Too bad I'm not.
Nope, I jump at every sound, duck and run a few paces when the breeze kicks up. I almost scream when a bunny darts out in front of me. The whole walk home is like that, but when I finally see the tiny lanterns on either side of my front step, I relax.
I live in a tiny house.
Literally.
When that fad hit a few years ago, maybe more than a few now, about the small sustainable, affordable housing, I ran with the idea. I spent five months building my very own tiny home and made sure it was founded on a trailer that I can hitch to my pickup and take with me everywhere.
The materials are sturdy and can withstand the elements. Honestly, it's like a mobile bomb shelter because I'm just that paranoid.
The electricity comes from solar panels on the roof, and the heat from a wood burning stove that doubles as a cooktop.
I used the same kind of plumbing that most high end RV's have so I can have running water and a functional bathroom. Parking close to a body of water is a plus since I have a purification system, and I have rain barrels attached in the bed of my truck as backup.
There's a quaint little sitting area with a small couch and even smaller lounger, a few floor pillows, and a bean bag chair. A table that folds up in the kitchen when I don't need it. Shelving and storage under the loft style bed—a queen-size so Samson and I both have room.
It's not much. I don't have much at all really, but it's home and it's one hundred percent mine.
"Hello, baby!" I squeal as I unlock the door. "Where's my good boy? There he is! There's mama's most handsome good boy!"
Samson starts doing his happy dance, jumping from the couch to the floor to the chair, then back again. His ears were cropped as a puppy but the right one is a little floppy, his left stands the way it was forced to so when he periodically stops in front of me to tilt his head and wag his tail, he looks so silly I can't help but laugh.
"There he is! Yes, there's mama's good boy! Did you miss me, baby? I missed you! Yes I did!" Dropping my satchel on the lounger, I get to my knees and start aggressively rubbing Samson's sides, his scruff, under his collar, and behind his ears. "Did you keep all the monsters away? Did you protect our fortress of solitude?"
He gives me a little happy ruff and I grin.
"Good boy. Let mama change and get dinner started then we'll go potty, ok?"
He immediately plants his butt in front of the door and waits patiently while I go under the loft and find an oversized t-shirt and yoga shorts, then throw in two of my hobo pouches that can go right into my wood burning stove.
Basically, it's some sort of potatoes, vegetable, and meat, seasoned and wrapped in tinfoil. That way I can still have actual cooked meals instead of always eating something from a can or cold cereal. Which I still do, but I can't afford to skip meals, not when I have to keep running, so I need to pack as much nourishment into my body as I can.
And I always make a second one for Samson because he's spoiled.
Once changed, I open the door and let my pooch out, and Samson darts out the door to do his perimeter check. I watch with a smile from my step and wait until I get the all clear, which comes a few seconds later via happy ahroof.
I let my bare feet take me a little ways from the house, wiggle my toes in the grass, and watch my puppy run into a bush after a raccoon. It really is beautiful here, the type of place I'd want to plant roots if I could.
Mountains.
Forests.
Flowers.
There's even a natural spring a couple yards behind where I parked.
It's perfect, ideal, but another dream that will never come true.
Hugging my waist, I look up to the sky as a few rain clouds roll in, and watch their blackness cover the moon, hiding the thousands of stars.
Normally, I'd uncover the rain barrels and try to get what I can for my next trip, but since I'm currently stuck I just watch as the first fat drop of rain plummets from the sky.
Thunder booms somewhere far off and I look for Samson.
"Come on, baby! Inside!" Don't need my house smelling like a wet dog for two days. I stick my fingers in my mouth and whistle just as his black and white fur emerges from the tree line. "Come on, puppy. Inside!"
And because he's smart and loyal and so very obedient, Samson comes running back with a smile on his handsome face.
