No, it won't be to the duplex in the sky (is that how The Jefferson's song goes? Hmm, someone much more awake and much better at 70s theme songs would have to help me on that one).

There won't be any pictures today cause I don't even know where my camera is in this moment as I look out upon a sea of boxes. And even if I could find it, I don't think I have the strength to push the button. My head is so heavy with fatigue and there is a fucking CONSTRUCTION site going on RIGHT OUTSIDE MY WINDOW here at 7:30 am that is making so much noise I might just have to scream. (The house that burned down last Spring--did I not post about it?-- has a wrecking crew there and MY GOD the noise).

But there is no escape. Today is the final push and I have at least a solid 10 hours ahead of me to finish the move out. The number one question I keep asking myself is how can two people have so much STUFF? I think (or at least I used to think) I lived pretty close to the ground. I rarely shop. I don't ever order from catalogues and yet. AND YET. Two people. The STUFF. Why are we not all living in small huts along the beach with a couple of pareos, flip-flops, two pots for cooking and a piece of string and a hook for fish?

However, I must share with you the dog saga that came after the dog saga I posted about Thursday. What's that? You think we had enough dog saga for one season? Ohhh, hardly. Our dogs are nothing if not wanna be contestants for America's MOST INSANE DOG Videos!

So the very day we get Henry home and safe, T takes the dogs up to the 82 for a walkabout. Driving back in Ruby, the dogs are riding in the front seat with him and the passenger window is open about six inches. A squirrel runs across the road and Ollie (who, we can only surmise did not fulfill his squirrel chasing quota while running about for the past 2 hours, or perhaps needed to respond to the challenge his younger brother set for him by chasing a deer the night before and disappearing for 12 hours) JUMPS OUT THE WINDOW to chase the squirrel.

That's right. He jumped out the window of a truck going 40 miles an hour. T, being the unbelivable quick athletic type that he is, manages to grab Ollie by the tail. So, have you go this picture? T is driving a truck down a winding road at 40 miles an hour with traffic coming at him, holding his dog by the tail and trying to pull him back into the truck while the dog's 4 paws are scratching wildly at the exterior of the cab (Ollie of course in this moment is vertical, his little black nose facing the tarmac). Oh yes, and don't forget, there is Henry, a 60 pound dog IN BETWEEN THEM. Holy mother of invention!

Somehow, because T is the most amazing human being on the planet who never fails to amaze me with the range of his superhero qualities, he managed to pull Ollie back into the cab. And Ollie was not crushed under the wheels of the truck. His legs were not broken in the fall. He was not killed. And, his tail did not break from the event.

This happened Thursday and I am still in shock. And you wonder why I do not have the constitution to have children. These dogs are turning me into a white-haired freak! I will try to post one last time before my laptop is shut off and carted up to our new digs-- but if you don't hear from me, I'm probably sitting in a corner somewhere babbling incoherently while my dogs lick the salt off my cheeks. Til then, my lovelies-- I wish you all a wonderful and relaxing and UNFUCKING-DOG-EVENTFUL weekend.

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