The Cottage

Have you ever moved? I am sure you have. It’s no fun at all, at the same time that it is one of the most exciting life events. Right now, I am between the old house and the new house, and living in a cottage.

Now my dogs and I are cramped in this 900-square foot cottage, with one bedroom packed with boxes, with the living room packed with boxes, and with the kitchen packed with boxes. In fact, we can only move in an L-shaped path through the cottage, so we are actually living in about 150-200 square feet at the moment. This is quite a feat, considering that I have about 300 pounds of dogs living with me, including one crabby Golden Retriever.

“Mo-om,” whines Eddie, the Golden Retriever. “Oh, Mo-om. Henry is touching me.” (Henry is a Bernese Mountain Dog.) Now Henry does not relish touching Eddie either. Last night, he pushed the dog bed so that it was between Eddie and him. “Henry, I’m losing it. I’m gonna go medieval on you.” I can see Eddie reaching his boiling point very quickly. Plus, Eddie can really hold a grudge, so if I step in before he explodes, he can serve his revenge cold when Henry least expects it. As King of all that he surveys, Henry does not condone this behavior. He could slay Eddie with one swift raptor bite, but he usually just turns his head and says, “Not the face, Eddie, not the face.” Then Henry looks at me to mete out the appropriate punishment. Lucky for Eddie, I am the one who determines what “appropriate” actually means, not Henry. “Appropriate” to Henry probably would mean beheading.

So here we all be for the time being.