new twists

Remember how I said yesterday that Wednesday starts the downhill run -- all tough tasks will now be behind me? 

Ha. 

Last night, just after I posted my Ocean report, I got a message from Deedee (that in itself is a twist on her real name which will remain private). I don't know Deedee, but apparently she read my FaceBook Marketplace ad and is interested in subletting my apartment. Talk about a last minute rescue! Should she take the apartment, I will still lose a small amount each month (I obviously gave a discount), but overall, that's a better gamble than waiting for the Edge to find a new tenant, which may or may not happen very quickly.

She had a million questions, which of course I took the time to answer. She wants to see the unit. No of course I cannot show it now. So many boxes! On the upside, it's actually pretty clean (my professional guys saw to it), but I still want to wipe up water spots on the sink and Henry sniffa on the window pane. All my cleaning stuff is either packed or at Sally's House. I spent a good bit of time opening and closing boxes in search of something that would help. No luck. 

I schedule a visit for today. How that is going to work is a little bit of a puzzler. I need to work on the move. Still, I want her to have the chance to say yes and sign on. I tell her to come in the late afternoon. Somehow I will do this!

 

Morning. I am up very early. Henry is in total apprehensive mode. But, we have a nice empty ride in the elevator... 

(waiting...)

 

 

... for our last morning walk. 

And I pretend to have a relaxed breakfast.

Our last hug at the Edge...

And then I take him super early to doggie daycare. The owner there is so happy for him! She runs one of the best dog training schools in Wisconsin and she tells me that having the elevator and apartment triggers om repeat is too hard for him. He can't move on. Don't I know it! On his very last elevator ride, two people were with us. Henry, amazingly, did not tear their heads off with a bark. But the minute we got off and they followed us to the garage, he went full steam forward. Woof! Woof! Woof! All the way, until we reached our car. These residents were understanding. They ignored him. Others are too terrified to shrug it off. They back away and this just rewards his efforts to sound threatening (which of course is his goal).

Henry, you left the place with your signature loud Woof! The staff here tell me they'll miss him. I suppose to dog people he is the sweet dog that I see, with a bit of a hangup about first greetings. But I have to say, if you have ever had a reactive dog, you'll understand how your heart starts racing every time you see someone doing exactly the thing that you know will trigger his anxious barking. Coming at us. Appearing unexpectedly, with an unfamiliar scent. Because you hate these encounters too. And when your apologies and commands accomplish nothing, you feel like a total jerk. 

 

The movers are here by 8. I carry the last boxes of important stuff (like, for example, a tooth brush, my face cream, and my coffee machine) to the car and drive over to Sally's House. 

While there, I note the construction all around the property. Henry will have a field day barking at the workers!  

It takes the movers three hours to load the truck. Beds need to be taken apart, the elevator door can't be held open. It's a headache. I'm glad I dont have to do it on my own or with Ed. I ask them to leave behind the vacuum cleaner. I've brought over some cleaning solutions. I hope I can come back and polish things before DeeDee shows up.

 

It takes them an equal amount of time to carry it all into Sally's House. They are quick. Efficient. And still, there's so much to carry, to put together. Ed comes over and helps me set up WiFi. We talk about couch placement. And in the middle of the afternoon Deedee texts asking if I could leave behind some furniture, maybe a bed, because she needs to leave her furniture in her old place. Oh, you are so incredibly off in your thinking, Deedee! I reply that the truck is loaded and in any case, I'm plenty trusting but why would I leave large pieces of furniture without a guarantee that she'll take the apartment? And be stuck with the bed, the other stuff after the moves have long gone? She tells me now that she'll think about it. 

When I tell the story to Ed, he relates a similar one where the person asks a million questions, tells the seller it's all perfect and... that he'll think about it. We laugh heartily at the ridiculousness of undecided buyers, and I think -- this is exactly the type of quick exchange with him that I love so much and that I have missed by living in Middleton. 

I do a little more unpacking, pausing only for my lunch coffee. I bet you do not recognize the pillow, or the plate with Mon Chien written on it? My treasures from my last trip to Paris... 

And then I go back to the Edge. To pick up the vacuum cleaner and cleaning products and to drop off my keys.

It's time to get Henry.

He knows right away we're not merely returning to his "forever" home. Finding out that forever doesn't really mean forever is tough for anyone, but my Henry's sensitivities are such that he doesn't like even entering new premises. There's always that hesitation...

Do I even have a strategy? Well, I do the evening walk by the doggie daycare. It's a terrible place to take him because there are mice and voles in the field and Henry loves a good sniff-out and chase. It's hard to get him interested in anything beyond mice hunting, but finally he does his stuff and we drive home. Our new home. 

The drive titself is a long 20 minutes, made difficult by Madison's rush hour bottlenecks. Stop and go is awful for my dog because even with a seat belt, he gets thrown around every time I have to slow down suddenly. I wont typically take him home at this hour. Earlier would be better. 

We pull up to the house. It's best, I think, not to go through the garage. The front door seems friendlier.

Henry comes in and immediately sniffs everything he can get his snout on. He's picking up familiar scents of course. The couch, the rugs, the beds -- it's all stuff he knows. You have to wonder what goes through a dog's head in moments like this. I don't think dogs wonder what this all means. They react, favorably, or with uncertainty, or with fear. I'll give Henry this -- he's not afraid. Curious and with an eye toward me to see what's next. 

Ed comes over and that's a very good thing. Henry has total trust in him. He is positively grinning at the familiarity of this person.

Ed takes his place on the couch -- the one we bought used and oh is it a good couch! Henry alternates between couch, rug and following me to see what the heck I'm doing now. The one fear he has is of his new feeding station. I thought I'd put the dog dishes in the laundry room. Henry thinks this is a terrible idea. It's a tiny room and it scares him. Alright my Henry Bean, I've put you through a lot today. You can eat in the dining room! 

I unpack the whole kitchen. This is the hardest part and I realize that I haven't downsized enough here. You hate to give up the special pan/bowl/tool, even if you only use it once a year. And so the collection of oddities grows. Ed is long asleep by the time I am done. And me? I'm exhausted, but deeply happy. Henry hasn't barked once today since we left the Edge. Yes, of course, he hasn't seen anyone, but that's the point, isn't it? You train a shy dog in increments, not rubbing his face in his fears throughout the day.  Too, I have to admit it -- I love the fact that he and I have more space. Big dogs in small apartments aren't a great fit. And of course, it's so good to have Ed come over, toss his socks on the floor, pull out a show for us to watch... 

It's late. I have to get some rest! Tomorrow, I hope to finish most of the unpacking. But I'm not making any predictions. The days rarely run along a predictable path.

with so much love, from somewhere awfully close to the farmette... 

 

whirlwind

Tomorrow will be downhill all the way. Not quite the speed of the racers in the Olympics, but still fast and yes, I'll reach the finish line. Today? This is the Dreadful Day when everything has to be made ready for the truck that will come early Wednesday morning, without alerting Henry to the fact that everything has to be made ready. 

Of course, the dog isn't stupid. My la-di-daing through our morning routines...

(barking his head off at a pedestrian...)

(breakfast and empty spaces...)

... doesn't mask the fact that there are boxes popping up in odd places and things are disappearing before his eyes. All morning long, Henry eyes me with great suspicion. I give him extra hugs for reassurance...

... but in doing that, I notice that the dog is literally trembling.

I drop him off early -- at 8:15 -- and I ask the doggie daycare owner -- in your experience, how do dogs react to moves? She knows Henry well and she responds with confidence: in my opinion, Henry will do just fine! He'll love the extra space! And the absence of elevator doors opening? Heaven.

If there is stability in my dog's life right now, it can be found at Happy Dogz daycare. 

 

My move has produced a trickle of boxes up until today. I packed and hauled over all the small stuff, the fragile stuff, the essentials. I left the big stuff for movers to get ready and they're doing that this morning. As before, I called on Badger Brothers. Great people last time. Great people (at least so far) this time as well. 

They showed up as scheduled (early) and I left them with my convoluted instructions: do not pack this, or that. The dog's bed, my bed. The TV! I need to watch the Olympics today. (The Olympics for me are what Happy Dogz is to my pooch: stability in a week of chaos.)

And then I left them to it and retreated to Barriques Cafe. I can't watch them do their thing. What I don't see wont hurt me. Call me when you're done! -- is my preferred path.

 

Of the grandkids, only Sparrow is officially well and in school (much to his annoyance). I pick him up and offer a stop at Hubbard's for a treat of his choice. 

And then I take him home. There's no point in him coming to the Edge. It's a world of boxes and wrappings. And Sally's House? Not even a place to sit yet. I think he actually prefers to be home anyway, just to make sure the other two aren't getting any special treatment behind his back!

I have time to do one last visit to the empty house. Sally's House. I cannot think where to put the couch. One of those stumpers that has to do with the layout. You either bring the kitchen into your living space, or you turn your back to it. I cannot decide. In the end, of course, it should not matter. Six months. And yet it does matter. This is home for me. Done poorly and it will feel like a hotel pit stop. Done well and it will be a place holding great memories. Of the year in which I moved three times!

 

 

 

Evening. Bringing Henry to a packed apartment is not easy. I pushed the boxes to the side, but still, my boy hates uncertainty. I spend the evening exuding calm! (Well, you could say that I exude calm, too much calm, most every evening). And I tell him -- after today, you'll have only three more elevator rides! [A sad comment on that: this morning I rode the elevator alone and a dog came on with his owner. The dog barked at me like crazy. But here's the difference: the dog was petite. His barking could be classified as "cute." Henry? His deep woofs and pull toward the subjects of his disaffection can only be classified as "terrifying" to the uninitiated.]

Nighttime. Last one at the Edge. Ed asked how I felt about my stay here. Honestly, I liked it. With all the drawbacks (the distance to the farmhouse, the elevator, etc), I still think it was a good half a year of reimagining the next decade for us. And of course, there is Henry. I would never have brought a dog to the farmette. And here we are: my pooch and me. And this weekend -- Sadey.  I gained two dogs to love. There's never too much of that in life.

with so much love... 

 

new lease

Twenty-one weeks ago today, I signed on to move to the Edge. And now here I am, signing for my keys for my next move, to Sally's House.

I drop an extremely energetic Henry at doggie day care. He has already barked his head off at everyone in sight. He has refused a morning nap, taking in his hugs but insisting then on play. 

 

 

 

(can we play now?) 

 

The daycare owner takes this bouncy boy and comments -- oh my, Henry, you've grown bigger!

 

It's warming up a bit. First time in a long time that we will cross the freezing line. I can skip the sweater on our early morning walk

Breakfast. Almost calm!

(my tall boy checks out my breakfast)

I have so many things swimming in my head. Yes, I made lists, but there is a steady flow of small but important details popping into my head and I either do them or forget about them. I realize that this is a harder move than the September one. The fact that it has to be complete, and completed in between kid pick-up and dog care, demands a perfect organization. No missed details. Executed with a constant eye toward the clock. 

And so after I drop off Henry (a dog absolutely raring to go!), I hit the start button and walk through the carefully orchestrated steps. Pack up the fridge and freezer, load up the already packed boxes onto the moving cart here and drive to the management company where I pick up the keys to Sally's House. 

And then I drive to my new, temporary home. But let's not call it temporary. I'm moving everything in. On Wednesday all my belonging will be here.

Ed meets me with stuff from the farmhouse that I had left in the interim. There is a new rug for the play area. Thin and awful. Ed gallantly offers to hand over the one I left for him in the farmhouse. It will have to be cleaned. One more thing to remember.  

And then I am off to pick up Sparrow. 

(I am never without fruit for the kids...)

 

This is when I get a call from my daughter. Sandpiper has been down with a fever all weekend and now Snowdrop has called from school. She's feverish as well. Since a parent has to be home with the sickies, I don't really have to keep the kids busy this afternoon. Great news! No not about them being sick! But I gain two hours. I can do one more trip from the Edge to Sally's House, then back again.

So many boxes already moved and unpacked. So many more waiting to be packed and moved. 

Henry, you and I are going to have very long days tomorrow and Wednesday! 

with so much love... 

 

Sunday push

When you start the day with a wake up at 4 or 5, with endless thoughts spinning about what absolutely has to be done in the next two days, you know it's getting to be that crunch period before The Big Week. It's unsettling, yes of course, but it's also a little exciting. When I take Henry out early, for our cold morning walk, I think -- it will be so much easier to do this straight out the front door.

 

When the big mean dog from the 5th floor lunges and growls at my pup when the elevator doors open for us to get on, I think -- maybe it's our last encounter with this holy terror. (We say no thank you and wait for the elevator to come back for us, empty.)

When I sit down to breakfast, I note that the breakfast set up here has been especially fine for me. I have an eye toward the living room where Henry rests. The set up in Sally's House isn't as nice -- there's a sink in the middle of the island. Steffi's House is better. So where will I eat breakfast, starting Thursday? It will be fun to figure that one out. 

(any food to share?)

 

 

I nudge myself to pack up a couple of boxes to take with me tomorrow. My lease officially starts on Monday so I can start bringing stuff over. I am greatly relieved that Henry is much better. Playful once again. I would not have been able to take him to doggie daycare had he still been coughing and lethargic. And what would I have done with him then? I do not know. But, his meds seem to have done the trick.

(will you get off your computer and play with me?)

 

 

I was going to meet up with Ed for a walk at the dog park near him, but I decided against it. Why travel all that distance to go to a par that will be our repeat destination starting next weekend? Why not visit Penni Klein (reasonably close to the Edge) one last time?

 

Already this park seems like a thing of the past, with lingering memories of the first time I took Henry here. It was his introduction to off-leash running. And it's the park I took him to in a blinding snowstorm. Sometimes there are nice dogs here, but it's not a guarantee. It seems to also attract the rough set. People who do not clean up after the pets. Nonetheless, it's been great for us because it's so close, so easy, such a guarantee of a half hour of freedom for my pup.

In the later afternoon, I pack just a little more. I take stock of what's left. I would very much like to watch the Olympics, but coverage conflicts with the Super Bowl junk (sorry, I absolutely hate football) and guess which won and has kicked the other off the air on NBC (my only access to the Olympics as I dont have cable)? Yeah, that one. My apartment building is hosting a Super Bowl party tonight and I am not even remotely interested. 

 

I did also cancel Sunday family dinner. It's just too much to think about. Too, some of the grandkids are sick and I'm not looking to join that club this week. At home, I still have leftovers -- things that will carry me through Wednesday.

 

After today, there will be fifteen more elevator rides with Henry.  And three breakfasts at the Edge. And no more walks in Penni Klein park. When you leave a place, you think of the things you loved about your home. For me? Proximity to the young family and the kids' schools. The welcoming management. The clean spaces. The sunshine pouring in with such force that the heat never came on on a sunny day. The good shower. The washer dryer that are ten steps away from my bedroom. The heated garage. I wont think about the panicky elevator rides. The excessive salt on the sidewalks. The absence of foot traffic outside. I do believe the Edge was really good for me. But it's time to head back to my old neighborhood. 

with so much love... 

 

Saturday events

So what would you do if, in the middle of the night, your alarm (smoke? carbon monoxide? I have no idea) starts beeping intermittently? Yes, the first thought is that it's a battery issue. You disconnect the darn thing and go back to sleep. However, in an apartment rental, am I even allowed to touch the alarm? It's a moot point anyway, since I cannot reach the ceiling, even when standing on a chair. So it beeped and Henry was up and it was only 5 but the night suddenly was no longer a time of rest. 

About Henry: last night he retired early. That is not very unusual. Sometimes he has such a full day of play that soon after supper my pup is ready to call it a day. Still, I noticed his cough was acting up again. His nose alternated between feeling cool and warm. Henry, I have to keep an eye on you!

The night alarm confused him and therefore it confused me too. When I got up, I found him sitting by the door. Slumped. That's a new one!

Maybe he has an upset tummy? Maybe he just has to pee? I get dressed quickly. We have a deep freeze day. I pull on his sweater and out we go. Quickly.

(waiting for the elevator, still slumped...)

 

 

But outside, he seems quite normal. He does his stuff, with no big rush, no unusual behavior there. It's just that cough -- still there. Sounding rough.

Inside, he sits by the door again, but the alarm has quieted down and eventually he makes his way to the couch. And rests. And rests some more.

I actually have to call him to breakfast. Another first! Typically, he sits there drooling as I pick up the measuring cup that I use for getting his grub.

He gets up slowly. He eats well, but then goes back to the couch. Do I need to say more? My dog appears to be sick.

Breakfast, because the day cannot move forward without it.

And shortly after, we head out to the vet's.

Henry's usual doc isn't in, but I'm not fussy today -- I'll take anyone who has time to see him. And initially, Henry is so good! Doesn't bark, allows strangers to enter the room. Pick him up, weigh him. But take him away for xrays, blood work, temperature taking and you have a scared pooch. The doc said he snapped at her when she cornered him. I did want to ask why she cornered him but thought better of it. I could tell she was not going to be Henry's BFF. May as well aim for simple peace between the two. (Of course, Henry does not hold grudges. She gave him some baby food while we talked. He went up to her checking for possible additional supplies.)

Henry is probably at the tail end of pneumonia. His lungs look "busy, with some noise." Not quite sure what that means in canine xrays, but I'm familiar with blood test results and I can see that he definitely is fighting something. It's antibiotics for my boy. And I'm glad. We've been trying to fix this without meds and it clearly hasn't worked. On the upside, he is otherwise a healthy boy!

I ask about exercise. Henry is incapable of spending a day quietly resting. So, do I exercise him? The answer is -- it's up to him. And of course, I'm to watch how his lungs respond.

We go to the Patti Klein dog park. It's always empty or near empty and the walk isn't long. If he looks tired, I can give up on it and head home.

 

 

 He's not into heavy duty running, but nor is he tamely trotting besides me. I give him a ten minute period of modest exercise and we head back home. And in the meantime, the maintenance people at my awesome apartment building fixed the offending smoke detector  (Or whatever is up there.)

 

The rest of the day does need a reset. I couldn't take him to his Intermediate Obedience Training. We can't go visit Ed or hang out at the coffee shop. I turn on the Olympics and contemplate what to do with this cold and twisted day. 

Not so hard: dig into the last half of my Maeve Binchy novel (Scarlet Feather). Packing? Oh, that'll have to wait until... well, for sure before the move.

with so much love... 

notable Friday

This is the last day that I have daycare for Henry and a full day to myself before the move. Snowdrop is usually with me Friday afternoons but she has her very first school dance today and so no pickup is required. 

Do you remember your first school dance? I certainly remember mine! I was almost 13. In those days, boys asked girls to dance. Most everyone got asked because no boy (or girl) wanted to be seen hugging a wall. We moved to the music with preadolescent awkwardness. No touching. Just bobbing to whatever record was playing.  

I wondered if Snowdrop was into dancing. I had asked her yesterday and she said she didn't intend to actually dance. Ha! I said that going wild on the dance floor was the best release of the crazies for me back in the days when I had plenty of crazies within me. I had my signature moves! My daughters still make fun of them: so 1960s, they tell me! Go wild, I tell her. I doubt she'll listen. My advice always sounds to her so grandmotherly. Sweet, but easy to dismiss as belonging to another era.

 

So, a free day to finally make inroads on packing and shuttling things to the farmhouse. Henry is up extra early, which, I suppose is a good thing, though I didn't think so at the moment when he came up to lick whatever extremity was available to him from under the quilt.

The local grocery co-op carries a muesli I'd never seen before and I had purchased it with the high hope of using it for a mock Bircher Muesli which I never seem to have the time or motivation to make. It's good, but not the real thing.

Henry hugs. 

And so long as I'm on the topic of dogs (am I ever not on the topic of dogs?), while I shared the couch with Henry, I read this story in the NYTimes about moving to Europe with a dog. I've gifted it for you because I do believe it will give you at least one chuckle and many feelings of warmth and compassion. 

And we are off to doggie daycare!

A few errands and I'm back at the apartment. Packing. Wasn't it clever of me to really dig into this while the Olympic events unfolded on the screen? (Coincidence, but a very pleasant one.) I'm thinking how hard it must be to be a parent of an Olympian. The expense, the stress, the crazy schedule, the worry, the hope. Perhaps that's why it's so pleasant to watch a skater like the American Alysa Liu. She likes competition, claiming not to feel pressure, but instead -- joy. Alysa was raised by her father. It is thought that he spent between half a million and a million dollars on her training, raising the perennial question -- can you become an Olympian in America if you're not born to a family with resources to support you? 

 

I drive over to the farmette, loaded down with boxes, pictures, toys. And once again I stop by Sally's House, because a snow shovel had been delivered there early. Leaving boxes on the front doorstep seems like not a good idea. I see someone is there again. And I have this wild idea! I ring the doorbell. A worker answers -- I think she's part of the drywall crew. I tell her I'm moving in this Monday and I have with me all these boxes. Might I maybe leave them in the garage? Perhaps she didn't fully understand me, but my eyes were anxiously pleading and she responded to that with a smile. She nodded a yes and opened the garage door for me. And that's how I got my first delivery to my new home.

 

(from apartment...)

 

 (straight to new home!)

 

 

I do pause at the farmhouse to talk politics with Ed for a few minutes and then it's back to packing at the apartment. And yes, it does finally feel like I'm moving. That feeling you have when you realize what a bother it all is! Still, I have to smile at this next change of address. Thinking back to August 1st -- a day where we were celebrating birthdays and watching the kids do Shakespeare on stage, I would have laughed out loud then if someone had said -- you know, in the next 12 months you will be living in four different places. Four separate addresses. And each time, you'll think you have figured it all out, but no: in a few months you will move again. 

 

I pick up Henry. Can he tell the house is in disarray? I've hidden signs of packing so I hope not. These are the last few days of calm before the storm of change. I have your back, Henry! Believe me, I wont lose track of where you're at, what you may need. You too, Sadey. No second violin status for you! You'll always be my best pup girl!

with so much love... 

there is no such thing as a normal day

Really, when was the last time that I had one? A day without any pivots or abrupt turns? 

As I get nearer to the move, I think less about it. Why? Well, because one way or another, I will get myself where I have to be this Wednesday. There's no turning back (nor do I want to turn back). Will I be ready? Oh, well, is anybody ever really fully ready for anything?

It's a little warmer today, but still below freezing. Henry is in a good mood and you know what they say -- if your pup is happy, you're happy! (That is what they say, right?) 

I have a mini breakfast while he waits for me.

I should have nothing at all because I am going out for breakfast with my two friends, but this would greatly disturb my dog, I'm sure of it. And, too, an early coffee and some morning fruit are essentials that I do not easily give up.

I drop Henry off at doggie day care, still in the swanky new loaner car (which he loves, I can tell!), and then I head downtown to the home of one of the two women with whom I do regular breakfasts.

As always, the food is special and especially good. We eat as if we haven't eaten for days!

 

 

 

 

 

Our hostess has knitted little red caps for us. Decorative items, greatly appreciated. It happens to match the theme and colors of my shirt. 

I learn so much from these two friends! They are just a bit older than me and they lead downtown lives, filling their schedules with events and classes that I did not even know existed. I'm fascinated by them! Body alignments! Kado -- or Zen and the art of flower arranging. (Did you know that arranging just three flowers can take hours?) Arthritis treatments. Pros and cons of burial and cremation! I've not given much thought to any of this. They are like a catalogue of possibilities!

I leave around noon, driving now to give up my loaner car and take back my dirty old Blue Moon. And I get a message telling me that Goose has an eye infection and needs to go home ASAP. Well, both parents are teaching so I offer to do the pick ups. Four pickups today! First, Sparrow.

Then Goose.

Then Snowdrop.

Then Henry. 

In the evening, I turn on the pre-show for the Winter Olympics. 

(Henry gets comfortable...)

 

Some of the competition is underway even before the official start of the Games. I like it all. And just so you know, Wisconsin sent more than a dozen competitors, including much of the women's hokey team and the leading speed skater Jordan Stolz, who started skating in his back yard at the age of five. A real cute video is floating out there where he is first learning to skate on a frozen pond. I suppose his childhood fits the image you might have of a Wisconsinite: likes pizza, loves to fish and hunt moose with his family (on vacation in Alaska -- we do not have moose in Wisconsin). And the hockey team? Four of them are currently students at the University of Wisconsin and two are alumnae, including Hilary Knight who is considered the best hockey player of them all. 

I'm not tribal in my watching of the Games. Meaning I dont watch holding my breath and hoping for big wins for just Americans. Yes, Ilia Malinin, the top male figure skater is American. Yes, Lindsey Vonn, the world's best downhill racer, also American, takes my breath away with her age defying speed. We have the leading dancing pair and we have the figure skating Alysa Liu who is also expected to medal (did you know her birth was the result of a donor egg implantation in a surrogate mother? ... medical technology is so amazing!). Yes, of course, I'm delighted to see Wisconsin so beautifully represented, and I'm in awe of the American winter athletes. I watch the Olympics for them, but also for all winners from all countries. I love to see people succeed at what they set out to do. I can almost feel their joy. I appreciate their dedication.

Did I pack at all today? I did not. Am I worried? As I said at the outset -- I'm not thinking about it that much. I'll process later. Maybe in the middle of the night, or maybe (best of all!) not at all!

with so much love... 

 

a Henry win!

I could not watch the Westminster Dog Show last night because I haven't any of the streaming services that offered it. But this morning, I clicked on a news page to see who was, in the end, Best in Show. Here, you can watch it in this clip. Or, if that doesn't work, you can read the NYTimes article, gifted for you here. It's worth your time, especially if you're looking for a cheery start to your day! And I say this even though I'm not especially a great fan of dog shows. Your pooch wins not on personality, behavior, or even appearance per se. The dog is judged by the breed standard: how well s/he reaches our idea of the ideal. This is such a human construct imposed on the animal world! And the people who breed and place these dogs in competition put the animals through the mill. Constant shows, excessive grooming and then more breeding. So, many would argue that all this is not good, but in my view it's not the worst thing we do to our pets (when done properly) and honestly, watching these dogs show off their awesomeness is kind of fun.

ABC News rightly called last night an emotional win. Penny, the dog who took the big prize, is a Doberman pinscher.  The last time a Dobbie won was in 1989 and would you believe it, that time the handler was Andy Linton -- the same guy that gave us the winning dog last night.

Why spend so much time on this in my post (apart from the fact that I'm rather dog focused these days)? Well, as you know, Henry is a mix. We used to call that being a mutt, but we've upped it a little: mix sounds much nicer. But his most dominant strain is that of a Doberman pinscher. I saw it even before I got the DNA analysis back. Not only does he look exactly like a Dobbie (one with floppy ears, the way nature intended) but he acts like a Dobbie. The words describing Penny -- "she eats anything and everything" and "she's very chill...but she can get pretty pumped up for a bad guy or a squirrel" -- they describe Henry to a T. The big difference? Penny is all Dobbie of course, and she has lead a life of privilege with her owners in Toronto. Henry comes from the streets of a big Texas city. But when I look at Penny, executing her perfect winning pose, I think I'm looking at Henry. I call this, then, a win for my splendid dog!

(no perfect pose today; I'm happy just to go out, then quickly inside)

It's -1F/-18C out there.  I do think that these bitter cold readings will let up a bit in the weeks to come. And again, I dont really mind them when it's a sunny day. And today we'll have plenty of sunshine.

Breakfast.

 

Rest.

Doggie daycare. And oh, do I need it today! My car has to have its brakes replaced. I have boxes to take over to the farmhouse (for a temporary hold). And deliver a check to the utilities people of my soon to be home town. And so on. 

My car dealer gives me a loaner for a couple of days. It's like sticking a box of candy in the face of a sugar deprived child. My car, once lovingly called Blue Moon, though pretty new at 5 years, looks like something you'd fine in junk lot. Today, when I tried to tidy up the back seat, I found old mildewed apple slices that Sparrow once claimed he had eaten. They were stuck in the door pocket. The cover I use to protect the seat from dog debris only covers up years of debris accumulated from transporting many kids many times. The front seat is equally grotesque. I wont point fingers, but really, why does food never reach the mouths of babes, wedging itself instead in crevices that are ill suited for it? And the dust! If I try to wipe it, I merely smear it into a sticky mess. And dont get me started on the salt damage to the mats! So, from this I step into a 2026 version of my car. With all the new technology of course. The service desk person tells me with some degree of sympathy -- I know a great place where you can have your car detailed. I have kids too, you know. Why does my 4 year old daughter come out of the car with food smears on her butt? Why was there milk left in her cup when she handed it to me upside down? 

Fine, I'll have it detailed. Just as soon as we're done with the snow and salt. So, maybe in May?

As I drive the shiny red new one to the farmette, I decide to swing my Sally's House. I can't go inside until next week, but I want to see how the sun hits it. Just to get a sense of the amount of light coming in. I see that there is a van outside from a drywall company. I know they're supposed to patch up some settling cracks. I dare go up and ring the bell.

One of the workers answers. His English isn't terrific, but I try to communicate that I'll be moving in and would like to take a peek inside. The trusting fellow lets me in.

My first impression? It looks way smaller than the stupid wide angle photos make it out to be. This is great news! the house is plenty big, too big in fact. I don't need that to be its main defining characteristic. I speculate out loud where to put the TV. Over there -- he points to space high on the wall, above the mantle. No, this will never happen. To make a TV that prominent is just so wrong for me. And then he asks -- dogs? As in -- do I have dogs. Has the word spread?!  Big? -- he continues. My oh my, Henry's reputation is preceding him! I show him a picture of my pooch. Ay! -- he says, which of course could mean oh my God, or that's nice, or something else altogether. I do not mention Sadey. 

 

Today is a no kid-pickup-day, so I return to moving details at home. Removing nails from the wall, for example. And I wonder -- if I am to live at Sally's House for 5.5 months, which is half a month more than I lived at the Edge, should I even bother hanging art work? I think the answer is obvious. 

 

I pick up Henry a little earlier today. I'm proud of my boy because this morning, after barking at an elevator person, he came into the elevator and sat down obediently as if nothing had happened. Yes, Henry has inner calm. He just needs time. I'm sure of it.

with so much love... 

 

sunshine and boxes

Another cold morning. This is normal. February weather. This isn't an issue for me. Nor for Henry. Nevertheless, I pull on his sweater. 

As we wait for the elevator to go back up, I hear someone getting on upstairs. I put myself in front of Henry, creating some distance between him and the door, and I tell him to wait. He doesn't like this, but I now do it routinely so that if there are people, they wont have to be put off by a large barking dog. But it isn't people, it's just one person -- a young woman -- with a dog about Henry's size, only weightier. The dog snarls and lunges toward Henry. Obviously highly reactive to dogs. In his loudest moments, Henry has never snarled or attacked anyone. This dog? She could hardly restrain him. Later, I tell the management -- do you know that there is a dog here that is even more frightening than Henry? 

And I wonder: in a pet friendly building, what is the contractual obligation here? Must dogs be obedient and calm? I know if they bark excessively inside their units, they get several warnings and then a requirement to take them to a vet to seek out solutions to quiet them. But what about big dogs that are ready to attack your dog? Me, I took the easy way out -- I planned to leave before they threw us out! And I never once worried about Henry hurting anyone. That's not him. But this big brute coming at us? Wow, a regular terror hound!

Breakfast -- quiet. Peaceful. And if you are tired of the same scene each morning, well, at least you do know that in a week it will all change!

I call the vet then. Since I picked Henry up yesterday, I have not heard him cough a single time. Not once. Should I really come in for an exam? No, they tell me -- cancel it. So I do that. And I take him to doggie daycare and he is my happy boy!

 

Me, I stock up on a few groceries and I do some packing. Not a lot. Just a few more boxes that I will take over to the farmhouse for a temporary hold tomorrow. The sun is streaming into the apartment, the sky out there is a cornflower blue. I'll miss having windows that open up to this much sky! Sally's House hasn't the same south facing windows. It doesn't matter though. It has so much of what I need right now. Sunshine pouring into my living space -- that will come later this summer.

 

And then it's the usual -- I pick up Sparrow, we pick up Snowdrop. We ride the elevator which has some importance to me now. Call it the Elevator of Troubles. 

 

And another drop off -- this time of the girl at Girl Scouts and of the boy at home. And only then do I go for Henry.

It was a long day at doggie daycare and he'll have a whole week of long days there. Once I move, however, I have a different vision for the two of us. Well, for the three of us! For now, I settle in for a snuggle. After dinner - his, mine. Leftover shrimp. Yes, he loves those! I share. He returns the favor with a loving gaze. Henry, I think, has a hugely loving gaze...

 

 

yes, with so much love...