It’s been a tumultuous six weeks. Suffice it to say that I upended my life and within the space of one month I searched for and found a home to rent that met my long list of requirements (same town, allows two dogs, no steps from front or back door, fenced yard, enough space for all of my junk), packed everything I own, emptied 1.5 storage spaces and moved furniture from two homes along with myself and the dogs into the new place. Oh, and let’s not forget that during that time I launched a project at work that I’d been working on for six months and that all of my superiors were anxiously awaiting.
I give you this brief window into what’s been going on because I wanted you to have some background on the following story. I’ve been stressed. I don’t really want to get into the specifics of what led to the move – most of you reading this know at least the basics anyway. I wanted to tell a story about moving day. You might want to think twice about reading more if poop grosses you out.
On moving day I had a long list of things to do and I wanted to get it done as quickly as possible. The plans included emptying a storage unit, shuffling my furniture from the back of a second storage unit shared with my parents, stopping at my old place and getting my furniture from there, stopping at my friend’s place for a mattress and boxspring, moving everything into the new house, and then going to get the dogs and bring them home. I’ll give a shout out to Two Men and a Truck because they were great. And they actually sent three men. They made quick work of everything and we even had some fun. One of them told me, “You need some more clothes and shoes.” They helped me saw the boxspring in half and helped set things up.
After a long day of moving I settled up with the movers and ran straight back to pick up the dogs. I was so excited to get them settled. Well, the bulldog started to freak out when I arrived and started packing the dog stuff. Neither of them seemed plussed at all while the movers moved large furniture around them earlier that day. Arthur stood in the open doorway as all of us came in and out. But as soon as I touched the dog beds Arthur was COMING WITH ME. And I mean he showed all his bulldog colors. And those beds are bulky, and he surprised me by scooting out the door around me, at which point I had to stop him by grabbing handfuls of his neck blubber because he had no harness on. So now I was in hyperdrive trying to load the car as fast as possible and also be careful with Sugar because her slipped disc is bad, so I decided to set Arthur up in the car first and then bring Sugar. I should have known what was about to happen because it wasn’t the first time, but I was rushing and stressed and didn’t think.
I put his bed in the back of the car and brought him out, along with his ramp. He is running to the car. While I am trying to keep him from clawing the heck out of my bumper in an attempt to climb in, I set up the ramp. I get him up the ramp and put the ramp in the car, and as I’m about to close the door, I see it coming.
“Oh you’re going to take a big dump in the car now, aren’t you?” I asked him.
So I stood and watched it happen and in a desperate split-second decision, with the sudden realization that I’d never get the ramp set up again to get him out before he tracked it everywhere, I cupped my hands and scooped. I threw it in the grass on the side of the road (and yes, this one time I admit to not cleaning it up) and closed Arthur into the car. I ran to wash my hands and get some cleaning supplies, did a quick cleanup of the dog bed in the car, ran for Sugar, and with a dazed sigh of relief and unbelieving shake of the head finally got on the road with both the dogs.
But we made it! We’re starting to feel at home now.