A 1:00 a.m. ear shattering shriek jolted me awake. It was coming from the kitchen where chi doxie Grandma Greta had been sleeping in her crate next to her corgi sister Maddie.
I brought Greta outside where she hopped around like a bunny for 30 seconds, ignoring ‘her business’, then demanding to return to the warmth of my tiny kitchen.
She’s been waking in the middle of the night ever since I moved at the end of September.
Maddie’s had issues as well. The normally quiet girl’s been grumbling overnight if she wakes and doesn’t see me.
Even my old terrier Tuck has been furious at being fenced off from the living room in his new home.
The sellers of my house installed white carpeting, perfect for attracting muddy paw prints and wet leaves.
Frustrated with my pack, I complained to the crew this morning over kibble.
“Hey guys, I’ve done well with the change, why can’t you? You’ve fallen in love with your great back yard, so I don’t understand the problem.”
But then I stopped my lecturing.
I thought about how I almost drove back to my old house last night after work.
And how I still have a stack of unpacked boxes I’ve been ignoring.
Yup, change is no dog treat.
Looking over at Grandma Greta, I suddenly remembered her old blue blanket went missing in the move.
She used to pull it over her head with those tiny paws to tune out the world as she slept.
I’ll pick up a new cozy one at the thrift store.
Looking next at Maddie, I remembered my sweet matron was used to sleeping at the foot of my old oversized mattress that I’d just tossed in the move.
She probably misses having me nearby. I’ll pick up an extra dog bed for the bedroom.
I then glanced over at Tuck. He was eyeing his favorite leather couch, just beyond the locked gate in the living room.
“Tuck, carpets, like dogs can always be washed clean. Right?”
He looked back at me.
And I detected a grin.
Taking it as a sign, I’m confident we’re going to be just fine after all.