This is Amber here, Theo’s wife. I’ll be writing a few posts on Dorian’s exploits over the next few weeks, as he and I are spending some time together, moving east to DC, while his dad finishes up work in Illinois. Theo’s moved at least once a year since I’ve known him, and for the past seven years, this has meant that Dorian has been along for the ride. He usually handles it in stride and settles into the new place rather quickly.
But moving also means packing, which disrupts Iggy’s routine. We’ve been packing for over a month around here, but in the last two weeks pretty much nonstop. Dorian doesn’t seem to mind the boxes, but he knew something was up, especially so when my dad arrived to help and we started loading boxes into the truck. He sat in front of the glass door heading out to the front yard, head bobbing at the whole neighborhood.
By the time my neighbor Mark came to help us load the furniture, Dorian was getting a bit perturbed. Dorian’s tank was near the front door in the living room, and we had to move his tank to the opposite wall in order to get most of the furniture out. Dorian was not happy about this and spent the evening pacing around the living room until we retrieved the papasan chair from the truck and let him comfy down in it. Theo was working that night, and when he and Dorian cuddled in the chair before he left, Dorian let him know just how mean the rest of us had been to him. He started a string of head bobs, as if to say, “First, they took all the stuff and had the door open and wouldn’t let me out. Then they moved my tank, and then they took the furniture, and then they took the couch, and then, and then…” Needless to say, he wasn’t happy with all the changes in the house.
The next day was worse, filled with frantic truck loading, and then finally, I had to turn off Dorian’s lights, pack up his food bowl, and load Dorian into “the bag.” The bag is a large, army-style black duffel bag we use to transport Dorian wherever he needs to go. The bag is nice because it’s spacious. Dorian can still breathe just fine, but he can’t see anything that would make him upset. Because he pretty much sees the bag when he goes to the vet, he was not excited to see it, but I was able to load him into it just fine. Getting the tanks loaded into the truck and secure was another manner entirely, but before too long we were packed and ready to hit the road on our very long drive to the east coast. We’ll cover this topic in the next post, where I’ll reveal Dorian’s new trucker handle he used on the road.