the little dickens
I am exhausted. And it’s a different kind of exhausted than the normal kind. I have bruises on my arms, ice packs on my knees, and blisters on my feet. I have spent almost an entire week moving, and we’re not done yet.
We had a plan. It sounded good in theory, but in reality it has not turned out the way we had planned. Making a hundred little trips over several days is not better than doing it all at once.
I have said it before, but it bears repeating…I hate moving. I hate everything about it. I hate packing, I hate unpacking, and I’m not playing favorites. I hate them both the same. I’m not even sure what I hate packing the most—kitchen gadgets, bathroom toiletries, or books. But Indiana Jones, our 142 pound Mastiff puppy, has his favorite. He likes books.
He likes Charles Dickens in particular—the entire 200 year old collection of Charles Dickens, in fact.
I have moved these books everywhere I’ve gone over the past twelve years. This time, Indy decided he would help me unpack them. And once he had torn the side from the box, he decided he would broaden his horizons, and he proceeded to enjoy a little Dickens himself. He enjoyed one book so thoroughly that I had to dig through the shredded pages to find out which volume he had ingested.
In twelve or so hours I will have the most well-read back yard in the neighborhood!
I suppose this just means I will need to start unpacking the boxes as I bring them in if I want to prevent Indy from being so helpful.
Or maybe I’ll just leave the boxes filled with pots and pans where he can reach them. And if I leave the cabinets open, maybe he’ll put them away too.
It could happen.
Until the next time…one more day of moving.