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...