Gregg and I spent the day putting our new kitchen in order. We probably traversed the hallway between kitchen and dining room (where we had everything stored) 100 times. Ray, probably traversed the same area 95 times.
Ray is such a good unpacker. He didn't worry abut the whole opposable thumbs thing. He just grabbed a corner of newspaper in his teeth and flapped his head up and down to dislodge contents. This worked pretty well until it came to glassware. Then it became a bit of an issue.
Ray also liked to help unpack spices. He poked through boxes, gingerly picking up little plastic bags in his teeth, testing out the contents to see if was something that could perk up the flavor of his dog food. It it was something good, Ray tried to carry it away, although what he thought he was going to do with mustard seed is anybody's guess.
When it was determined that maybe the dog was a bit of a hinderance, I called Rachel to see if I could get doggy delivery. She was agreeable and, almost immediately, a furball was zooming through the gate and around the backyard with a ganglier version in hot pursuit. Murphy kept Ray entertained for about an hour while Gregg and I continued our tedious task.
I found myself working and wondering for the zillionth time what will happen to Ray if/when Rachel, Josh, Murphy, Izzy, and Turkish (the two cats) finally move out of Marva's basement. I just don't know how he will be able to function without his best friend. It just doesn't bear thinking of. I can't think of it. I won't.