Moves are long things. After the drudge of packing and arrival at the new address - there is the drudge of unpacking; of finding new homes for all the bits and pieces. Makes life a mess.
And poor dogs - Rusty’s world has shifted. He tries to impose the patterns of the old one onto the new. It doesn’t work.
The new rear door opens to a large garden. There are trees for dogs to use. But Rusty doesn’t. Because at the old place, the rear door opened to a verandah where nothing unproper ever happened. There, it was the front door first to open every morning to Rusty’s paradise, the wild bush. There he did his business, then ran around to read his peemail. But in the new geography the front door opens to a manicured yard and a NO for a dog’s business. I sense him squeezing his legs, yet he won’t let go in the garden. At the front door he stands, expecting wide spaces behind it, and relief.
Thankfully, a park is nearby and Rusty seems to ponder to make it Paradise Minor.
He cuddles up more than ever. His eyes are question marks: why does nothing last in life?
Klaus and Rusty
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