So this morning I woke up from a dream. In it, I was inhabiting some plane of ecstasy. I’d realized that I could stay in Home City and buy myself a condo, instead of moving to Icky Job City and buying a condo…There was a kind of jumping-up-and-down glee upon the dawning realization that there was nothing stopping me from staying. (In reality, of course, there is something stopping me from staying in Home City: the lack of a job.)
Why did I dream this? Because I have learned a few things lately about how difficult this whole moving thing is going to be. And how much I can’t stand the place
One of the reasons I decided to borrow a down payment and buy a place to live was because I had discovered what an incredibly dog-unfriendly place I am moving to. In a city with a 0.5% vacancy rate for rentals, there are really almost no places that will accept pets of any kind. I had been told this by a couple of people, and a look at rental listings confirms it. Most of the times I’ve looked, I haven’t been able to find a single place that would rent to a dog owner. And so, the buy-a-condo plan was born (a condo because I can't afford to buy a house there - a house would be my preference with the dog, of course).
Except, in talking to the person who I thought was going to be my realtor, two weeks ago, I learned that in this city – and it is peculiar to this oh-so-charming city, he told me – most condo buildings won’t take dogs over 40 cms high. I.e. my medium-sized dog, Mr. K (60 cms high), is out. Even if I am buying an apartment.
Add to this lovely information the fact that the gross frat-boy realtor was very obviously not impressed by the modest amount of money I have to spend. In a booming market, with plenty of homes selling for near a million dollars, my paltry sum clearly isn’t worth it to him. He has bigger fish to fry. He said he’d run a search for me and email me the results that day. I haven’t heard back. Asshole. I’m really insulted.
An email this weekend to another realtor resulted in a curt reply telling me that she wouldn’t work with me because I’m not spending the money necessary to get into the couple of buildings that would deign to take my dog. (And it’s not that there’s nothing available in my price range – I have done MLS searches, I can see that there are places…but in a hot and greedy market, my apparently “small” amount of money is not worth the effort to these people.)
I cannot believe it. What hell is this? I have also learned over the last couple of months, through Internet searches, dog advocacy groups, and conversations with people, how incredibly dog-unfriendly the city is in every other way, as well. It’s astonishing, really. As someone with no car, it will be virtually impossible for me ever to walk the (very high-energy) dog off-leash – hell, until a couple of years ago, most parks wouldn’t even allow dogs on-leash. Frankly, a city that micro-manages like this makes my hair stand up on end. I find this kind of thing deeply problematic, I really do. It is so not my kind of place.
I did yesterday find a realtor who is willing to work within my parameters, and was friendly and seems promising. But if it’s true that almost no buildings will take the dog, then I may well end up in some godforsaken area, with a dog who is miserable because he can’t be exercised properly, and me miserable because I’m stuck in a suburb with no access to anything. Spending all of my time fretting about the dog. That doesn’t seem like a life, for either of us.
Tonight ex-GF and I, over dinner, discussed the possibility of her keeping the dog. I think it makes sense on many levels – Home City is such a much better city for dogs than this fascistic gated-community nonsense I’m moving to. But it breaks my heart. Just breaks it. I wish I didn’t have to enter this whole “adventure” already seething with resentment about the place I’m moving to.