Postcards from a Dog

….. The realties of leaving.

I hear “aren’t you excites?”, “how marvelous”, “what an adventure”, “gutsy”.

The last one comes close.

The word coming to my mind are: “gut wrenching” and “exhausting”.

Every day is a “last” for something. A”goodbye” to someone. An “adios” to a possession. Death by duck bite.

I have left before. Twice. So I was not starry eyed or unprepared for the move. Yet, honestly, it gets harder not easier.

The first time the leaving was not voluntary. My parent took me. We left East Germany ahead of the wall as refugees. I was told we were not going back, when it was done. I was hammered flat. I was home sick on and off for years. When I think of Germany and try to visualize any part as home. It is still the house I grew up in those first year.

The second leaving was easier. After that first move I was not really at home anywhere in Germany. Though I lived for a decade in the Black Forest and liked it there, it was not some place I ever attached to. Even moving back to Berlin, West, because the wall was still up, did not attach me there.

This time is hard. I have 25 years worth of friends to leave behind. And the Granite Dells. I have a tap root sunk into these rocks. Leaving the house is ok. It’s a good home, but houses are just that. Shelters from the elements, glorified caves. Keeps the cooking fire from blowing out. Furniture was never my thing. Though I’ll miss some of my house plant that have gown humongous in the quarter century.

I will miss my parakeets. But the dogs of course come along. I would not have gone without them or if they would have to be put through quarantine.

And I allowed myself to pack some little knick-knacks that serve no earthly purpose other than looking nice. My consolation price for giving up most of what I own.

But the sheer amount of work is exhausting.

The good-byes are gut wrenching.