he have a sense of the changes going on or was it coincidence? Is there something more?

I don’t find quarters anymore, as I have since childhood.  I find feathers.  Every day.