I've been pondering humans and our natures. If you had asked me a few days ago if I was a civilized human being or not, I would have told you, "Yes, most of the time." I've had moments in my life where I was not the least bit well-mannered, but I usually do OK in the civilization department.

But then something happened.

My just-turned-5 granddaughter Turtle and I went for a walk. We were moseying along, discussing the weighty question of whether or not a troll could beat a dragon if they got into a fight. We had pretty much decided that the troll would win, but only if he had captured some fairy dust and harnessed its power. I had to bow to Turtle's expertise in this subject and blindly agreed with her reasoning and conclusions.

Suddenly, four big dogs boiled out of a hole in a fence and came at us, snarling and barking and growling and snapping.

Instinct is incredible. Before I even had the thought process that my granddaughter and I were in danger from these dogs, I had hoisted Turtle up onto my back. She was holding on with her legs around my waist and her arms around my neck. I suddenly had a stick in one hand and a big rock in the other, and I'm still not sure where those came from. These dogs were going to have to come through me to get to Turtle. I roared "BAD DOGS! NO!" in my biggest alpha-female voice.

The dogs screeched to a halt, surprised to see Turtle and I in the middle of their rumpus - they were playing and hadn't even noticed us. Instead of a pack of carnivorous predators bent on tearing us limb from limb, they were just a bunch of goofy slobbering Black Labs.

Some things are interesting about all this.

• I didn't think about any of my actions. My body knew what to do to protect the child that was with me, with no help or interference from my brain.
  
• I had no conscious thought about the stick and the rock. I guess that as we make our way through our lives our lizard brains note every possible weapon available in each area.
  
• Turtle also had instinct working. That she was on my back so quickly amuses me. (She doesn't normally do anything without at least 15 minutes of discussion first.) Her body knew what to do and did it.

• I had absolutely no thought for my own safety - I only thought about Turtle. Those dogs would have had to go through me to get to her. That instinct was fascinating. I've had my children - survival of the species mandated that I was going to sacrifice me to save the young female. I would have, too.
  

So why am I talking you about this on a real estate blog? Well, first of all, we left strict real estate behind months ago on this space - it was boring. Besides, what taps more closely into human nature than shelter, and home?


The only difference between the Neanderthal that I might have been thousands of years ago and the woman on Mingus View Drive last Saturday is the quality of our clothes.


Once I stopped shaking I noticed how many of Turtle's and my actions during that 5 or 10 seconds were pure instinct and reflex. I did what I did, and Turtle scurried up my back like a spider instead of stopping to explain that she can talk to the dogs, or that she's Wonder Woman or that she should just fly away.

When we got home to family dinner I paid attention to how much of our interactions follow old prehistoric paths. Pecking orders are strong, yet fluid. (Jess, my youngest son, stepped aside to let his older brother to fill his plate first. But then when a child screeched we all stepped aside so that Jess, the medic, could get down the hallway. Like that.)

The next day I showed property. The Buyers and I talked about leverage and investments, but the driving force was shelter and roots. This couple wanted safety and their own territory and their own place to be, inviolate from the rest of the world. We all want that - a safe, warm cave.


I showed them a bank-owned repo, and we saw some more primal human fallout. The previous owner had not only taken everything of value from the property, but he had fouled this nest to the point that nobody else would ever want to live there. This previous owner had literally marked the corners of his territory.

So the next time somebody brags about how civilized they are I'll remember what happened with those dogs. I'll remember that my "civilization" is just a thin veneer over a cavewoman that would have taken those dogs on with her teeth, if necessary to protect a dearly beloved child. I'll remember that we all operate from truths and patterns that are identical to the truths and patterns of our ancestors, with very few alterations.



I realize that I am not a fully evolved, civilized human being - I am a cavewoman who wears Reeboks.