We Wish You A Merry Christmas
All of us here at the Doxie residence are, at this very moment, wishing you a very, very happy holiday, and a happy new year.
Or, to be perfectly honest, I guess I should say that wishing you a very, very happy holiday and happy new year is what we would be doing, were some of us not completely preoccupied by rubbing our heads against the new fake fur throw, while moaning in unbridled ecstacy:
YES YES YES
And then, upon being caught, looking at us all, WHAT? EVERYBODY starts moaning when they rub themselves against throw blankets purchased on sale at Target. It's the discount! The discount feels so good!
Or, in the alternative, maybe we are just too busy being really fucking petrified of the faux-fur throw from Target, because holy CHRIST, have you seen what it's done to Gimmme?!
COME SAVE PUGSLEY FROM SCARY BLANKET PLEASE.
Or, finally, maybe some of us are not currently sending any holiday wishes to anyone because some of us are so totally bored of Christmas already, like, sigh. When are we going to start celebrating something interesting? Like some holiday where we get to sacrifice virgins? Because, Bo could totally get behind that sort of thing.
SIGH. Bo just want some virgins.
But. hello! The one of us who is not rubbing herself in ecstacy against a polyester blend, who is not reeling in terror from same polyester creation, and who is not lounging around in supreme boredom and issuing heavy sighs of been-there-done-that every sixteen seconds, hereby wishes you a very, very happy holiday, and a wonderful new year. Thank all of y'all for your generosity and support; I've appreciated all of it so much, and I sincerely thank you for reading, for commenting, for emailing, and just for thinking about us when we needed it.
So, very warm wishes to all of y'all! Now, jump in bed and cover your head, 'cause Santa Claus is coming tonight!
Maybe Santa bring Bo some virgins!
Merry Christmas, everyone!
Miss Truvy, I promise that my personal tragedy will not interfere with my ability to do good hair.
Thank you all so very much for all of your kind comments, e-mails, messages, cards, calls, and everything else I've received over the last several days. I have read and appreciated every message, and I am just overwhelmed by the many people who have taken the time to send a little bit of love and comfort our way. It really has meant more to us that you know, and I have been so touched by your generosity. And, for everyone else who wrote to me about losing their own pets, or who is going through their own tragedy, my sympathy is with you, and I hope you are surrounded by people who are as wonderful as all of y'all are.
I've been okay. It was, of course, hardest in the beginning; on Sunday, I would randomly transform into a screaming M'Lynn from Steel Magnolias, grabbing whomever happened to be nearby, and screaming, "I can jog all the way to Texas and back, but my dog can't! She never could! I'm so mad I don't know what to do! I wanna know why! I wanna know whyyyyyyyyyyyyyy!" etc., ad nauseum.
I also succeeded in essentially locking my own self out of this website for a few days; even though I knew everyone was leaving nice comments, and I wanted to read those nice comments, I would come over and see the "Goodbye, Girl," and break the hell down. It was one of the last things I ever said to Tasha, and reading those words up there just killed me all anew. In retrospect, I should have named the entry something with less locking-Leigh-out capability, such as "There is a lot of wine in the refrigerator right now." That is the sort of thing I should be keeping in mind. Think positive!
I have realized that the fact that Tasha's death was so sudden is both a curse and a blessing. From my own perspective, it was horrible. I am still reeling from the idea that she really, really didn't make it. I think it truly sunk in yesterday, when the pet mortuary (yes) called me to finalize her "arrangements," and to see if I'd picked out an urn. That was stark and real and awful, and I think the weight of the thing hit me then. But Tasha's death was just so wholly unexpected, and so totally out of the blue; on Saturday morning, I had four dogs. By the time the sun went down, my little girl was gone, and I was left with three. I didn't see it coming, and it took my breath away.
But, on the other hand, I am so very, very thankful that Tasha did not suffer. On Friday, she was seemingly healthy; she ate her food, she sniffed the bushes outside, and she watched television on the couch, curled up next to me while I packaged up some orders. I was eating potato chips, and every time I dropped one, she'd spelunk into the depths of the couch to retrieve it. She seemed fine, and I don't think she was in pain.
Hell, even on the day she died, she didn't seem that sick until the very end; we decided to take her to the vet as a precaution. Her cough sounded a little different; she seemed to be wheezing, and she was holding her head in an odd way. Little things -- and things that are not unheard of in a dog with asthma -- but enough to convince me that we needed to take her in. Within several hours, she did not have the strength to lift her head. Shortly after that, her little heart just stopped beating. And though the doctors were able to revive her, the lack of oxygen to her brain had resulted in severe brain damage. Looking into Tasha's eyes, I could tell that she was already gone, and so we did what had to be done.
Putting Tasha to sleep was probably the hardest thing I have had to do. And I hate that her illness and death happened so quickly, but at the same time, I am so glad that it happened so quickly. Tasha did not suffer for long. She did not have to endure lengthy treatments, and she never had to spend the night alone and scared at the animal hospital. Even though it was harder on us to have her taken so quickly, it was much easier on her, and she was the one who mattered. She gave me seven wonderful years, and I am thankful for every second.
But, it's still hard. Because I apparently enjoy torturing myself, I cannot stop going over the past few days in my mind, trying to remember something I'd overlooked, a sign that she was sick, and that she needed my help. For the first few days, I was convinced that if I'd only done something differently, that would have saved her, and that Tasha's death was all my fault. But I am slowly beginning to realize -- having spoken to the veterinarian who cared for her on the day she died, and her regular veterinarian -- that there was really nothing I could have done. On Saturday, as I cried over my little girl, the vet put her hand on my back and said, "She didn't tell you. You couldn't know, if she didn't tell you." And logically, I am beginning to see how that's right. But it does not stop me from wondering.
And, it sure as fuck has not stopped me from one bit of the insanity I have now developed for the other dogs. I am convinced that they are all about to up and die from Mad Cow disease, malaria, rickets, ebola, or any flavor of other obscure disease, and I have analyzed every cough, sneeze, growl, bark, and whimper until I am about to drive them all insane. Seriously, they are about to rise up and KILL me. I can't stop picking them up, poking all over their little mad, brown bodies, checking their gums for color and their little noses for cold-and-wet, before depositing them hesitantly on the floor again. Now, when they see me coming, they scatter like cockroaches, screaming, "FOR LOVE OF GOD DOGS ARE FINE! STOP POKE! STOP POKE US!"
But don't worry -- they are not completely miserable, because I am also spoiling the holy fuck out of them all. This is arguably a Bad Thing, but I don't remotely care. On the night Tasha died, my family went into full-on-crisis mode; mom and dad went to the store and purchased me ice cream, potato chips, frozen pizzas, and five bottles of wine. I also sent Dukay shopping, with explicit instructions to bring back every single dog treat and bone available in the metro area. Which he did, and the remaining three dogs have lived in an orgasmic, bone-chewing land since Saturday. And their enviable position has become even more enviable when you also take into account the new dog bed I have purchased them, as well as the new faux-fur blanket they have received in order to maximize their snoogly comfort on the sofa. The remaining dogs cannot believe their good luck. They love this whole mourning/death thing! Someone should die DAILY! And if the treats start to subside, they'll just shoot Pugsley, and then helloooooo, bacon!
So, the dogs are fine. They're fucking GREAT. And I am getting better. As many of y'all know, it's just hard to lose a pet. But I am trying to keep my perspective -- I still have my awesome parents, wonderful sister, cute-bottomed boyfriend, and three really bad, rapidly-getting-fatter doxies. My family is healthy and whole. In the grand scheme of things, I know that this is a little tragedy, and I am incredibly lucky.
But, as it turns out, I am even luckier than I thought. When Tasha died, one of the things that made me the most upset was just how pointless it was. I mean, no, the death of a pet doesn't often have a purpose, and it's not like most dachshunds are out there dying for their country or in protest of our environmental policies or things like that, but still. There wasn't any "why" to the whole nastiness, and there was no way that it could be turned into something positive. You know? Like, if your dog dies of some odd disease that has symptoms X, Y, and Z, you can tell people to watch out for those symptoms, and maybe other dogs will be saved. With Tasha, I can't do that. I can't tell people how to prevent their own dogs from dying, and that only made things seem even more awful.
But, as I said, it turns out that I am incredibly lucky. Because, several days ago, a missdoxie.com reader donated $5,000 to Dachshund Rescue in memory of Tasha. And immediately after that, DRNA sent me a list of other donations y'all have made in memory of my girl. I read all of this, and I burst into tears. Because now, Tasha's death will have a silver lining, and other doggies will be helped because of her. It's the only thing that makes any of this okay.
So when I start missing my girl, and when I first wake up in the morning and remember that she is gone, this is what I think about: I think about how, somewhere out there, is a dachshund who has lived a shitty life. But now, thanks to several wonderful people, and in honor of my little Tasha, that little guy is going to be saved, and he is going to get to live in a home with people who wil love him, and give him bacon, and scratch him in just the right place behind his little ears. He's going to have a chance to be happy, and Tasha played a part in giving him that chance. Knowing that makes everything so much better. It doesn't quite answer the "whyyyyyyyyyyyyy?" question that the M'Lynn in me keeps screaming, but it helps a lot. And then, as M'Lynn would also say, life goes on. And sure enough, it does.
So, thank you so much to everyone. I will be back soon with tales of the three bad dogs (I am officially the only female in the household now; ergo, I am totally fucked), Christmas shopping, and my white-hot hatred for that song about the fucking Christmas shoes (which makes me scream "HURRY UP AND DIE, WOMAN!" at the radio every time it comes on). But I wanted to close this chapter first, to say goodbye to our little lady, and to tell all of you how much I appreciated your support and your generosity. And of course, I also want to encourage all of y'all to give to DRNA this holiday (or really, to any other animal rescue organization you like), in honor of any four-legged creature that has touched your life. Even if the donation is small, it still makes a huge difference for everyone. I know what a huge difference it made for me.
Thank you all, for all of your support, and kindness, and sympathy. You're all wonderful, and I love you more than my luggage.
Oh, y'all. Tasha didn't make it. She died a few hours ago.
I did get to pet her and rub her little head before she went. And I got to be with her up until the end, and I got to whisper and talk to her, until the vet told me she was really gone.
I am so stunned, and so sad. Thank all of y'all for the good wishes for our little girl, and please think some good thoughts for her tonight. And give your own dogs some extra kisses from all of us.
Just wanted to pop in and tell y'all that the update will be out tomorrow, probably, but that we've been dealing with a bit of a crisis over here; Tasha started having some trouble breathing, and so we took her to the emergency vet. Who made us wait for an hour before she waltzed in, took one look at the dog and WIGGED, and promptly sent us to the hardcore, people-running-around-and-saying-STAT! STAT! emergency vet, where Tasha is now in the ICU, diagnosed with doggie pneumonia. Her prognosis is fair, which is apparently better than "bad", but they've got her in an oxygen bed-thing, and she's just about the most pathetic little brown creature you've ever seen in all your life.
Honestly, this is the craziest -- and scariest -- thing that's ever happed to any of the dogs. Because yesterday, she was totally fine, running around, chewing on her toys, and humping the sofa cushions like a normal wiener thing. Today, she's the boy in a bubble. Or, girl. Or, girl dog in a bubble, I guess, but you know what I am driving at.
Anyway, so, we've been pretty occupied with this since early this morning, and will be for a while. The next 24 hours are supposed to be the most important, so we're mostly just waiting to see how she responds to the meds. If she improves (and let us all hope that she improves), I'll try to get the guide finished up tomorrow. In the meantime, y'all please think good thoughts about the little lady, and hope she gets out of her bubble -- and back to humping the sofa -- as soon as possible.
Or, more accurately, dammit, Movable Type! Give a girl a minute, here.
So, as we all know, sometimes sequels do not suck. I believe that the cardinal examples used to prove this point are usually "The Godfather Part II," "Lethal Weapon II", and...uh. Hmm.
Okay, I can't think of another one. Ghostbusters II was not very good. Jaws II was crappity, but nowhere near the cinematic meltdown that was Jaws 3-D, in which the shark somehow obtained the ability to growl. And for some reason, these are the only two examples of sequels I can come up with right now. I am pretty sure, however, that more exist.
But, I am not going to go looking for any more cinematic examples, because I have been hard at work on our own little sequel over here, namely, the Follow-Up Gift Guide, where I've added new shops, consolidated the old ones, and (hopefully) recorded all of the gift certificates and offers provided to y'all by nice shop people. Of course, I was planning on having this done by Tuesday, but given the logic of "time" in my world, which has been a wee bit busy lately, what with the lawyering and the shop and the not sleeping and the putting of things in boxes, and the breaking of the sewing machine and the cursing of an entire generation of sewing machine manufacturers, and then the subsequent embarrassment upon having to purchase a new sewing machine, because...bobbin? Who's that?
So, yeah. The sequel isn't done yet. It is almost done, but it is not all the way there. Hopefully, I'll finish it later this afternoon, or possibly tonight. But regardless, y'all are definitely going to want to check that shit out, because there are a TON of new things, and new sellers and coupons and other delightfulness which will make your holidays very attractive, and practically free.
I will be back soon with all this, but in the meantime, y'all feel free to explain any of the following to me:
1. Why is it 28 degrees in Atlanta today?
2. Why can't I find any coats, except for this one coat that resembles what would happen if you shaved a muppet, but compensated by giving it some shoulder pads? Why is this the only coat I have?
3. Where are my coats?
4. Did y'all take my coats?
5. How come do I have a coat that looks like a shaved muppet with shoulder pads?
6. Is it your coat?
7. It is apparently from J. Crew.
8. What is the matter with J. Crew?
9. Did J. Crew have a season based on the central concepts of "shag carpet" and "what we come up with when we take the hard drugs"?
10. Where are my scissors?
...And so on.
So, now that I have lightened my load by sharing my many probing questions with y'all, I am going to try to finish this guide. Also, I posted some new Christmas cards over at Shop Doxie if y'all want to see, even though Christmas is spitting distance by now. For that idiotic timing, we can all thank the printers, who repeatedly fucked up the order. Or, we can pretend I am extraordinarily early, and it is already time for the prudent shopper to buy Christmas cards for next year, and I am just the most responsible person in the entire developed world. And not, say, the kind of person who lets her laundry accumulate until it threatens a military coup, who never cleans her ceiling fans, and who lets a gaggle of wiener dogs sleep in her bed, despite overwhelming evidence that it is a really fucking bad idea. I am not like that at all.
I call this "Bo with Antennae; Gimmme incapable of appreciating my sophisticated humor."
Anyway, it's time to wrap up this shopping guide like the savvy consumers that we are, so I'm off. See y'all shortly!
Oh, hold on. I'm an idiot:
P.S.: I've spoken to a bunch of people individually over the past few days, but I did want to at leasy quickly mention that I am so happy with, and so honored by, everyone's kind response to my little store. And I know I promised I wasn't going to talk about it over here (I won't! I really won't! This is an exception!), but I had to thank y'all for being so great, and for all of your comments and e-mails and feedback and everything else. And for those of y'all who have gotten your orders already (everyone else! I AM HURRYING! Or maybe it is already in the mail! I am a little overwhelmed right now), I really hope you're happy with them.
So, no more talking about the shop administration business, but I would have been a big old bitch if I hadn't at least thanked everyone for your overwhelming suppot, your nice comments, and your extreme personal attractiveness (admit it; y'all have been bringing sexy back, haven't you? Like, when I wasn't looking? Well played!). Happy holidays to everyone, and thank you so much!