The Nomadic Life

Finding a New Home For My Fur Baby

Chapter 34

Why would anyone ever leave a place like San Diego? Perfect weather, golden sunsets, and cool coastal breezes are just a few of the many amenities for which this city can boast. But even paradise has a cost, and by the year 2000, the price becomes impossible to ignore.

It all starts with the Super Bowl. It was 1998 and it had been ten years since the game was held in San Diego. That year both teams were from cities known for their harsh cold climates. It is the dead of winter and the game draws thousands of visitors from across the country. This is the first time many are seeing San Diego and experiencing the warmth of both the climate and its people. They come, they see, they decide to move here. The city that once had empty lots and crumbling apartment buildings just two years earlier, becomes the hottest real estate market in the country. Dilapidated homes that could not sell for $100,000 now go for five times as much. Renters get pushed out as landlords cash in. And I, like so many others, fall victim to the new economic and financial boom which has caused a one percent occupancy rate in this once quiet tropical utopia.

I have no credit, no savings. I beg my friend Dewey to invest in property while it remains affordable, suggesting he purchase just a few vacant houses and let me live in them as I fix them up. I know he could make a nice profit, and doing so could change the trajectory of my life. But he declines. As a multi-millionaire living with his mother in Jackson, Mississippi, he doesn’t need the money. And with that decision, I get priced out of my city.

Suddenly, owning a large dog becomes a liability. Landlords slash pet-friendly policies, and housing that once accepted Section 8 or even middle-income tenants vanish. With my beloved and strikingly handsome champagne-colored German Shepherd, Sebastian, by my side, I am running out of options and time.

I search high and low for someone, anyone, who will take my beautiful dog in. People who once doted on him suddenly disappear. The devastating truth is, no matter how much they said they adored and loved Sebastion, no one is willing to help. I am unable to even find a roommate whose lease allows a dog, no matter how well-behaved or gentle he is.

That is when Doug and I come up with a desperate plan. He is also losing his place. With a seller’s market offering five times her home’s estimated value, his mother sells her house after knee surgery and moves into a senior community. She gives Doug $5,000 to get started, but the money vanishes in a matter of weeks. He finds temporary housing at the Hillcrest Inn, but prices have shot up so much he cannot stay there much longer. We are both barely treading water.

Pooling what little money we have, I search the classifieds and finally find something that seems affordable, a double-wide trailer sixty miles east of the city, in Boulevard, California. The desert mountains are not ideal, with dust storms in the summer, chilling temperatures in the winter, and only a phone modem for internet. But the landlord accepts dogs, and that’s all that matters.

We make it work; we have no choice. I get a job at the local restaurant, and eventually Doug finds work as a cashier at the Quicky Mart next door to the café. With a satellite dish, a VCR, and a steady paycheck, life has a pulse again. Our situation is far from perfect, but we establish a rhythm. We go out to the Eagle or Pecs on Saturday nights, taking Sebastian with us. If we leave him behind, he breaks windows to escape the house rather than be left alone. He prefers being in the bar with us, and the owners don’t mind, even giving him a bowl of water as he lies at my feet. It’s not paradise, but it works for all involved.

But the powers that be, have other plans and once again, I’m uprooted. This time, the nomad experiences untold pain.

I do not know how, but one evening, after tallying up his register, Doug leaves the nightly receipts on a counter. When his back is turned and he is distracted, someone picks up the bag, taking with them over $3,500 and Doug’s job.

Two months earlier we took in a stray, Betty, a little dog Doug falls in love with. Now I will be tasked with supporting all of us, and I know it is not going to work. We had a hard enough time locating this place, and I know there is little chance of ever finding something else I can afford.

Doug’s brother, who lives in Apple Valley just twenty minutes from Boulevard, offers to take Betty and Doug in. I don’t care what happens to me, but I have to find my dog, my best friend, a real home.

I cannot risk Sebastian ending up in the pound and immediately think of Richard. He loves dogs as much as I do and years ago took in my other German Shepherd, Sheba, when I moved from Biloxi to New Orleans. I hope against hope; he will offer to help again. But to my dismay, he tells me he has just adopted a new basset hound, bringing his total to four dogs. He cannot possibly afford another.

Heartbroken, I turn to the only place I have left: the internet. Through a video chat program called ISPQ, I have had the fortune of making connections with people across the country. One man, a married friend in New Hampshire, often sees Sebastian in the background during our calls and never fails to comment on how beautiful he is. One night, as I share the crushing reality that I am about to lose our home and cannot find anyone nearby to take Sebastian, I halfheartedly ask if he would ever consider giving him a home.

To my surprise, he does not say no, instead he says he will ask his wife.

The next evening, during another generic chat, he surprises me with the news that his wife said yes, saying If I can get Sebastian there, they will gladly give him a new home.”

It will take every last penny I have to make the drive from California to New Hampshire as my truck is old. The journey will be long, hard, and extremely uncomfortable. But none of that matters. My little boy needs a home. And I am going to make certain he has one.

We set out cross-country, staying in cheap motels when we can. Sebastian barely eats. He seems to understand what is happening. I think he can sense my heart breaking.

Along the way, I stop in Vermont to meet Adam, another man I have been chatting with online. I plan to visit him for a week or more once I get Sebastian settled. Adam, who doesn’t like dogs, offers his place for us to stay overnight before starting the final leg of our journey to New Hampshire. I will head back once I know my little boy is okay and settled in. We spend the night at Adam’s house, and in the morning, continue our trek.

When we arrive in New Hampshire, I meet Sebastian’s new dad in person. He is a gentle, warm soul who already appears to be in love with my boy. He has made all the necessary preparations for him, but there’s something else he did, something that tells me I have made the right choice. He buys a brand new 2000 Ford Explorer with a moonroof, just so Sebastian can stick his head out when riding.

I stay for a few hours, trying to be brave. Even though I know in my heart I have found my baby boy the best possible home, as I finally pull away, I can barely see the road through my tears.

I arrive back in Vermont, hours past dinnertime. Adam, seeing how distraught I am, offers to take me out to dinner, but I cannot eat. My emotions are too raw. I am also consumed with guilt and fear, wondering if I have made a terrible mistake.

We arrive back at the house and not two minutes later the phone rings.

Sebastian’s new dad is on the other end of the line. His voice shakes as he tells me that his new pet has broken through a window and run across a busy highway, trying to find me. He reports that my little boy is scared, confused, and alone. He continues, explaining that he has been sitting on the porch in the freezing cold for hours, calling for the dog, watching and hoping he would come back. As a last resort he has decided to call me, asking if I can help. Frustrated after trying everything he can think of, he tells me he is hoping my frightened baby will come back if he sees me and hears my voice.

I do not hesitate, throwing on my clothes and grabbing for my keys. The lateness of the hour does not matter. Whether it is nearly midnight or that New Hampshire is hours away, my little boy is out there, frightened and searching. I have to go.

The drive feels endless, every mile thick with worry. I pull into the driveway, heart pounding, unsure of what I will find.

The porch light is on.

As I pull up, the man quietly opens the door and makes a “hush” motion with his finger to his lips. He meets me at my truck and tells me Sebastian came back on his own and is lying by the fireplace fast asleep.

I have driven all that way for nothing.

But not really.

This time, I leave knowing Sebastian made the choice to come back. He chose to accept his new family. And just like that, the crushing guilt I’ve carried starts to lift.

From that moment on, I know my precious little boy will be okay.

The ache of separation is still there, but now it is laced with something softer, relief, gratitude, and peace of mind.

Things with Adam do not work out nearly as well as Sebastian’s new home. Long story short… men are pigs, and we will leave it at that. But that ending does not matter.

This story is about love and sacrifice, and how I am forced to part with my best friend to give him the life he deserves. It shatters me beyond words and takes years to even begin healing from the hollow space his absence leaves behind. There will always be a part of my heart, mind, and soul that belongs to Sebastian, unshakable, sacred and his alone.

When you love someone, I mean truly love them, you do what is best for them, no matter how much it hurts. Whether human or animal, when the ones you love depend on you, you choose their happiness over your own. That is the cost of real love. That is the weight of true sacrifice.

And I will never stop missing him.