My aunt's dog Pippi was a spotted black and white rescue that originally came from some other rescue in scrub brush hills and valleys of Topanga Canyon. On dry autumn days, we would get in loud, light blue, VW squareback and drive out to Topanga with the dog.
As dogs do, Pippi would get excited as we got closer to the wide open spaces. Watching her twirl around the car I would use the logic of an 5-year-old and say, "She's happy because she knows she's home." As I got older, I lost faith in that theory. But then you hear those stories where dogs walk miles and miles, crossing county, even state lines, to get to some old home. So maybe it was true. And if in fact she did recall this home, was she mad at us for taking her out of the Canyon and into an apartment in Venice?
I am originally from a neighborhood in Venice called Ghost Town where purses were frequently snatched and gas was often stolen from our car.
But just like the dog, I know it's home.
Drinking glasses by SoLA, available at Kitson and other fine stores.