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...