yobech505

Figuring out why one bothers to find another place to live is simply, in definition, stress making pattern description.  It just ain’t easy and one always has a good excusable answer for why the move was implemented.  

I just done it.  Packed the house, the associated collectables and the dogs.  Hence the title.  

Not just next door either.  Across the continent, almost, from snowy winter to blazing hot summer.  With the dogs, both who love the snowy winter and have places to hang out where I existed and habitated (sic), it was a big ‘huh?’.  And with that criteria, I now have to deal with the acquiring of a location for the canines when I do my family visitations always where no furry poop bag fillers are permitted to stick around.

Ah, but the Great Cactus came to my rescue.  And this goes back to my eighth year on this oblique spheroid we inhabit.  

I got engaged.  With an honest to god ring I got from a gum machine. Really. ( I wasn’t about to keep a girlie ring!) Not that, at the time, either of us had any clue as to what being engaged was, or knew we were in that category of relationships.  The small town we lived in didn’t care or even know.  So, really, neither did we.

After a couple of years of hanging out, we both moved to different abodes in different communities.  Interestingly enough, we and our families also lived within a few kilometers of each other at least three times over the next few decades or more.  Probably a lot of ‘in passing’ over that set of partial centuries, in unknowing recognition. I really doubt we would have been familiar to the other anyway.  Married others, raised our families, then did what people do as they add years to their experiences..  

It’s that ‘online’ thing.  I observed a familiar name on a common site, and, in as casual a manner as possible, asked if that person was the person who I knew in person.  Alas and much to no one’s chagrin, I’m sure,  it was.  And she has moved only a couple of hours away from where I relocated my storage units of things I still don’t use. 

  Here’s the groovy part.  She likes my dogs.  And, as stingy with their tail wagging as they are, they like her.  So, after catching up, spending hours on electronic devices reminiscing and stopping by to say ‘bonjour’ in English of course, a few times, I have my dog sitter.  And the exchange is mutual as her dog, who doesn’t particularly like anyone, seems to be okay with my dogs as she travels back to the previous neighborhoods.  

So the dogs are happy and they have a new friend.  I am in communication with an old friend.  We chuckle when we tell stories, often embellished, about the small town we grew up in and how much it has altered its appearance and population over the decades since we moved away.  We both agree, it was better back then.

Never cancelled the engagement.  In sincere confidence, the ring disappeared due to natural causes. The emotional connection belongs to the dogs, however.  Hell, the last time I stopped to pick them up they didn’t want to go with me. They’d still be there if I hadn’t shoved the issue into my car with the promising aroma of tasty treats.  

Finding friends is a thankful result of the internet.  Finding friends who’ll dog sit my pooches while I galavant across the countryside is one of the great caveats of the computer age.  

Now, back to the dogs.  They just bark, sleep and do doggie things, whatever those are.  Not sure they care which place they use to leave their sculptured piles.