Moving, working, and the singular joy of a yard

Dougal was all smiles on the drive down to the new house.

Dougal was all smiles on the drive down to the new house.

So, the whole moving thing happened. My purge gene kicked in, but I still carted way too much stuff close to 400 miles. The new city is…well…small. It’s also been strangely warm and there hasn’t been rain since I got here. It’s very unsettling. I might be drying out.

Throughout the process, there were a few mishaps. On our first day in town, I injured Barley by trying to remove what I thought was a piece of glass or plastic stuck in his paw. It turned out to be a tumor with an impressive blood supply. This has been a tough few months on the old man. You might recall that I rolled his head up in the window a month or so ago. I suspect he might be trying to call Doggie Protective Services on me. I need parenting classes.

On day two here, I was slicing carrots when my thumb attempted suicide. The knife cut through the top of my thumb and down through the nail. The good news is that my thumb can now talk. Unforuntaly, all it tells me is that carrots are dangerous and ice cream is a much safer choice. It’s probably right.

Dougal waits at the back door for his yard time.

Dougal waits at the back door for his yard time.

Day three was my first day at my new job. It was a very long day. On my way home, I bought a bunch of lotto scratch-it tickets and chanted “big money, no wammies” while I wept and scratched them in my car. I didn’t win, so I guess I’ll go back to work on Monday. I didn’t really do that, but my first day was pretty awful. My cheeks hurt from fake-smiling and my lunch boiled over in the microwave. I got lost trying to find IT and my email account never got hooked up. I had to sit through a gloom and doom budget meeting, which didn’t exactly inspire confidence in my future, and I had to go to the bathroom alone.

The happiest one here right now is Dougal, who has his first-ever yard. He’s visited yards before, but has never had his own. He’s obsessed with it, frankly. Whenever he’s missing, I can find him at the back door, waiting for his yard visit. He slowly sniffs every inch of it, occasionally taking a nibble or two of grass or the odd stick. He’s in yard heaven. I’m just hoping I can give him cleanup duties. Do you think he could manage a shovel on his own?