There's no such thing as moving day. It's moving weeks, the weeks of packing and increasing aches and mental confusion while you forget what day it is. If it means one day, is it moving out day or moving in day?
This is moving out day after weeks of packing days. The only good thing about packing is that you have to finish off all the ice cream and the only good thing about unpacking is that you find the liquor bottles (unless you finished them off while packing in the interest of streamlining the operation).
Dogs hate packing, all that running around the house and swearing. They try to follow the people--by walking in front and glancing back, of course--and just get yelled at. Their bed--yours--gets heaped with boxes and the floor beds they normally disdain get moved so they never know where they'll sleep next. Then this crowd of men comes to the house and takes away all the boxes and the dogs have to spend the day in their crates instead of being able to lead the running back and forth. My dogs should be expert movers by now, considering this is the fourth--I think it's the fourth--time in seven years.
The cockatiels' cage is now sitting on the floor of the bird room because I took away their cage stand, which was a large box. Imagine my joy when I discovered another box inside that one. If you haven't moved lately, you might not be able to imagine it. Soon the two Amazon parrots will be cowed and grumpy because they'll be inside their carriers. Even Matilda the snake is probably as grumpy as a snake can feel because she's inside a small carrier. Or maybe she finds it cozy?
You can be damn sure I'm grumpy. Soon I'll lose my internet connection and will be without it for at least 36 hours. Some people rely on cell phones to keep in contact; I could happily do without a phone for days. But going without email makes me shudder.