You have to think about it from her perspective. You were born in the south, in the month of May. You never knew what cold was until your first trip to Maine when you were six months old. You weren't quite sure what to do with the snow, but you knew you liked it because it was fun to snuffle around in and made your coat wet.
You spent your days frolicking in your very-own fenced in yarn, basking in the warm Carolina sun. When you weren't outside, you were snoozing in your plus-sized crate or lounging around with Mom and Dad, who frequently cuddled you and gave you delicious treats. You had your very own special friend who came to the house every day that Dad couldn't, who took you for a long walk and gave you lots of water. Sometimes your aunt would come over to take care of you, or Mom and Dad would have guests who would come and play. The most stress you ever had to deal with was spending time alone in the house waiting for your parents to come home so you could resume playtime.
And then, all of a sudden, Mom and Dad threw out half the things in the house and relegated your crate to the garage - which was colder than you really were comfortable with. You had to be outside because random people were coming to the house during the day and you weren't allowed to see them. Then, finally, you were allowed back in the house only to find it full of boxes. The next thing you knew, strange men showed up to take everything away and Mom and Dad moved to a hotel.
You actually liked the hotel, although it made you a little bit nervous to go outside to relieve yourself. But random people petted you and thought you were cute, which always makes you happy. Plus, you were allowed to sleep in the bed with Mom and Dad every night, since the cleanup was someone else's problem and fresh sheets were a guarantee.
But just as you were getting cozy again, Mom's wacky friend showed up and the two of them stuffed you into a car and drove you all the way across the country. The longest you'd been in a car was two days. There were frequent stops, but each time you got out to stretch your legs, you were someplace new, full of different sounds and unfamiliar scents. It was often loud and confusing. You had to pee and poop on command, and after long stretches of waiting. The hotels were sterile and strange to you. Crossing busy streets was so different from the leisurely walks you were used to in your quiet neighborhood back home.
And where the heck was Dad?! Where'd he go, anyway? You decided to bond with Mom's friend.
Finally, after eight days, you pulled into a parking garage in Seattle on a rainy morning, and there he was! Dad! Right there! Outside the car! All you wanted was to leap into his arms! It was a glorious reunion.
But Mom and Dad were so busy fixing up the new home - which was an odd mix of things you knew and things you didn't. They didn't pay much attention to you. You were forced to pee on the floor one day, and they felt awful that they'd forgotten to take you outside.
Eventually, things slowed down. The house was set up (and super cozy!) and Dad resumed his trips. A new routine came along. Mom's home all day now, which is awesome, and you get to hang out with her a lot. You go for several walks a day. During the day, it can be a little loud. There are more cars than you're used to. The streetcar's bell takes you by surprise, even after all these weeks. The buses still make you nervous. There are so. many. dogs. More dogs than you have ever seen. Some are great (Lars, the St. Bernard!) and some are awful (the three tiny, yippy dogs who bark at you and get you riled). There's a park to play in without your leash, but it's so muddy that often you can't run around as much as you want. But there are endless streets to walk, parks to explore, flowers to sniff. Everything is always green and the dirt is muddy and fresh with moisture. The scents are overwhelming and fill you with so much ecstasy you just might burst. Every time Mom or Dad reaches for the leash, you perk up and stuff your face right into the halter, which you will inevitably try to squirm out of at some point on the walk.
It's scary, it's new, it's exciting, it's fun. It's life in the big city, if you're a dog.
