I Hate Sundays: Missing Trixie


I Hate Sundays because somehow I didn’t post this photo before she died and she was such a perfect, perfect, perfect dog. I miss you, Trixie.

OOTD: Black White Red, Not a Baby in a Blender

OOTD 08 22 2016 AOOTD 08 22 2016 B

Trixie really needs some limelight lately.

Pattern-on-pattern black and white with red accents–you just can’t go wrong here, in Artful Blasphemy’s opinion.

Necklaces: Both local makers–one an artist and one a craft fair type and I have some copyright issues with that but then again…..

Top: It is an Anthropologie label (one of those that has a picture instead of words, so helpful)  that my mom gave me. It’s very soft rayon and I just love the hand of that fabric.

Skirt: Lapis. I bought it used, it was too big, now it isn’t. Sigh.

Shoes: Pikolinos.

How Not to Birthday

My life is some sort of cautionary tale lately and today upped the ante significantly as we had to put down my darling Mermaid Manatee Pit Bull, Trixie. She’s my last dog, at least for awhile (marriage, compromises, it’s horseshit, man) and she was of the soul mate variety.

The timing couldn’t have been worse, it being my 47th birthday, but she held on through a long, crummy summer to be my life support through heart surgery, a million migraines, sickness, the recent not-surgery disaster,  and she needed to put her burden down. So we got up early to go to our vet, who has been my vet for over 20 years, and let her go. While normally I am the one who goes alone with the animal for that last trip, today we all went; husband, man-child and myself, and we cried and petted and said good-bye. We probably need to send the vet a case of tissues.

The man-child, being infinitely clever, crossed “Happy” off my birthday card so that it just says “Birthday.” Statement of fact, no implied state of mind. That, I guess, is what this year’s birthday is, just a birthday. My Leo self hates that fact, but this what adulting is about–it can’t all be streamers and frosting.

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She was a gorgeous, shy, skittish and sometimes dumb dog who spent a summer slicing open her paws on the rabbit fencing in an effort to compel the Chihuahua to run away. Then she spent a year trying to kill him since releasing him didn’t work, and had to wear a basket muzzle so we could all co-exist. She liked whipped cream and Cheezits, and slept under the bed, right under me, and snuffled and gruffled all night in her sleep. She liked to place herself as a trip line, in dark doorways or hallways. She stared at me just like that photo the first time I saw her at the pound—all these yapping puppies and this one golden one just staring into my soul. I am going to miss her more than I’d think possible, but I also loved her too much to let her suffer. Such is the responsibility of stewarding these beings we call pets.

When a Break isn’t a Break At All

Due to the public nature of blogging, I can’t divulge much about why this Spring Break was unbelievably welcome, except that work changed for me this year, and this semester began badly, such that there is less joy for me in my work. Right now. Things are fluid and can always change.

Still, the break hasn’t been of the sort I was hoping. Having a chronic condition means that there are always a few extra things on my plate (kind of like the extra 15 lbs on my belly, hips and thighs) that weigh me down. Cutting down on the heart medication did not seem to do the trick, resulting in me being temporarily assigned to a specific portion of Hell in which one has to use the restroom in an emergency way at Walmart, not once but twice.

So, on my own, I stopped the medication to see if I can re-balance my system. Of course this is difficult because the above-mentioned tour of Hell resulted in frantically dry swallowing tiny green pills so it will be awhile before things get straightened out. Also, I am back to waking up at 3:00 am with my heart doing the Watusi and feeling panicked. I had not realized how blessedly free I had been from that until it started back up.

The trip to Walmart was Monday morning. Monday afternoon we realized that the dog, Trixie Belden (the mermaid manatee pit bull), was not keeping any food down and hadn’t eaten anything since around Thursday. Off to the vet as walk-ins. We were not able to see our regular vet, and while the one we did see was perfectly fine, well, we walked out with the knowledge that her liver enzymes were off the charts and we were to give her a ton of expensive medication and then return for an expensive ultrasound that might confirm what we are guessing, which is that we were not able to contain the cancer to her leg as we had hoped when we had it amputated last November.

Despite expensive medicine, the dog has pretty much refused most liquid (with maybe a few ounces of chicken broth, which is sitting all over our house in bowls with humans saying artificially brightly, “Hey! Hey! Do you want some of this? Mmmm, it looks delicious!”) and all food except some Cheezits last night. Oddly. We feel, at this point, that we need to follow her lead and support her but stop intervening beyond pain medication and lots of love.

Not easy. She doesn’t seem to be in pain, but she doesn’t want anything. She may be my last dog, and like many people with chronic pain conditions, she is a big part of my emotional health. It’s extremely hard to let go, even though I believe I am doing the right thing by keeping her home and not throwing money at expensive tests that only hurt and scare her. The end result would be the same; if it’s cancer, we would go the Dog Hospice route, so throwing money at it is pointless.

Going back to work Monday and facing a million inquiries as to the quality of my Spring Break will not be fun–and I will still be longing for a break, which will now be six weeks away, with one tech week for a huge show looming large.