"Are you still alive over there?"
My male counterpart was looking a tad flush as his hand remained frozen in that clutched way you hold a pen.
We were nearly finished signing our lives away to the bank for the next 30 years. While I was giddy as a school girl, it was apparent that the reality of the situation had hit The Man.
After weeks of searching, excitement, disappointment and complete and total stress, we were buying a house — our first house.
For a solid hour, we had done nothing but sign here, date there and initial here, here and here, leaving The Man in a trance.
Knowing full well the faster I got my part signed, the faster I'd be scrubbing floors, wiping windows and unpacking, leaving the heavy lifting to The Man — It's tough being a girl.
When all 'T's were crossed, 'I's dotted and The Man brought back to reality, we swung by our tiny apartment to get the dogs. After all, we couldn't take the first steps into our new home without them, they're family.
Video camera in hand, like the mother of a walking toddler, I trotted along behind them as they verified the security of our new premises.
Sniff, bounce, sniff, sniff, spin in a circle, sniff, bounce, bounce.
Our smallest pooch, princess diva herself, Stella, could hardly contain herself. With more room to roam than she's seen in months and a whole new world of smells it was a miracle she stopped in time to miss smashing face first into the sliding glass door.
Just as their excitement began to fade along with the level of stranger danger, we flung open the door to their fenced in yard.
While they had missed their opportunity to initial here and place paw there, making the house just as much theirs as ours, it didn't matter.
Seconds later, each corner of the yard was marked, making every square inch of that section of neighborhood theirs.
Their responsibilities fulfilled, they each found their a spot to oversee the move — or sleep — something The Man wasn't going to let me get away with.
Staking my claim of the kitchen and master bath apparently wasn't enough to warrant my partaking in an early evening nap.
—Megan Tilk is a reporter who also writes a weekly column for the Boonville Daily News. She can be reached at email@example.com or through her blog: megantilk.blogspot .com.