Dogs and moving

In Being Cute, My family, My new home, Shelley and Zoey, Shelley Widhalm on July 13, 2014 at 11:30 am

Zoey has her toys packed in a bag or two.

Zoey has her toys packed in a bag or two.

I was quite happy in my old apartment, or the one I shared with my BFF Shelley.

That is, until she took everything apart, reconfiguring my routines and sense of space into a bunch of boxes, as if we were in a city of cardboard.

I wanted my life back but she disassembled it all.

To figure out what had happened, I stood down the hall from my BFF, head tilted, asking, “What? What? What!”

On Moving Day (as if all the days that are the same need a special label), the boxes disappeared and Shelley and her fiancé, who helped her move into their new place (and mine, too), left with the boxes. I was the last thing to be moved, as if I am the least important.

We moved into a place with slippery, laminate floors, lots of windows and lots of boxes, the same ones from before. I didn’t know what to do or where to go. Where was my doggie bed, and why wasn’t there linen on the big bed? Why were there boxes on the couch? Where was my water bowl?

After a box or two, it magically appeared with my boring dog food.

But then how do I tell Shelley I need to go on a potty trip, when my potty box (think kitty litter) wasn’t there? At first, we went on more walks than normal, and I peed my way through my neighborhood, marking all my new spots. And then the box appeared on the patio, just a different one.

Still, I didn’t get why my address changed.


What does that mean for my identity? Who am I now?

I guess I will adjust, because I can deal, being a dachshund and all. We look cute, are cute and act cute, so when things change, we and our long bodies eventually adjust. We can find our home anywhere. Really. As long as we got love in the street name.


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