I apologize for being a bit absent over the past couple of weeks. It's not just about my blog, but I feel like I've missed out on your blogs, too, so I have some catching up to do. My excuse? Our family moved. Between the boxes and the bitching and our week-long lack of internet service (gasp!), life had to give here and there.
I rediscovered the suckage of moving. And it's even worse with young kids. And what's worse than that? Moving with pets. They are more underfoot than kids and don't understand why you can't play just now. And even more so than the kids, they don't understand why you can't find the food or a particular toy.
And then there's the moping. All the boxes must mean something–but what? "And am I going, too, or being left behind with the dust bunnies?" We try our best to reassure, but, frankly, as much as I think my pets understand me, they "get it" even less than the human littles. I know they knew something was up.
The drama with N.A.S.H.A. began when the first box came out. Stuff was getting packed. Like a vacation, but worse. More and more packing. As her environment became more sparse, she became more clingy. She'd greet us after a trip to the grocery store as if we'd been gone for a month. "You came BACK! THANK DOG! I knew for sure, this time was it. You were leaving me for good with all those boxes and never ever ever coming back and I'd be alone in this blank house with only a small scoop of food and half a bowl of water FOREVER" is what she'd express. She's doing the same, now that we're in the new house, but she's found her favorite toys and a cozy spot atop the back of the couch right in the sunny spot of the window. She's all set, mostly.
Though the fish and the tortoise showed curiosity about the boxes parading by their tanks, they seemed much less affected by the packing process. It was the actual moving that got them.
Our Sulcata Tortoise, Fluffy, has been completely depressed. He finally ate yesterday–whew! He seems to like the new back yard. There are fewer hiding places, so he has more freedom to roam. But every time he goes back in his tank, he retreats to his burrow. Sigh. I've told him all about how great the new house is, and how as soon as we get all the boxes unpacked, he can roam around downstairs (all tile, easy to clean if he decides to let something loose), but he's not convinced. We got some gorgeous organic strawberries yesterday, so I'll try to coax him with the lush greens from those today. Is there such a thing as tortoise Prozac?
And, then, the fish. My littles each have a Beta. The fish are about a year-and-a-half old and seem to weather just about anything. We transported them in their usual tanks, secure in a cardboard box, semi-secure on the lap of our teen thing. Plantie (Po's fish) did just fine, as anticipated. Plantie is a wild child, and smart, I swear. He always swims to greet us when we feed him, and I've had to rescue him from several suicide attempts as he plays dolphin and jumps the bowl when we open the cover. We have to watch that one. He didn't mind the sloshing transportation at all. Goldie (Cam's fish), on the other hand...we didn't think she was going to make it. When she arrived at the new house, she was laying on her side on the bottom of her tank. I tapped the side a little, and she sprung to life, thankfully. Over the past week, she goes from swimming fine to laying on the bottom. Perhaps she's just protesting the change in our lives. Cam cried a little, too.
Mind you, we only moved five miles away. No one changed schools or friends, and we are still feeding the same beloved pet food. So even a tiny move can cause major drama with our furry, feathered, and scaly friends. But we're in. We're finally in.
Have you moved with pets before? How did it go?
