There’s usually a reason the dogs go crazy. Last night it was the chicken. A bold bird, it was making its way up the steps surrounded by yapping dogs when I went to see what all the commotion was about. In reality, a rooster, as this morning he woke me at daybreak cock-a-doodling. He’s a taciturn bird, seemingly unmindful of insane dogs snapping at his heels. He’s a tough looking bird with sharp claws and a beak, Hopefully able to defend himself because it’s a tough life in the country for a solitary chicken.

A couple days ago I talked to my son about how the way we look at things can change everything. The last time I lived in this small desert town, I felt trapped, restless, wanted to get away. Of course, that was much how I lived my life, always thinking of the next place to go. Today, I’m at peace. I have friends. A job I like. A stray chicken livens up the day. “You had a bad attitude about a lot of things,” he told me.

Yes, I did. I tried to change my life by changing geographics. It worked for a while. In some cases, the changes were deep and permanent. I still drink green tea and practice the tai chi I learned in China. The education I received in Santa Cruz and Nevada has given me a career. But the running did nothing to heal or change who I was.

Today, in the last place I ever imagined living, I’ve finally come home. I’ve finally stopped running.