Moving

…From Dudley’s Journal

One minute I’m in the car with my she-human. The next, I’m in the car with my he-human. Why don’t they just stick together? That’s where we all belong. Together.

This week started weird. My he-human vanished before sunrise, got into a stranger’s car with his rolling briefcase, and poof—gone. A couple of hours later, my she-human and I are speeding down a highway, and where do we end up? An airport. And there he is! MY HE-HUMAN! I was ecstatic!

Since then it’s been go here, go there, car rides, strangers carrying boxes. Just when I think I can chew some cardboard, I get whisked away again.

The only thing keeping me grounded? At 5:00 a.m. and 5:00 p.m., I get my spoonful of peanut butter—extra crunchy. That’s been our family ritual since I was a baby. Back then, I used to get strange spells—blanking out, waking up to worried faces, and tears, then spending the night in what I call prison. Cages, needles, strange humans. I sang and sang until finally, one young human gave me a lap. At least I trained one of them. But I’ll tell you—prison three times was traumatizing, and I get triggered if there is one minute of confinement without my humans.

Yesterday, my he-human took me to Dudley’s Dog Park. I pooped three times—my humans always compare notes on that—and then we went to my house. Empty. No toys. No sofa. Gone.

What?

Then he drove me to a strangers house with lots of rooms. We went inside, opened a door—and there was my she-human! Ohmygosh. Ohmygosh. Best. Moment. Ever. I leapt from bed to human to bed to human. I sang. I wagged. I dug into my toy bag and pulled them out one by one, tail gyrating. Finally, we were together again.

But just as I was settling in, my he-human loaded me back in his car and dropped me at a shop with toys on the walls. Promising! Until—he left me.

He left me.

Was this the plan all along? The empty house, the strangers with boxes? Was I back in prison forever?

The clock ticked. One hour. Two. Three. I sang the whole time. Then I got a bath. Not my favorite—my she-human makes bath time fun, with exclamations as to how beautiful I am, then I proceed to zoom around the house in gratitude to shake the water off - but this smelled like haircut territory.

My humans entered the shop just as the fourth hour commenced. They could hear me howling before they got to the front door. I was in the back room rigged up for a trim, and spotted my humans. I was excited. Oh, so excited.

Rescued.

We had a long nap after that ordeal, then a casual treat hour before dinner.

One thing I know for sure, is that I never know where I will be from moment to moment with these humans. Some dogs go to their human families at 12 weeks of age, and live in the same house every day of their lives. Not me.

Of course, I mostly like it like this. I knew when I picked them that life would be a great adventure.

Still, if I stop writing for a prolonged period of time, send out a search party. And peanut butter.

Yours,

Editor’s Note: This is Dudley’s perspective on going through a move.

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Okoboji Writers’ and Songwriters’ Retreat, September 28-October 1.

Would you like to know the humans who are coming to the Okoboji Writers’ and Songwriters’ Retreat?

My she-human spent most of the day yesterday putting the roster of attendees together. She spends a lot of time on this, and I got to go last year. It was so fun! I got to run around in the woods, and lots of people loved me.

Attendee Roster for OWSR V!