Category Archives: dog

Haven’t done this in a while

God, how long has it been since I’ve blogged? Since the election? Since I started my new job? I’d have to check, and it’s taking enough effort for me to even write this thing, so, I’m going to say it’s been at least seven months or so.

I’m going to try to get back into blogging at least 1x per week from now on. After the election, the plan was to wait until the rage-and-despair-fueled fire burning in the pit of my soul subsided before trying my hand at this blog again, but then things got even worse, so, like, fuck it, whatever. I like to be funny in this space, y’all, and not much has seemed funny for the last six months, but I’m just gonna have to make some lemonade out of the shitty, moldering, Russian-grown lemons Cheetolini has given us in lieu of a future for Americans’ health care and, you know, the planet. First, though, an update on my life.

I started a new job eight days before the election. The job is great, but twice since 11/8/16 I’ve dipped into suicidal-ideation-level depressions. Twice. In six months. That’s not good. I’ve just come out of one of these troughs, so now’s a good a time as any to make this thing work.

That’s…kind of the whole update. I got a new job, been working, been depressed, been trying to make it through each day without bursting into tears and/or making a papier-mâché Trump and burning it in effigy in front of my apartment. Also been eating way too much and not working out enough/at all. WOOHOO ISN’T THIS UPLIFTING AF?

I’m better now, though. I swear. I hope. Please, God, let me be better. I mean, I feel better today, but that might be the rosé wine and Carly Rae Jepsen combo I’m jiving to right now. Also, I bought new cleaning supplies for my apartment and that always makes me feel awesome (I’m not kidding. I love cleaning supplies.). I walked 10K steps each of the last three days. I ate, like, a salad yesterday, with minimal cheese in it*. These are all good signs, right? Honestly, I feel like I accomplished a lot more this week than Donald Trump did in Europe. Like, at least I didn’t insult and alienate the United States’ closest allies and follow the rest of the G7 leaders around on a golf cart like a toddler who’s overdue for a nap! See, lemonade!

Depression is pretty funny though, I have to say. Like, last week I broke down and collapsed in a ball on the floor because I dropped a towel on the floor when I meant to hang it up on the hook on the back of my bathroom door. This was apparently more than my sick mind could bear. I just lost it, and sobbed uncontrollably as I stared at it for a moment before bending over, picking it up again, and finally managing to hang it on the hook. I was convinced that I was a terrible, disgusting, evil person because I had a moment of clumsiness and accidentally dropped a towel, which, in case you’ve never encountered one, is a soft, unbreakable object which is not spoiled from resting on a moderately clean hardwood floor for 3.5 seconds. Honestly, I should have been celebrating instead of crying– in getting that towel on the hook in only two tries, I still accomplished more for the good of our nation in one day than the President has in 130 days, so I’m just going to go ahead and pat myself on the back for that one.

Maybe I’ve been looking at this “our president and his entire posse are traitors” thing the wrong way – really, this guy just gives all of us a pass to be our most incompetent selves at all times. I mean, my dog puts more effort into shitting on the lawn than Trump puts into leading a nation of 330 million people, so let’s give that (literal) bitch a gold fucking medal, right? RIGHT!

Huh, I feel even BETTER now. More rosé! More Carly Rae Jepsen! Depression, go fuck yourself.

Till next week!IMG_20170528_193437

*minimal cheese means a lot of fucking cheese but whatever

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

5 Random Star Trek Characters Who Would Make Better Presidents than Donald Trump

I haven’t posted in a while, and I love Star Trek as usual, so here are five random characters from the franchise who would make better presidents than Donald Trump.

*Mild SPOILER ALERT for plot elements of DS9, Voyager, TNG.*

5. Any Redshirt

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Series: Star Trek, The Original Series

About: A redshirt was a random crewman in a (duh) red shirt who beamed down to a planet just to die immediately, usually beginning an investigation by Kirk, Spock, and McCoy into a new alien threat or phenomenon.

Why a better president than Trump? Unlike Trump, Redshirts actually sacrificed something for their people/crew. Granted, they weren’t super bright–you’d think eventually they’d ask if some of those blue-shirted mofos could go on an away mission for once instead of them–but at least they actually did their jobs and shit. And probably paid taxes on their Starfleet salaries.

What they would say about/to Trump: “I can’t believe that guy would insult the family of a fallen sold–OH GOD, WHAT IS THAT THING? IT’S COMING FOR ME, CAPTAIN, PLEASE–” *dies*

4. Lon Suder

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Series: Star Trek: Voyager

About: Lon Suder is a violent sociopath who murders a fellow crewman in Season 2 because he “didn’t like the way he looked at him.” With the help of Tuvok (aka Black Spock), he regains some measure of control over his violent impulses to try to repay his debt to the crew. But he still likes killing people and never really stops liking it, up until his own demise.

Why a better president than Trump? Unlike Trump, he actually tries to not be a sociopath and ultimately works with the Doctor to take back Voyager from the Kazon (aka Lame Klingons with Weed Hair) while the rest of the crew is marooned on some random planet. He gives his life to save them. So, once again, actual heroic sacrifice. From a SOCIOPATH. 

What they would say about/to Trump: “He said what about Mexicans? Look, I know I killed a guy in cold blood for no reason, but I’m no racist. Excuse me, I have to go die now in order to complete my redemption arc, nice talking to you!”

3. The Borg Collective

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Series: Star Trek: The Next Generation; Star Trek: Voyager; Star Trek: First Contact (film)

About: The Borg collective is a cybernetically-enhanced species that assimilates and consumes all technology and civilizations it encounters with the goal of galactic domination and “perfection.” They operate as a collective consciousness and purge the individuality of all people they assimilate. They’re like evil space zombie-locusts and are terrifying.

Why a better president than Trump? Despite being pure fucking evil, at least the Borg are efficient, organized, and have a plan. They have a solid anti-discrimination policy and are willing to absorb all cultures regardless of stereotypes. Also, they have transwarp drive capacity, which would definitely be a boon to the US economy!

What they would say about/to Trump: “We are the Borg. You will be assimilated. Resistance is futile. Your biological and technological distinctiveness will be added to our–oh, wait? It’s you again, isn’t it? The Trump human? You know what, I think we’re good on biological and technological distinctiveness for right now. We’ll just be on our way to fight Janeway again. Sorry to bother you.”

2. The Wormhole Aliens

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Series: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine

About: The Wormhole Aliens, aka the Prophets, are beings who live outside of time in a stable wormhole that connects the Alpha and Gamma Quadrants of the galaxy (a 70K light year distance). Deep Space Nine basically guards its entrance in the Alpha Quadrant. The aliens are also seen as the gods of Bajor, a nearby planet where people have weird noses and wear one earring. There’s also some space Jesus stuff going on, but I don’t want to spoil the arc of the show.

Why a better president than Trump? While Trump does seem to think he is God, these beings are actually gods, so BOO-YAH. Also, they built a passage that makes it possible for humans to make a 70-year journey in, like, ten seconds, so they could really attack the problem of our crumbling infrastructure head-on.

What they would say about/to Trump: “Where is the Sisko? Who are you? Why do you exist here?” *Listens to Trump ramble for five minutes incoherently* “We thought we were incomprehensible and cryptic, but we have nothing on you. The Trump is aggressive. The Trump is a moron. We must destroy the Trump.” *Uses wormhole energy to completely evaporate Trump as if he is a Dominion warship*

1. Porthos the Dog

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Series: Star Trek: Enterprise

About: Porthos is a Beagle that belongs to Captain Archer, who is (sorry, Scott Bakula) objectively the lamest Captain. He goes on the Enterprise with Archer and a couple times almost dies. His almost-death is a plot point of some significance in one particular episode. There is a reason Enterprise was canceled after only four seasons.

Why a better president than Trump? He’s a pretty cute, nice dog. Likes everyone. Does well in new situations. Good listener. Not the color of a Cheeto.

What they would say about/to Trump: *Is transported down to Earth, takes a huge dump on Trump’s shoes, is transported back to the Enterprise immediately*

 

 

 

Naughty Dog (A-Z Challenge)

So I’m very tired and could not for the LIFE of me figure out a blog post for “N” in the #AZChallenge, but then my family dog Roxie did this:

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I apologize for the quality of the pictures but I was mad and the dog was biting my butt.

She has been digging at/ chewing up the carpet (which is 20+ years old) in the upstairs hall since I came home last month to heal my broken foot, but today took the cake. I tried to stop her from ripping it up but she just jumped and tried to bite my butt cheek, which is as annoying as it sounds, so then I was like, YOU NAUGHTY, NAUGHTY DOG! And then I realized “naughty” starts with “n” and here we are. So basically, the dog is badly behaved, my parents have to spend five grand on hardwood for the upstairs, but, hey, I got a blog post topic out of this SO IT’S ALL GOOD.

Seriously, though, she does not give a FUCK about this carpet, guys:

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Oh, did I do that? Oh, well.
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U mad, ho?

The problem with this whole situation is that naughty dogs are somehow even cuter than well-behaved dogs, unfortunately. Behold:

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Cute dog butt
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Cute dog face.

So even after she nips at my butt and eats the carpet and then vomits up the carpet pad in the middle of the night, I find myself petting her and stroking her ears and saying GOOD DOG!

And she wins. Every single time. She wins.

That naughty, naughty darling dog.

Sorry, gtg give this bitch a treat.

 

Please share links to pictures of other NAUGHTY dogs in the comments! I will also accept comments praising and/or condemning Roxie the naughty dog.

 

 

 

Sometimes We Are All This Delicious, Mangled Cake

Yesterday, it was twenty degrees out and snowing (IN EFFING APRIL), my broken foot was aching from the cold, and I was stuck in my parents’ house. I tried writing and failed because my head was foggy from weather-induced depression. The family dog, also suffering from cabin fever, was determined to spend the entire day either licking my nose or biting my right forearm (not sure why my arm and nose are yummier than other parts of my body) in spite of every treat, game, or other scheme designed to distract her. I was PMSing and on the constant verge of tears. So, after a few hours of trying to be productive and positive, I gave up on and decided I was going to bake an AMAZING and BEAUTIFUL chocolate cake with cream cheese icing from scratch, because IT WAS AN APRIL SNOWSTORM OF DEATH, SCREW EVERYTHING.

The cake itself turned out beautifully; the icing was easy to prepare and tasted great. Then I tried to put the icing on the cake, and it turned out like this:

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I don’t know what happened, but every time I tried to apply icing to the surface of the cake, it, like, tore the top of the cake up. I tried a knife, a spatula, a spoon, my fingers–it was all a bust. So, after mangling my beautiful cake with ill-applied icing for ten minutes, I gave up and began to cry.

Now, I realize that crying over a badly-iced cake is…not rational. But I was SO tired of the day, and my aching foot, and my foggy winter-in-April brain, and all I wanted was to PRESENT A PRETTY CAKE TO MY FAMILY AND EAT IT FRONT OF THE SAD-EYED, HUNGRY DOG AS RETRIBUTION FOR HER NIPPING AT ME ALL DAY! WAS THAT REALLY TOO MUCH TO ASK, UNIVERSE?

My mom, engaged in reading on her Kindle, basically rolled her eyes at my temper tantrum, and I snapped, “OH, FUCK IT!” and spooned a glob of cake-and-icing into a bowl and took a bite.

It was delicious. My parents had some for dessert and loved it, and the dog looked at us all as we ate with a satisfying mix of envy and yearning in her eyes (HA, DOG, THAT IS WHAT YOU GET).

As I sit here typing this and eating more of my leftover mangled cake, I realize that yesterday I WAS this cake: messy and ugly, but yummy inside. I took a useless, gross, bad-mood day and tried to make something good of it. We all do this–some of us more often than others–and the results are mixed. Sometimes we rally and create a beautiful masterpiece, complete with vanilla fondant and sugar roses. Sometimes, our best achievement is a shower and clean pajamas, and store-bought cake if we’re lucky. Most often, though, we end up somewhere in the middle, with a delicious chocolate-and-cream-cheese glob of almost-but-not-quite greatness to show for our efforts. All of these outcomes are okay, because despite the messy icing, we are all sugary goodness underneath.

Today, the sun’s out, and the cake will be gone soon if its current rate of consumption continues unabated, as will the snow. I hope you make the best cake you can today 🙂

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Witness the sad, cake-less dog in the middle distance.

 

I’d love to hear your thoughts on this post; please leave a comment below, or share or like if you’re so inclined!

 

The Thirty-First Year of the Jackie

So, it turns out that–despite the existence of alcohol and chocolate–I have made it to my thirty-first birthday. A year ago today, I was in a sort-of-impressive-sounding corporate job with a four-hour round-trip daily commute and an email addiction. I was really depressed, and so, shortly after turning thirty, I took a leave of absence which ultimately led to me quitting my job. It was the scariest thing I have ever done in my life, with the possible exception of going into that super gross hot tub at Myrtle Beach during our senior trip in college (those flesh-eating viruses are NO JOKE).

Now, one year into this journey off the beaten high-achiever path that I’ve dutifully followed for most of my life, I’ve achieved a new milestone: being proud of myself on my birthday.

This may not sound like a big deal, but for me, it really is. Once I was legally able to drink, I stopped enjoying my birthday. Every January 5th brought on a contemplative funk during which I lamented my lack of achievement and progress during the previous year: “Some people my age are olympic medalists! Half my friends have graduate degrees! Look at that guy; he’s only twenty-three and he makes so much more money than I do! Look at that girl; she’s only twenty-five and she’s married with a baby!  What have I done? Look at how worthless I am!”

I once expressed this attitude to one of my coworkers at Google a few years back. She was a pretty cool chick and refreshingly honest, and she was baffled by my view of aging. She’d lost a close family member at a young age and birthdays inspired gratitude in her–she was always happy and relieved to make it another year. I remember nodding and chastising myself internally for not being grateful enough for my birthdays and for not having cancer or losing an arm to that Myrtle beach hot tub, and then going right back to dreading early January and berating myself.

This year, however, is different. When it comes to traditional measures of success, this year certainly hasn’t touched most of those that preceded it. I can’t say that I work at a fancy company. I can’t say my salary is XYZ bucks per week. I can’t talk about awards or kudos or performance scores at work, or drop the name of any executives I work with.

What I can say, however, and what I’m proud of, is that I’ve had the most new experiences in the past year of my life than in the previous eight put together. These experiences ranged from good to bad to everything in between, but they made me think (and blog) about myself and the world deeply, and in different ways than I have before.

I experienced the joy of realizing that I could write, and write well(ish), and write enough words and sentences and paragraphs to make a whole book-type document that people might want to read. I experienced the excitement of getting an agent, and the subsequent anxiety and boredom of submitting to publishers.

I experienced the love of my family, and the grief of saying goodbye to a family member, albeit a furry one. I also experienced the excitement of welcoming a new love into my life, though this created drama with my old love, which was iced coffee (sorry bae).

I experienced the stress and exhilaration of travel, from people-watching the crazy costume-clad nerds of San Diego Comic Con to getting knocked up by food in Florence and trudging through the rain in Paris in super ugly shoes and seeing Britney dance way worse than when I saw her on tour when I was sixteen.

I witnessed two amazing couples get married on opposite-ish sides of the country and cried my eyes out both times because I AM A SAP, OK?

I experienced breakdowns and bad nights, and discovered new coping mechanisms to pick myself up when I fall or when the world seems too much to handle.

In short, I experienced life, and I had the time to really take it in, as opposed to watching it all pass me by. And, for the first time since I was a little kid, I’m proud of myself for that fact alone. I’m proud of myself for trying to live well, and I’m grateful to all those people (both IRL and on this blog) who have come along on the journey with me this year.

So, here’s to the thirty-first year of the Jackie! May the thirty-second be just as interesting, and may you still be interested enough to tune in and read about it once in a while 🙂

Love,

The Birthday Girl

 

 

Visualizing Utopia

I took an involuntary blogging hiatus over Thanksgiving due to the DeathColdwhich laid me out flat for a good eight days; I’m still hacking up phlegm on an hourly basis (you’re welcome for the mental image).

As a return to blogging post-DeathCold, I was going to do a beauty post with my recommendations from my latest Allure Beauty Box, but I couldn’t because my mind is still spinning from the latest high-profile incidence of domestic terrorism that took place on Black Friday at a Planned Parenthood in Colorado Springs as well as the revelations regarding Laquan McDonald’s murder at the hands of police last year, among, as usual, other horrific things.  Hell, as I’m typing this, my Twitter feed is telling me that there is a mass shooting incident ONGOING in San Bernardino with as many as 20 injuries possibly reported (Update as I finish this article: 12 dead possibly. My God.)

I’m so, so, so tired of this. Exhausted, in fact. Aren’t we all?

I’m so tired of the culture of violence, especially against women, children, people of color, and the poor. Tired of the racism and Islamophobia. Tired of the unwillingness of so many people to see that things need to change, from rape culture to reasonable, commonsense restrictions on gun ownership and use (BTW, if you want to post a comment here on how gun violence is solely a mental illness issue vs. gun availability, please just don’t. As a mentally ill person myself, you’re not gonna convince me and I’m sure I won’t convince you. Feel free to ignore this post and go find someone else to talk to about it; the internet should have plenty of safe spaces for that. Thanks in advance.).

I feel like I do what I can, you know? A lot of you feel that way, too, I bet. We donate money to causes we believe in, support and vote for candidates to public office who we hope will be able effect positive change. And yet, it still feels like nothing gets better. Part of this, I know, is due to the fact that we have access to news of horrible events 24/7 thanks to social media. Awful things have always happened, but now we hear of them more often, with video and audio recordings of the carnage as it happens to bring the horror even closer to home.

So what do we do? What do I do, not just to make the world a better place, but to keep myself sane? Other than continue to donate money and vote and speak out where I can, I’ve had to rely more and more these days on a super-lame-sounding but effective technique to keep myself going: visualization.

About a month ago, I read the fantastic book The Feminist Utopia Project, which is a collection of about sixty stories, cartoons, interviews, fake news articles, etc. imagining a better future, courtesy of dozens of feminist thinkers in many fields. I highly recommend it, even if you’re not that big into feminism. Reading this book gave me a new tool to deal with the horror of the everyday world: visualizing utopia.

When things get awful, like they are getting right now in San Bernardino as well as in thousands of places around the world, I try to take a breath and imagine that fifty or one hundred or two hundred years from now, those who come after me (or maybe even me, if I’m lucky) will see a world that is measurably better than this one. One where the term “mass shooting” is only discussed in history class, the way we discuss the Spanish Inquisition today. A world where we take care of our planet instead of treating it like a disposable coffee cup. A world where no one’s life is better or worse than anyone else’s simply because of their gender identity, skin color, religion, sexual orientation, or where they live in on the map. A world where religion, if it exists at all, is ONLY a source of peace and inner strength for believers and a cause for generosity and love rather than an excuse for hatred. A world without violence. A world where gun control is a non-issue because no one feels like they would ever even need a gun to protect themselves. A world where a woman can go for a run in the park at 3 am with no worry for her safety. A world where no one is homeless. A world where no one is hungry. A world where fewer people are sick, and those who are receive free, top-quality care from medical personnel who are caring and well-treated themselves. A world where there are no borders, and people pass freely from one place to another, sure of hospitality and interest and love wherever they go. A world where I spend every day cuddling with doggies.*  In a word, utopia.

Today especially, we are really, really far off from that world. As it seems to do every couple of days, my heart is breaking for a new group of victims of violence as I type this. I don’t want to become desensitized to it, but I want to believe that things can be better. I want to believe in my utopia. I choose to believe in it today, and I actively wish for it. If the holiday season brings anything good with it, any sort of power, let it be the power to bring humanity closer to this utopia, or any version of it. I’m visualizing, hard. I hope you can take a moment today to visualize it, too. If enough of us do, it can only soothe our souls and bring us closer to making it a reality.

Peace. And I promise, back to beauty posts and funnier shit later this week.

*Ok, this one is a little selfish, but, come on, what is Utopia without doggies?

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Roxie would definitely be part of Utopia.

 

 

 

A New Love

So I know that last week I became engaged to Iced Coffee, but I have a new love that has supplanted him: Roxie.

Here she is:

Roxie Face

Now, she only weighs 7 lbs, and is also a dog, but I am ridiculously in love.  Just look at her PLAYING IN THE DRIVEWAY!

(That is my mom saving her from eating mulch at the end)

In all seriousness, I was a bit nervous about meeting my parents’ new puppy when I came to visit them this week.  As you may recall, we lost our family’s beloved 14-year-old black lab, Jazzy, back in August.  It was a lot harder on all of us than I had expected – even my brother and I, who don’t live at home anymore, were devastated.   So while I was excited to meet this new family member at my parents’ this week, I also felt weird – would I be constantly comparing her to Jazzy?  Was I a bad person for wanting to meet and love a new dog when we had just lost such an important part of our lives?

Well, it turns out that while there have been some bittersweet moments when I still miss my old girl, Roxie, like all dogs, has her own separate personality, and loving her is as effortless, in its own unique way, as it was loving Jazzy.  Despite the fact that Roxie has these SHARP LITTLE RAZOR TEETH OMG I FORGOT PUPPIES TRY TO EAT EVERYTHING INCLUDING YOUR NOSE AND FINGERS.

Welcome to extended family, Roxie!  You’re my new love!  (Sorry Iced Coffee 😦 You’re just not as cuddly as Roxie is, and also you occasionally make me jittery.)

Writing Update – I Am This Dog

So anyone who has been reading my blog is aware that earlier this year I wrote a book.  It’s a memoir about my time as a chicken farmer in Kansas.  Ok, so that’s a lie, but it is an actual novel, with words and sentences and characters and stuff, and after writing it I was like, “Huh, I think this is ok.  I will try to get it published!”

Then I went online to learn about publishing, and cried because all the articles said, “Oh, you want to get published?  Never going to happen – HAHAHA #BYEFELICIA!”  And then I was like, well, screw this, I’m gonna try to get a literary agent anyways because I HAVE DREAMS.

I started querying (if you don’t know what that is, thank your lucky stars and move on with your life) and I was this dog:

I was this dog but less adorable.
I was this dog but less adorable.  And I didn’t wear a tie.

Publishing is a crazy business, and the more I queried and the more I read about queries online, the more I needed wine and a nap.  Then, something miraculous happened – I was referred to a couple of wonderful agencies, and they read my book and wanted to represent me!  When I was given this information, I was this guy:

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It turns out they were serious, and I said, “Are you aware that I’m a dog who has no idea what she’s doing?”  I actually only said that in my brain; outwardly, I pretended like I was confident and also that I am a professional human non-canine who knows things.  It was only 20% totally awkward.

Then I had to decide, and I was like, THIS IS AN EMBARRASSMENT OF RICHES (FYI: it took me four tries typing “embarrassment” before I got it right; thanks, spellcheck.  Yep, I’m a writer.).  And then I decided, and now I have an agent, and she is wonderful!  I’ve signed with Sharon Pelletier of DGLM, and she’s fantastic and funny and gets my book, but now I’m worried she’s going to see this blog and ask, why did I sign on to represent a dog who has no idea what she’s doing and also lacks opposable thumbs?

I don’t know, Sharon, but you’re stuck with me now.  Sorry!

So that’s my writing update.  As you might be able to tell, I’m pretty psyched.  I’m also scared, because I’m a dog who has no idea what she’s doing.  But honestly, aren’t we all that dog at some point in our lives?  I think that’s the moral of this blog post, and maybe the Bible, too.  Peace!

P.S. A completely unrelated shoutout – Happy 30th Birthday to my girl T of Tears. Sweat. Sea.  WE ARE GOING OUT TONIGHT!  I know I’m a dog, but I can still drink wine, I promise.

Goodbye, Jazzy

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Jazzy at the vet’s last week

Dear Jazzy,

This morning, after fourteen years and two bouts with cancer, we said goodbye to you.  It was the right thing to do, and it was the right time.  I know you were suffering, and I’m glad that we made the decision to let you go before your pain became any worse.

I will never forget you.  I will never stop loving you.  You were a light in all of our lives from the day we brought you home.  Your memory will be a light for us until the day we pass on and join you, wherever you are.

Here are just a few of the things I will remember about you for the rest of my life:

I remember how soft and sweet you were, and how you won everyone over, from old ladies to little kids – even those who normally fear dogs – with your big brown eyes and silky ears and goofy grin.

I remember how you used to wake me up every morning during high school school, jumping on the bed and licking me until, grumbling, I swatted you away and got my butt in the shower.

I remember how excited you got each Christmas, tearing your stocking to bits to get to the treats and toys you knew to expect when the big tree went up in the corner of the family room.

I remember the Thanksgiving when, despite my mother’s precautions and my uncle’s warning, you managed to jump up on the counter and take a huge bite out of the homemade pumpkin pie.  I remember your guilty expression when we caught you.

I remember the time I left a full plate of food on the kitchen table for about forty seconds to wash my hands, only to return to find the plate licked entirely clean, while you sat nearby trying to look innocent and utterly failing.

I remember countless long walks that exhausted everyone except for you – you always wanted to play fetch as soon as we were back in the yard, despite the wind, rain, or heat.

I remember your childlike excitement at the prospect of a snowflake, or a treat, or a ball, or even the garden hose.

I remember when we thought we were going to lose you to cancer seven years ago, and you were a cheerful, happy dog through months of chemo, two surgeries, and radiation, never whining or whimpering and always happy to go see the vet or the oncologist.  I know how lucky we are that we got seven more years with you.

I remember how you would come and sit next to me (or Bryan, or our parents) whenever I was upset or crying and would offer a snuggle to comfort me.  I remember that you did this for me yesterday, despite your own pain, when I was crying over the fact that I was going to lose you.

I remember the joy you felt in living.  I remember how that joy inspired me.  It still does.

Jazzy, I’m not religious, and, being a dog, I know you weren’t, either.  However, I do believe that you are in a place now where the pain is gone.  No more cancer, no more tumors, no more medications or weak hind legs.  I also believe that one day I will see you again in that better place.

I love you.  I miss you.  You’re a good dog.  Rest, now, until we meet again.

Love,

Jackie

Jasmine, 2001-2015
Jasmine, 2001-2015

 

 

 

 

Thank you!

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After a truly shitty day yesterday where I spent most of it crying over Jazzy’s impending death, today is much better, mostly thanks to everyone’s sweet comments, texts, emails, and other messages of solidarity and condolence and humor – thank you so much.  The weather doesn’t hurt either!  We’re just taking things one day at a time with Jazzy and enjoying what time we have left with her and each other.

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Love you all and hope you’re having a good day!!