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We had 12 hours until we had to find a new home for our girl, Ezmeralda. Being a red-nosed Pit Bull puppy dog, she was the target of my friend Clayton’s landlord. Hysteria had set in after a Pit Bull recently attacked a young girl in Los Angeles, and in response, people had already killed over 200 Pit Bulls in just a week. Twelve hours to find a new home for the pup or else…

It’s Wednesday morning. I had just decided to blow off percussion class and open up the day for whatever came up.

The phone rings…

“Hey Carl, what you up to?”

“Hey there, Clayton, what’s going on, my friend? I’m just hanging out today. I’m not into doing the music thing today.”

“I’ve got a problem. Ezmeralda’s gotta go. What am I going to do?”

“Hold on, I’ll be right over. We’ll hop in the van and go somewhere … we’ll talk.”

So I scoot over to the house where Clayton, his 19 year old son, Jason, and Ezmeralda were waiting outside for me. They get in my van, and we head for Elk Horn Campground, where Clayton’s friend was supposed to be hanging out.

On our way, Clayton tells me what happened with his landlord, and I say, “Hey, you want to try something? I know how you feel about the vibe stuff I talk about and how we attract what we focus on, but what the hell, we’ve got nothing to lose. I want to try a little experiment.”

He doesn’t say anything, I take it as a yes. “Ok, so we’ve got to find a new home for Ezmeralda by 12am tonight, right? So can I ask you a few questions? And as I do, just simply picture the answers like they’re a done deal. Don’t worry about how and what not.”

“Shoot.” Clayton says.

“Ok, so if you could find the ULTIMATE situation for the pup, what would it be?”

“Well, one things for sure. The new owner’s GOT to be an experienced Pit Bull owner … maybe even a trainer. Treat them well, and they’re awesome pets to have.”

“Cool. What else?” I ask, grateful for his willingness to play.

Lots of land. She’s got to have lots of land to run around.”

“Anything else?”

“Uh, maybe a friend pooch to run around with … maybe even breed, you know?”

“Perfect,” I say, “Hey Jason? You got any ideas? What do you think Ezmeralda needs to be happy?”

“She’s got to be somewhere where she’ll be safe,” he says, “I don’t want any crazy people hurting my dog.”

“Ok, so let’s try visualizing it all. Just simply picture her having a blast as she’s running around in her huge yard. Picture her playing with her playmate, tongue hanging out, out of breath, having the time of her life. And see the owner watching them play. The owner knows Pit Bulls. She’s a trainer and knows the special treatment they need to be the great dogs that they are.”

I continue, “Now the trick is to imagine this scenario as if it’s already happening. See the details, notice the colors, smell the fresh air, see the sunshine, and feel Ezmeralda’s happiness in her contented life. Again, as if it’s a reality, ok?”

So Clayton, Jason, and I continued to talk out the scenario that we desired for her as we drove on to Elk Horn. Hour and a half later we see the sign, make a left onto the dirt road, and look for Clayton’s friend’s mustang. We find it and pull behind it. We unpack a few things from my van, including some chairs, a cooler filled with beverages and some snacks, my conga and head down to our site at the bottom of a hill.

With Esmeralda secured to my bench, Jason and his dad go into the woods looking for sticks to build a fire while I sit down and start playing some rhythms on my drum. About 20 minutes into it, something caught my attention.

I look up to see a woman walking down the hill toward me.

As she gets closer, she’s pointing at me and going, “uhhh … uhhh… uhhh…”

What the?! As she approaches, I see that she’s not pointing at me. She’s pointing at Ezmeralda! I get a quick chill in my back and call out, “Hey Clayton? Jason? I think something’s happening here!”

As they approach, the woman reaches me and murmurs more noise, and emphaticaly points to the dog. She then takes her index finger and writes out in the dirt, “Pit bull.” It finally dawns on me that she can’t talk but is making it very clear that she has something to communicate about Esmeralda. With Clayton and son by my side, she reaches into her back pocket and pulls out a wallet, not filled with family pictures and what not, but with one photo … of a red nosed Pit Bull puppy dog, just like Esmeralda!

“Holy #4@%! Clayton! You see this?” I say. There was no doubt something was happening here.

She pulls out a pad and pencil and writes,” This is my dog …. he looks just like yours!”

I poke Clayton on the side and wink at him with a knowing look. I explain to the woman our situation and how we have to find a new owner by tonight or else. I explain to her how we need a special, experienced, and loving owner that knows how to take care of Pit Bulls. Ready for this? (To this day, I still think I’m making this up, it’s so hard to believe ….)

She writes on her pad, “Well, my fiance and I are about to move in with my sister who lives on 2 acres of land in Colorado, where my dog can run free. She’s been a Pit Bull trainer for 20 years. We’re looking for a female to breed with, and if she says it’s ok, we’ll take Ezmeralda with us!

A befuddled Clayton says nothing. Jason’s mouth, a frozen “O” in disbelief.

So in the middle of the week, with no one else in sight, this woman appears with our solution.

But the story doesn’t end here.

We’re hanging out, talking about what just happened, when Jason looks up and says, “Hey, there’s some dude up in the tree over there!

We look up to see a guy wearing a turban sitting at the top of a tree.

“That’s strange. What’s he doing up there?”

The guy eventually comes down on a makeshift rope and pulley system and comes over to chat with us. When we ask what he’s doing up in the tree, he tells us he often climbs to the top and meditates.

As we’re talking, I hear a rustling sound of something coming towards us.

“What’s that?” I say.

“Oh, that must be my dog. He must of smelled your pooch and freed himself from the rock holding down the milk crate he’s tied to.”

Eventually we see the pooch. Holy guacamole! Guess what kind of dog it is?

Yep! A Pit Bull. We tell him the story of how the deaf-mute woman had just saved the day, and he says, “Well, if she can’t help you, I can.” he says, “I run an organization that finds good homes for Pit Bulls. I have eight of them myself.”

What the (bleep)? What’s going on here?! I mean, not only did we find one solution to our problem, we found two! And this being at a campground on a Wednesday afternoon with no one else in sight except for a deaf-mute woman and a guy up in a tree.


Ezmeralda? Last I heard, she’s doing great in Colorado with her mate!

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