Ruminating...

So I haven't posted in a while.  I've been thinking about stuff, doing stuff, been running all over the place, eating lots of Chipotle…you know, all the normal things I do that keep me from writing much.  I'm in the process of packing my bags for my upcoming trip to Australia.  I leave on Tuesday, and I'm geeking out a bit about the whole thing.  For someone so terrified of traveling, I sure do a lot of it.  I typically really enjoy myself once I get where I'm going…it's the getting there that has me all worked up. 

I hate flying.  Hate it.  Although I hate it less than I used to.  I used to worry all the time about the plane crashing.  And then one day, while several thousand feet up in the air, I realized that regardless of whether or not the plane crashed, sitting there worrying about it wasn't going to change the outcome.  The flight was literally out of my hands, and all I had to do was sit there and just go with it.  So I did.  And I do.  But I still don't like it.  Knowing that I'll be sitting on a plane for 15 hours, over nothing but the Pacific Ocean, will be a first for me.  Prior to this trip, my longest flight will have been somewhere in the ballpark of 5-6 hours long.  The nice thing about this flight is that it'll happen at night, so in theory, I should just sleep through most of it.  15 hours of sleep is a long stretch for me, but I've slept 19 hours before, so hopefully I can channel that again and check out for most of it.  I'll also be self-medicating a little bit, so that'll help.  Or not.  Maybe this will be my body's first time to have a negative reaction to Benadryl and I'll be wired and crazy.  I guess time will tell.

So you know why else I don't like flying?  I'm a puker.  I've puked on planes lots of times.  It's always unpleasant, and people sitting near me are always super disturbed by it.  Probably because the recycled airplane air, which is gross to begin with, is not helped at all by the smell of someone's vomit circulating through it.  And really, it's awful to watch someone puke.  Being a nurse, I get to see people puke all the time.  And it always sucks.  You basically just stand there and watch them do it.  Maybe rub their back a little bit, although most people in the throes of vomiting don't really like to be touched, especially not by a stranger.  However, if you're ever sitting next to someone who is annoying and doesn't get the hint that you have no interest in talking to them, I recommend throwing up a little bit…or at least making a show of holding the little puke bag whilst dry heaving.  Nothing quiets a plane down like someone heaving up their lunch.    

So, in the interest of distracting myself from all things relating to airplanes (as I hear one fly overhead at this very moment), I'll just blather on in no particular order or sense, and I'll be thoroughly distracted.  Know that I will be leaving the writing at some point to go pick up my Chipotle order.

I know I'm 35, and that maybe I'm a little late to the game, but I don't take selfies.  I loathe that word, actually, and I have just about as much disdain for the act itself.  I don't quite understand people who constantly take pictures of themselves…and only themselves.  Most of the time, the photos are so close to their face that there is nothing else even remotely interesting in the photo…besides their face, I guess.  I know what you look like.  I know what you looked like yesterday…and the day before that.  And here you are again, taking another picture of yourself, only this time you're making a weird face by sticking your lips out.  Duckface?  Is that what they're calling it?  Ducklips?  I have no idea.  I don't do that.  Maybe if I liked my face better, I would take a selfie.  But I'm not a huge fan of my face.  And I'm not fishing for words of praise or anything here…I just really don't like looking at myself.  There are so many other things I'd rather look at than my own face…with the right eye that has developed a weird squint over the years, or the fact that at 35, I still get pimples, or that I still don't know how to put make-up on or do my hair.  All good reasons not to take a selfie.  Not that everyone needs to look glamorous in a selfie…have a look at the internets and see all the selfies out there…glamorous is definitely not the word I'd use to describe most of them.  But they're putting themselves out there…for reasons known only to them.    

You know another reason why I don't like pictures of myself?  I have come to the conclusion that I have creepily long fingers.  Next time you see a photo of me, take a look at my hands.  They're weird looking, especially when I'm holding something.  And it's not like I have big hands…they're actually kind of small, but the fingers are long and skinny and strange.  They're also really really bendy…so maybe that's why they look weird.  I don't think they look creepy and weird in real life (unless I'm bending them backwards on purpose to be creepy to Simon), but they definitely do in photos.    

Now I must leave to go get my burrito.  Chicken, black beans, cilantro-free brown rice, lettuce, and cheese.  Arguably, probably the most boring burrito that they make.  But hey, it works.  Dammit…I was going to do the Quesarito this time…I forgot…again.  Fat kid fail…again.  I told Simon that I like to eat burritos in the evening as a carb-load for my exercise classes in the morning.  He told me that's not how that works.  Meaning, I shouldn't be carb-loading for exercise classes.  Hahaha!  I tell you what though, I kick ass in spin class the morning after taking down a burrito.  There's something to it, I tell you!  And the burrito so far, is best.  Chicken & waffles, pizza, or Thai food?  Not so much. 

So, the burrito has been eaten, and it was delicious.  And I'll have you know, I walked right into that Chipotle in my old man sweater and my Minnetonka slippers with my hair a giant disarray of a slightly unmanageable bun held up by some bobbi pins clinging for dear life.  Truly, a sight to behold.  The definition of slovenly.  And that glorious burrito was enjoyed whilst watching an episode of New Girl, featuring my doppelgänger, Zooey Deschanel.  I didn't come up with that, Simon did.  I guess if I was going to have a say in having anyone as a doppelgänger, she's a pretty darn good one to have.  At least it's not Jack Nicholson or Kathy Bates or the dog from Airbud.  

Hahaha!  So this blog isn't about me being self deprecating, although it kind of seems that way, doesn't it?  I'm just being me…rambling out the realities of life.  Sometimes I'm painfully realistic.  Having the idea in the back of my head that I'm going to die in the middle of the Pacific Ocean on Tuesday due to a horrific plane crash might have something to do with it.  It's not that I'm scared of dying…I'll get to that one of these days; I just don't want to it to happen yet…or as the result of a plane crash.  That's all.  Makes sense.  At least I think it does.

So I went to Vegas a few weeks ago with some girlfriends from college.  Vegas is weird.  I could write a whole blog entry about that city.  I actually have one all typed up, but I don't like it so I'm not posting it at the moment.  If I die in the plane crash, maybe Simon can post it for me posthumously, and maybe then I'll be discovered and published and he'll get all kinds of money and won't have to work anymore and can just be an artist.  Something like that.  Truthfully, the Vegas blog isn't very good.  I've done better.  And that's why I didn't post it.  I think if you're going to take the time to do something, make sure you do it well, and make sure it's something that you're proud of.  I might tweak it, or I might scrap it.  Or I'll just let it sit there.  I've got like 8 blogs just sitting there.

One thing I will tell you about Vegas, is that I learned for the very first time how very awkward I must look when I'm dancing.  So awkward, in fact, that I scared some halfway interested boys away.  Hahaha!  They took one look at me doing whatever it was I was doing, and beelined it in the other direction, leaving their friend, who was hitting on my friend, in the dust.  And I looked cute that night, dammit.  Little black dress, red high heels, my hair was actually behaving itself…but my dance moves (or lack thereof) betrayed me.  Ah well, it's not like I wanted to dance with either of them anyway.  To be fair, I overcompensate for my lack of dancing ability by over-doing the most ironic of dance moves…I'm a big fan of raising the roof.  It's funny, if nothing else.  At least I think so.  

I've been having trouble with this whole checked-baggage thing.  I can't remember the last time I flew anywhere and actually checked a bag.  Honestly, it was probably back in 2008 when I flew to Alaska with my college buddies.  I remember the strangest things.  Anyway, so there are all these weight restrictions on the bags now.  Or maybe there always were, but I think 50 pounds is not very much for a girl going on a trip for 12 days.  I have to have shoes, and pants, and dresses, and swim wear…not to mention a voltage converter, 3 cameras, and an iPad.  All that crap adds up to 50 pounds pretty freaking fast.  But then…my friend Ellen saved the day by telling me that I can have a carry-on AND a personal item, in addition to my checked bag!  Three whole bags!  Who knew?  She did, apparently.  And so does everyone else, apparently.  And here sits Stef, with the dunce cap on, apparently, wondering how on earth I'm going to get everything to fit and still be light enough to get on the plane without an incident…or without wearing like 5 layers of clothes…you know…I had actually considered that. 

15 hours on a plane is a long freaking time…it's a long time to be sitting anywhere.  I just keep thinking about it.  How many times am I going to have to go to the bathroom?  I hope I don't have to poop on the plane.  I don't want to be one of those people who poops on a plane.  I mean, if you gotta go, you gotta go…I doubt there's really anyone out there who actually WANTS to poop on a plane, right?  Maybe there is.  I've pooped in a lot of places, but I don't really catalogue them (contrary to what people might think), and I don't have any goals as to where I'd like to poop.  In fact, I probably I have goals as to where I'd like to NOT poop, and an airplane is pretty high up on that list.  You know what I think would be funny?  Taking a poop on a cactus.  Like one of those shorter ones next to a hiking trail.  People would walk by, see the poop, and ask, "is that poop?"  Yes indeed.  It is poop.  And then they'd sit and they'd wonder about who did it, and why, and then some bizarre story would arise about the cactus pooper.  I think that would be funny.  I should try that sometime.  I'd probably fall over and then I'd be covered in cactus spines and poop.  That wouldn't be very funny.  Well, it would be eventually, just not right then.

I was in Target today and I saw one of my former patients there, wandering through the aisles getting some groceries.  It's weird to see them out and about like that…in normal clothes instead of a hospital gown with their bum sticking out the back.  I don't remember her name or even why she was in the hospital, but I recognized her.  I don't know if she recognized me.  She didn't let on that she did, if she did.  I thought about going up and saying hello, but I just don't know if that's appropriate, or if she'd even remember me, or if she'd even want to think back to when she was in the hospital.  I remember that she was really nice, and that she grew up in Minnesota…we had all kinds of conversations about Minnesota when I was taking care of her…mostly about food.  Us Minnesotans are very food motivated.  There are lots of Minnesotans out here in Arizona…I enjoy meeting them, but prefer to do it outside the hospital.  What's interesting to me is that in the two years I've been working as a nurse out here, this is the first time I've seen a patient outside the hospital.  Flagstaff really isn't all that big; you'd think I would have run into at least one patient before today.

Anyway, I can hear Cooper snoring from the bedroom.  He's been trying to get me to come to bed for hours now.  He's so weird about that.  I'm realizing in the absence of Brie that he's weird about a lot of things.  Like how he only wants to be under the blankets on the bed in the morning…not at any other time or in any other place.  How he always has to run to his food dish and look inside of it, just to make sure that the food is still there.  How he always has to go to the bathroom at least three times when I'm sitting on the couch watching TV…but if I'm reading a book, he just lies there next to me and sleeps.  It's all very bizarre.  It makes me feel a little bad that I was so wrapped up with Brie and her various ailments, that I don't know if he's always been this weird and that I'm just noticing it now because she's not here taking up all my attention, or if maybe this is how he is without her.  Tough to tell.  I get a kick out of him though.  He's my little buddy.            

And with that, I'm going to bed.  I've carb-loaded, and I've got a weight lifting class in the morning.  And some Victoria's Secret coupons to use.  And a walk and lunch with a good friend in the afternoon.  And maybe tomorrow, with any luck, I'll manage to get these bags packed.

Cheers!

    

Stefanie's "I HATE Running" Tips and Tricks

So, I started running just over 2 years ago.  It's been a labor of love ever since.  It all began with a friend of mine suggesting that I run a half-marathon with her at Disney World.  The Disney Princess Half Marathon, to be exact.  She sold it to me as a race where we would get to wear tutus, we'd run through the Disney park, and just have ourselves a gay old time while ensconced in layers of tulle and fancy athletic wear.  Thirteen (0.1…can't forget that minuscule little 10th of a mile!) miles was a long freaking way for someone who hadn't ran since her mid-20's.  I had a brief stint there following a break-up that found me at the gym, pounding out my new found singlehood on the treadmill.  And all was going well until I pulled something in one of my hamstrings.  And that pretty much ended my relationship with running…until 8 years later when I was lured back into it by the promise of my first-ever trip to Disney World.

Me, Ellen, Candi, and Kate at the Disney Princess Half Marathon

I don't like running.  Given the number of races I've run since the fall of 2012 (9 races and counting), one would come to the conclusion that I do, in fact, like it.  I do not.  Let's not kid ourselves.  I am a lazy person.  Some days the only activity I can muster is getting myself out of bed.  But here's the thing I've realized in the past couple years…I need to take control of my fitness.  One way or another, it has to be done.  Gone are the days of snarfing down a bag of Doritos with reckless abandon and not seeing a single pound of evidence reveal itself on the scale.  I frequently get out of bed somewhat stiff and sore, and I notice that my endurance for everyday things, like climbing flights of stairs, is starting to wane.  I'm getting older, slower, lazier, squishier, and that's not likely to change as I continue to add years to my body's odometer.  I've been made aware of the genetics that have been given to me, and I'm fully aware of my eating choices, and the choices that are made for me in this great "fattening of America."  Truly, our diets here in the States are atrocious.

Medals from my races…one technically doesn't count, since it was in a kayak

I used to make excuses to avoid exercising…there's no gym close by, I don't like the gym that's close by, I don't have the right shoes, I don't have the right clothes, I don't like riding bike in traffic, it's too sunny, it's too cloudy, it's too cold, it's too hot, it's raining, I don't want to go by myself, I don't like running with other people, I hate sweating, I have to poop, I have a headache, there's a sale at the mall, I need to check Facebook, I just ate, I haven't eaten anything yet today…you name it, I've used it as an excuse.  And finally, it just got to be too much.  What's the one exercise a person can do that requires little to no equipment at all?  Running.  All you need is shoes, something to cover your private parts, a destination and you're good to go.  As with a lot of other things in life, I've had to leave myself no other choice in the matter.

Running the Sea Wheeze in Vancouver, BC

I didn't realize until I received my training packet for my first half marathon that my approach to running had been all wrong.  And that's pretty much the reason that I had hated it for so long.  I would run until my lungs were burning, until I was about ready to puke everywhere, and I felt like crap the entire time.  Every single step was a struggle.  But then, along game Jeff Galloway, a former Olympic track athlete, and all of that changed.  Here is a link to his training program for beginning runners.  It's a 20 week program, so it gives you lots of time to start out slow and steady, and with manageable distances.  It not only has a training calendar, but it also has a whole section on running form and suggestions for the beginning runner.  This opened my eyes to all the mistakes that I had been making in my previous approach to running.  There's also an app called Couch25k which is supposed to be really good for training for a 5k.  I haven't personally used it, but I have a decent amount of friends who have, and they say good things.

So, with that, here are my own Tips and Tricks for people who HATE running.

• Get good shoes.  Trust me on this one.  Those old Nike trainers that you've had lying around?

  

  My new running kicks

   Bad News Bears.  Throw them away.  Get yourself to a running store and have your gait analyzed by an actual runner.  I'm not talking Sports Authority or Dick's, I mean like a real running store, where the employees are runners themselves.  There is a store here in Flagstaff called Run Flagstaff, and they have a treadmill with a camera attached that records your running stride.  The employees at the store then slow the video down, have a look, and figure out what your legs are doing while you're running.  They can then make recommendations for the best shoes for your gait.  For a long time, I was under the impression that I needed high stability shoes because I have high arches.  Unfortunately for me, the fit was wrong for my gait, which resulted in foot pain and blisters.  But I thought that's just how it was.  You're running…you're bound to get blisters, right?  Not if you have the right shoes (and socks! More to come on that later).  After having my gait analyzed, I was told that my gait is fine and that my ankles are strong, and that a neutral shoe is more than adequate for me.  Since I've been wearing neutral shoes, I rarely, if ever, have blisters.  I just finished 16.2 miles in 2 days and have no blisters on my feet to show for it.
• Start slow.  And I mean really slow.  Barely faster than a walk.  As Mr. Galloway points out, you should be able to run and still have enough breath to carry on a conversation…for the entire run.  This was another mistake I was making…I was running entirely too fast.  Unless you are a competitive athlete and you're sprinting or working towards a personal goal, there's no reason to run until you're puking, or almost puking (unless of course you find the need to scarf down an entire breakfast burrito and then go for a run, then you'll probably puke no matter what).  In the two races I did over the weekend, I was chattering away to my running companions for almost the entire duration of the race.  And when I wasn't chatting, I was still controlling my breathing and finding it very easy to manage.  If it takes you a half-hour to go one mile in an effort to control your breathing, so be it.  Go with it.  It will get better…YOU will get better.  We all have to start somewhere.
• Take little steps, and keep your feet close to the ground.  There's a reason that in most of my running photos, it looks like both of my feet are on the ground at the same time…it's my short, low little stride.  Don't try to have a long stride, especially not when you're first beginning.  And if you can, try not to come down too hard on your heel.  Ideally, you should try coming down on your midfoot if you can, but it takes practice and it takes attention, and when you're constantly thinking about your speed, your breath, and your underpants riding up, things will get lost in the mix.  Just do what feels natural.  I have a very, very short stride, and I maintain it throughout the majority of my runs.  Every now and then I'll lengthen it out or do some high knees just to add some different motion in there, but for the most part, I stick with my little stride.
• Watch your form.  Again, this can be tough when you're trying to think about so many other things at the same time, but this is really important for your post-run recovery.  Try to keep your back straight, and don't pivot your torso.  Meaning, move your arms at the shoulder joint, but don't move your shoulders forward and back.  This is one thing that I'm still working on.  It takes conscious thought, but it's amazing how much more comfortable it is while running, and how much easier it feels while doing it.  Try to keep your shoulders down and relaxed.  I know, this all sounds like it's counterproductive, but it works if you can get it right.  It definitely takes concentration.  However, every body is different, and you're going to find that what works for one person, won't work for another.  Just try to find a comfortable stride and make little adjustments as you become more comfortable with it.
• The first mile is the worst.  I remember runners telling me this when I was throwing every excuse in the book at them for not running.  It's true though.  I think it takes that first mile to get your stride, get your breathing, get your rhythm, and to convince yourself that since you're already out here, you might as well just keep going for a while.  I hate mile one.  My friend Ellen and I ran a 10 mile race over the weekend, and I honestly and truly wanted to quit after running half a mile.  I just didn't want to be there.  My legs hurt, my breathing sucked, I was tired, I was cold…I just wanted to throw in the towel and call Simon to come get me.  But I kept going.  And even though I was sore at the end of it, I still did the entire thing, and mile 0.5 was the only time during the race that I really wanted to quit.  You just have to get past it.      
• Wear appropriate clothing.  Meaning, stay away from cotton…even cotton blends.  This is

  

  Kate and Simon demonstrating their running tights

  especially important with socks.  Nothing will chafe your hide or give you blisters on your feet faster than cotton.  I used think all that fancy Under Armor and Lululemon apparel was just for people who had nothing better to spend their money on and wanted to treat every run like a fashion show (truth be told, it IS kinda fun to wear cute athletic clothes).  Turns out, those runners are on to something.  All that spandex not only wicks sweat and keeps the chafing to a minimum, but some of it also adds compression, which feels good for those muscles while they're working.  I really like knee-high compression socks for both during the race and after.  Not that you need to go out and drop hundreds of dollars on athletic apparel, but take a trip to your local Marshall's or TJ Maxx and grab a few things off the clearance rack.  Even Costco has a very decent selection of athletic apparel.  If you're going to drop significant money on apparel related to running, spend it on your shoes, not your outfit.  I've also read (and found to be true) to dress for weather that is 20 degrees warmer than what the actual temperature is.  If it's 60 degrees outside, dress for 80 degrees.  You might be a little chilly at first, but trust me, you'll warm up fast and you'll be glad you left that sweatshirt at home.  
• Find a good playlist if you're running to music.  I prefer not to run to music, but I'm in the minority in that aspect.  I like to look around and have conversations with myself while I run.  I probably look like a crazy person.  Oh well.  Part of the reason that I don't run to music is because I have this compulsion to have my feet hit the ground with the beat.  I find myself tripping if a slower song comes on because my feet are trying to stay with the beat.  Conversely, the same thing happens if a faster song comes on, and I find myself trying to keep up with the beat and I burn out.  However, I recently read an article that recommended tailoring your playlist to your pace.  This definitely appeals to the marching band geek in me, so I might start putting a little more work into finding some songs with a beat that I can manage.  However, if you don't have my issues and just like music to zone out to, more power to you.  Find earbuds that fit well…those old Apple ones are the worst.  I like earbuds with the little rubber things on them…they stay in place better and they don't hurt.
• Give interval running a try.  I actually do a lot of interval running when I'm training, and I don't

  

  Running with the horde in Vancouver

  notice much of a difference with my pace.  Interval running is so many minutes running, followed by so many minutes walking, repeated over and over throughout the duration of your run.  I tend to do a 4:1 running/walking interval when I do it.  I like the little breaks, and I feel like when I start running again after the walk, I'm able to run a little faster.  I also think that my joints and muscles are less sore when I interval run.  When I'm doing a race, all that adrenaline of being around all those runners builds up and I find it really hard to adhere to a strict running/walking interval (a stopwatch of some sort would be handy), but when I start to find myself getting tired, I'll switch to it.  I tend to walk up hills a lot.
• There's no shame in walking.  EVER.  A lot of people who sign up for races actually intend to walk the entire thing…walking is good for you, and truth be told, it's way easier on your body than running.  Walking is an integral part of my training for races, and I walk all the time during my runs.  I'm not out there to beat anyone.  I truly don't care about my pace either.  I'm typically aware of it, but I don't let it bother me if I'm slower one day and faster the next.  It's going to be that way.  When I signed up for my first half marathon, I did so knowing that I could walk the entire thing and still finish within the allotted time.  And that was my goal…to finish.  And to not be carted off the course in the ambulance.  You know, truly attainable, objective goals.  And so far with every race since that first one, I've managed to finish and avoid the ambulance ride.  And that's good enough for me.  But I don't have a competitive streak to overcome when it comes to running.  Some people struggle with that and beat themselves up for what they perceive to be a slow time or a poor race.  The only person I'm competing against is myself…thank goodness I'm competing against a lazy person…hahaha!
• Listen to your body.  My joints were barking at me last weekend at the end of the 10 mile race.  I think 10 miles is just at the high end of what I can expect from my joints.  Granted, my training was definitely lacking, but still…10 miles is a good long distance for me.  I think the 10k (6.2 miles) is about the perfect distance.  If I can get my lazy butt a little more motivated to train longer and more often, I'll probably have a longer shelf life for those longer races, but I think my days of distance running are drawing to a close.  I've got one more half marathon on the docket for 2015, but other than that I'm sticking with the 15k (9.3 miles) and the 10k.  And I'll even do some 5k runs if they sound fun.
• Try to have fun.  Running, for the most part, is not fun.  People who say that running is fun are deranged.  However, there is some sort of euphoria that you get while running through a city during a race, with spectators lining the course cheering and ringing cowbells for you.  Try trail running if road running is too boring.  I like being out in nature, running along, seeing the birds and smelling the trees and just being outdoors.  Running can be fun, just not all the time.

Ellen, Kate, Simon, and me after running the Twin Cities 10k

So there you have it.  My infinite (though limited) wisdom on running for people who HATE running.  And now I'm going to go sign up for the Hot Chocolate 15k race down in Phoenix on December 7th.  That gives all of you readers plenty of time to get training and join me.  :)  You get chocolate at the end!  What's not to love about that??  One could argue that for the price of the race admission, you could buy an awful lot of chocolate and just sit in the comfort of your own home and eat it, but that's beside the point.  I've also heard of a Bacon 5k in Wisconsin sometime in July, which I want to do…bacon stations during the race!  Simon has already said 'No' to food-themed races, so if it sounds interesting to anyone, I'm looking for a running buddy!

Feel free to pass long your own personal tips and tricks for running.  I'm still learning, and there's always room for improvement.  :)                    

Under The Weather

Here we go again….

So I've been sick now for going on 5 days.  There's some nasty viral thing going around Flagstaff right now that seems to be incapacitating people for multiple days at a time.  Simon had it last week, now it's my turn.  It sucks.  I hate being sick (who doesn't?).  I've been pretty much loafing on the couch for the past few days, feeling like an absolutely nonproductive slug.  While I am a self-professed lazy person, I do enjoy being productive, of accomplishing something, no matter how minute.  I haven't been to the gym in days, although I have been trying to take random short walks, just to get some fresh air and try to expand my aching lungs a bit.  It's hard to tell if I'm afflicted by the Flagstaff virus, or if this is a manifestation of my seasonal allergies…or it could be a little of both.  The hacking cough and achey chest feels like a cold, the congestion, sneezing, and runny nose feels like allergies.  I once asked a friend of mine who was becoming a nurse practitioner, how one tells the difference between a cold and allergies.  She said that with allergies, a person has boggy mucus membranes (referring to the soft tissues inside the nose).  I'm not quite sure what "boggy" means, and I have neither the equipment nor the know-how to figure out if I have boggy membranes or not.  So I'm erring on the side of caution and pretty much avoiding most forms of human contact until I feel ready to re-engage as a healthy member of society.

I hate calling out to work knowing that I'm shorting my coworkers.  And truly, I like my job.  This is actually one of the first places I've worked where I don't feel like I need a "mental health day," as we call them, when we've just had enough and need to step away before saying or doing something rash.  I enjoy going to my job I enjoy my coworkers, and I enjoy taking care of most of the patients (there are those few who definitely drive nurses to the aforementioned mental health days).  But, as a healthcare professional, it is not only my job to take care of the sick, but also to prevent them from catching any additional illnesses while they are in my care.  And whether I'm contagious or not, hacking relentlessly and constantly blowing my nose is not only unsanitary, but it doesn't bring much confidence to my patients or my coworkers.  It is also my responsibility to be on top of my game, to be thinking with a clear head, and to be as physically healthy as possible so that my own shortcomings don't cause me to make errors.  Going to work sick is not only irresponsible, but it can be dangerous for those vulnerable populations and inconvenient for my coworkers, as they'll inevitably be the ones picking up my slack.  Years ago I wasn't feeling well and had gone to work anyway.  I was spending a lot of time in the bathroom.  During one of my bathroom trips, one of my patients, who was very ill, vomited and began choking on it.  Had someone not been walking by and heard the commotion, things could have ended very badly for him.  And worse yet, they couldn't find me for assistance.  It was scary and something I'll never forget, and I learned my lesson about going to work when not feeling well.  My patients deserve my full attention…their lives practically depend on it.  And truth be told, I probably spend just as much time with my coworkers as I do my patients, and getting my coworkers sick just takes even more caregivers out of the equation, so it's best to stay home.

Being sick is really rather boring.  When I'm not hacking and feeling dreadfully awful, I'm just sitting here, too sick to do much, but well enough that I'm getting stir crazy.  So I alphabetized my collection of Stephen King books.  I found two duplicates, 'Salem's Lot and The Dead Zone, so if anyone out there is looking to add either of these to their collection, let me know.  I believe they are both 1st editions, although I've decreased the value of 'Salem's Lot by writing my name in it.  Stupid…although, they're really not going for much these days anyway, but there are some people out there who collect 1st edition printings.  I've been drinking lots of water, which results in lots of trips to the bathroom.  Not that that's in the same vein as 'something to do,' but it's keeping me moving around.  I've done some laundry, cleaned up and wiped down the kitchen a few times, reorganized the fridge and threw out a few things that were rotting in the veggie drawer (okra? I don't even know where to begin with preparing that…to the compost pile it goes).  I've taken Cooper for a few walks, attempted to get a photo of the giant spider living in our tomato plant (he's camera shy, apparently), taken a few naps, and that's about it.  Truth be told, I'd almost rather be at work where I'm distracted and not constantly reminded that I'm not well enough to do anything worth doing.   

I've read 4 books since Sunday, when all this started going down.  I finished off The Fault in Our Stars, by John Green.  I was told by my good friend's son that I should read the book before I see the movie.  It was a really good book.  It's young-adult fiction, which seems to be all the rage these days for young adults and adults alike.  Green does an excellent job of capturing the heart and soul of teenagers, albeit in a somewhat Dawson's Creek fashion.  I have to point out that at 15 years old, I was nowhere near as mature as the characters in his book, but there were probably 15 year-olds at my school who were at that maturity level…I was probably too busy trying to rationalize putting my Barbies away permanently to notice.  I also read his book Paper Towns, which was also pretty good.  Again, the maturity level was above what I would consider normal for a teenager, but I think that's what makes it relatable to someone my age, while still being relatable to a young adult.  It was good.  I would have to say I enjoyed Stars a little better, and am looking forward to reading more books by this author.  I also read a newish book from one of my favorite authors, Christopher Buckley.  This one was called They Eat Puppies, Don't They?  Buckley is an entertaining political satire writer; almost all of his books take place around Washington DC, and usually have something or everything to do with lobbyists, political corruption, and the like.  He is the author who wrote Thank You For Smoking, which I consider one of his better books.  All of them are good.  This one was a little hard to follow as it had a lot of characters and it took place in both Washington DC and China.  It was about a couple people (a lobbyist and an Ann Coulter talking-head type) trying to stir up anti-Chinese sentiment in America at the behest of a giant arms dealer whose agenda involved getting some new weapons approved through Congress.  All sorts of shenanigans were going on.  Last night I finished Stories I Only Tell My Friends, an autobiography by Rob Lowe.  I really liked it.  It's written really well, and I've always really enjoyed autobiographies.  It's interesting to hear him tell stories of rubbing elbows with famous people before they were famous, of playing in the neighborhood with the Sheen and Penn boys, and of attending the same high school as Robert Downey Jr.  I find the cutthroat world of Hollywood interesting, to a point.  Lowe managed to keep it down to earth by exposing his faults and bad decisions, and also those decisions made by others that impacted both his personal and professional life.  I've always really liked Rob Lowe as an actor, and come on…those eyes!!  My goodness, arguably the most beautiful eyes on TV.  But I digress…

Mmmm…Mac and Cheese!!  

I've been trying to eat healthy to give my body the best tools to fight this crap off, but trying is the operative word here.  Macaroni and cheese, while tasty, is anything but nutritious.  I know this, but when you feel like crap and you've been laying on the couch for 3 days, minimal effort feels like maximal effort.  It's all I could do to boil some water for the noodles.  Hahaha!  And my throat hurts, so anything soft was a bonus.  I wanted nothing to do with any of that roughage that Simon was eating, although he always offered to share.  I did make a pot of chicken soup using the chicken broth I made recently, and it was so tasty.  I don't think I'll ever buy boxed chicken broth again.  I've been on a kick of making one roasted chicken a week…Simon and I love chicken, and one chicken will last us almost a week by adding it to soup, quesadillas, fried rice, and chicken salad.  We don't cook much these days, so anything that we can cook once and eat multiple times is a bonus.  So yeah, after making all these chickens, I had been saving the bones and skin and started making my own broth from them.  So flavorful.  And cheap!  Seeing as I bought the chicken anyway, the broth is basically free.  Just today I chopped up some of a roasted chicken and made a copy-cat version of Chef Jean's chicken salad.  Chef Jean is a robust Cajun man from Phoenix who comes up from Phoenix to the Flagstaff farmer's market every Sunday.  He's a fantastic cook, and his stand always has a line.  If not for the food, then for the entertainment.  I could sit and listen to him talk all day in his French-Cajun accent.  I've had multiple things from his stand, but the chicken salad is arguably the best.

Chef Jean's Copy-Cat Chicken Salad
1 roasted chicken (you won't use the whole thing, but a mix of white/dark meat is best…you can even go buy one of those rotisserie chickens from the grocery store for a short cut!)
1 cup onion, chopped
1 cup celery, chopped
mayonaise
garlic powder
salt
pepper
craisins
chopped almonds or cashews (Jean uses cashews, I prefer almonds)
Balsamic vinegar

So basically, you just shred the chicken, add everything else and stir.  I eye-balled everything, so my measurements are far from exact.  I probably used about 3 cups of shredded chicken, then just added the onions and celery until I had a good chicken-to-veggie ratio (more chicken than veggie).  The rest of the ingredients I just added to my tastes.  I didn't add much salt at all, as the roasted chicken and the mayo have plenty of their own salt.  I'm liberal with pepper, added a sprinkle of garlic powder (you can do fresh if you want, I was just being lazy), and splash in the balsamic to your liking.  Craisins are definitely optional, I think raisins would be good too...I like the little bit of sweet that they bring to it.    Fresh chopped apples would be good in this as well, especially now that it's Honeycrisp season!

I'll also share my sore throat tea recipe, for those who might become afflicted with this same illness at some point during the coming months…winter is just around the corner, after all!  I found the lemon in it to be a little harsh, as citrus usually is on a sore throat, but Simon really liked it.  I'll give you the recipe as is, and explain the changes I'll make for next time in the comments.

Sore Throat Tea
1 cup honey
2 lemons, sliced
2 fingers of ginger, peeled and sliced into coins (I will do more ginger next time)
1 tsp ground cinnamon (optional…I used it because I love cinnamon)

In a 2-cup jar or container, toss in the lemon slices, ginger slices, and cinnamon.  Pour the honey over the top, mix it around to incorporate the cinnamon, put a lid on it and toss it in the fridge (it'll keep in the fridge for several months).  When you're ready to have some, place a heaping spoonful of the mixture into a mug, pour boiling water into the mug and stir.  Next time I do this, I think I'll just take the juice of the two lemons instead of the slices.  I could taste the lemon rind, and I didn't like that…too bitter.  I might even omit the lemon all together, just because I found it to be irritating to my sore throat.  I think this mixture would even be good to add to some basic green tea if you're looking to get in some extra nutrients and whatnot.

So those are my "sick day" recipes and remedies.  Outside of the mac and cheese, of course…I think everyone knows how to make that (open box, boil noodles, drain noodles, add cheese packet, milk, and butter, stir, shamelessly eat all of it without sharing…you get the idea).

And now it's time for another nap.  Hoping to be up to snuff by Sunday, which is when I work next.  This whole illness bit has also put a dent in the training for my upcoming foot races in Minnesota, just over a week away.  Ah well, there's no shame in walking.  I'll be running it with some friends I haven't seen in a while, so walking will provide us a better opportunity to chat…hahaha!

Be well!  Cover your mouth!  Wash your hands!      

And Then There Were 3...

Paw print memorial that the vet office made for us

It's been almost a week since we said goodbye to our little Brie.  I find us doing surprisingly well, all things considered.  I think what's made it easier is that for the last year, we'd been waiting for this to happen.  Brie took a fall last summer that resulted in a torn toe-nail…there was blood everywhere, she was panicking, we were panicking…I thought for sure that was the beginning of the end.  But it wasn't.  She went on to live a full year and then some after that incident.  But it was that particular incident that gave me a glimpse into what were up against.  Reality showed up at the doorstep uninvited, and sat down on the couch and just waited.

I don't find myself looking for her as much as I thought I would.  Part of that probably has to do with the fact that she wasn't all that interactive in the past few months.  She basically would move from pet bed to pet bed, napping pretty much all day long and then sleeping through the night.  We would snuggle on the couch in the evenings, and she had her little spot on the bed at night, and that pretty much summed up our daily interactions.  She couldn't go for walks, she couldn't play, and I think she was just worn out.

There are times when her absence catches me unawares.  The other morning I was letting Cooper out of the crate, and he charged out just like he always does.  I found myself pausing at the door of the crate, waiting as I always did for Brie to slowly get up and make her way out.  But she wasn't there.  As I walk through the house, I find myself glancing at the pet beds, as I always did, just trying to keep a mental note as to where she happened to be snoozing.  I see a pile of laundry lying on the floor, and there's no little Brie sleeping on it.  Even if I left something as small as a sock on the floor, she would lie on it.  She just wanted to be snuggled up with things that smelled like me, even if they were tiny.

Her favorite bed with some of her favorite toys.  She always chewed the faces off.

It's weird when a pet dies…it's kind of like when a person dies, but it's different in a lot of ways, as it should be.  Pets are not people, but they are members of the family just the same.  After my grandma died, I got back a blanket that I had made for her.  I used to just sit there and bury my face in the blanket, taking in the smell of her and her house that still remained trapped within the fibers.  I didn't use or wash that blanket for a really long time, as I didn't want that physical reminder of my grandma to disappear.  The blanket has since been washed, and it no longer smells like her.  But every time I use it I think of her, and that still gives me comfort.  With pets it's different.  On the day of Brie's passing, I was in full-on laundry mode, and washed all our bedding, the dogs' bedding, and anything else that she may have come into contact with.  I literally have nothing in the house anymore that smells like her.  Which is ironic, given that I complained about how stinky she was.  But she wasn't always stinky, and not everything she touched got stinky…I just wish I had something that smelled a little bit like her…a slightly doggy smell with a touch of corn chip.  No idea where the corn chip smell came from, but it was there just the same.  I still have her bowl, which I can't yet bring myself to throw away.  I have it in my head that I'll use it as some sort of receptacle for things.  No idea what, but I think I can pretty easily find a use for a big orange bowl.  Maybe it can be a popcorn bowl, one of the treats that we both loved to eat.  Is it weird to eat popcorn out of a dog bowl?  Maybe.  I guess I don't really much care.  A bowl is a bowl, and it's bigger than our other bowls, so I can get more popcorn in it.  The glutton in Brie would have appreciated that.

A lot of people have asked me how Cooper is doing without his constant companion.  I guess I don't really know.  I don't know that dogs show remorse or sadness the way that people do.  He's been avoiding the pet beds, which is something that I've noticed.  Cooper has always been pretty non discriminating in where he takes a rest, but if Brie was on one of the beds and he was ready to chill out for a bit, he'd curl up with her on the bed and they'd have a nice nap together.  So I don't know if he's avoiding the beds because she's not there to snuggle with him, or if he's never really much cared for them in the first place.  When he does lie on them, he keeps himself off to one side, as if leaving room for her to join him.  He's also reverted back to his weird eating habits.  He's always been a little finicky, but I recently changed out the dog food and he couldn't get enough of it.  But, there was always a hierarchy to keep in mind when it came to meal times.  Brie always ate first.  No matter what.  Sometimes Cooper would eat at the same time as her, sometimes he would wait until she was finished, but he never started first.  That's just how it always was.  Now he's back to being picky, skipping meals, leaving pieces of food lying around…he just seems uninterested in eating.  Either that or he's just not sure when he's supposed to eat, given that he always took his cues from her.  He's getting enough to eat, but he's eating about half of what he was prior to Brie's passing.  We've also noticed that he's barking more than he did when she was here.  Along with eating first, Brie was definitely the dominate personality in the house.  If she freaked out, he freaked out.  If she was calm,  he was mostly calm (he's always been a little more high strung than her).  Granted, the reason she didn't react to anything was because she was blind and deaf, but he didn't know that…hahaha!  But now he barks a lot.  He barks at people walking by, and rather than stopping when they're out of sight, he continues to stare in the general direction they were traveling and continues to bark.  He barks in the house for seemingly no reason.  It's as if without her there to assure him that everything is okay, he feels the need to be on high alert all the time.

Other than that though, he seems to be his same happy-go-lucky self.  He's enjoying his daily walks, which is something we hadn't been doing once Brie started to decline.  I felt bad taking him out and leaving her behind, because somehow she always knew when he was going for a walk, even if we tried to be stealthy about it.  The day after she passed, we went for a nice hike in the woods and we brought Cooper along, something we hadn't done in years.  Partially because he doesn't behave when he sees other dogs, but also for the same reason that we quit the daily walks…because Brie couldn't come.  He had a fantastic time running around in the woods…peeing and pooping on everything, running ahead of us and waiting for us to catch up, sniffing to see who had been there before us.  It was really fun to be out in the woods with a dog again.  Of course, since the daily walks had been so few and far between, he was very out of shape and ended up having to be carried for over half the walk, but he still enjoyed himself and it was a nice activity for the three of us to do together in light of all the sadness from the previous evening.

So I guess that's that.  Kinda sad that in the space of less than two years our little family of five has decreased to a family of three.  I guess that's just how it goes.  It's hard for me to wrap my head around the fact that I've had dogs for over 13 years…that's a long time!  And they've been here for some very significant parts of my life.  Despite all the sadness when they go, I wouldn't have it any other way.

Our new family of three. Cooper is, unfortunately, not as photogenic as Brie was.

          

Bye Bye Little B

Brie hiking in LaCrosse, WI

Just a year and a half ago I wrote a eulogy for my first dog, Lady.  And here I sit…doing it again for little miss Brie.  It's no secret that Brie had been my favorite.  I, and everyone who's ever had a child or pet, knows that you're not supposed to have a favorite, but you do.  You always do, whether you're comfortable enough to admit it or not.  Brie was mine.

It was kind of by accident that I ever found her.  I had recently graduated from college and had started my new job as a nurse at the Mayo Clinic.  I was still living at home, and suddenly had all this money that I had no idea what to do with.  It was burning a hole in my pocket, and for some reason I had the idea in my head that I needed to buy something significant with it.  I was bouncing some ideas off my friend Franko, who was living in Winona at the time, and when I mentioned that I was thinking about getting another dog, he said, "Dude, you totally should get a pug."  Up until then, I hadn't even really thought about pugs.  Didn't really know a thing about them other than what they looked like, and that they were notorious for snorting.  Funny thing is, about a year prior to this, I took one of those online personality quizzes…you know the ones, where you answer a bunch of questions and they tell you what state you should be living in, what car you should be driving, etc.  The one I took was for what kind of dog personality I had.  Lo and behold, I had gotten the pug personality.  At the time, I didn't think much of it.  But once Franko told me to get a pug, I thought he might be on to something.  

Brie lounging poolside in Cape Coral, FL

So one day in August I was casually looking through the newspaper and saw an ad for a pug puppy for sale.  On a whim, I called the lady, who explained that Brie had originally been purchased from a breeder by her daughter and son-in-law.  Unfortunately for Brie, the daughter went back to school full-time, and the son-in-law worked full-time, leaving very little time for little Brie.  So they decided to try to find a new home for her.  I don't quite remember the circumstances, but I had my little brother Mike with me, and we drove out to Pine Island, MN together to have a look at this pug puppy.  Now, I hadn't run any of this past my parents yet, and our family was still mourning the recent loss of our dog Lassie, who had passed about a month earlier.  But, I thought to myself, "I can just go look."  So we looked.  And we loved her.  I didn't get her that day, as I wanted to run it by my parents first.  Mom was mostly indifferent, deferring to my dad on the subject, who responded with an immediate "No more dogs!"  So the wind was taken out of my sails a bit.  So I waited.  A few days later, while mom, Mike, and I were out school shopping for Mike, the lady who had Brie called me and said that she was willing to drop the price for Brie, because she knew that if I took her, that she'd be going to a good home.  So I told Mom this.  And then Mom agreed to go look at Brie, knowing full well that it's difficult, if not impossible, to say no to a puppy.  So we went back out to Pine Island, and came home with little Brie, who was around 14 weeks old.  Dad knew nothing about it.

The obligatory bath time photo

So we're all sitting in the living room, anxiously waiting for Dad to get home from work.  None of us had any idea how he might react, but we were pretty sure he'd be mad, since only a few days prior he had told us that no more dogs were allowed.  So we're sitting with Brie on the couch, the back of which faces the front door.  Dad comes in, and Brie stands up and peers over the back of the couch to see who's arrived.  The rest of us are silent, waiting for him to notice her.  We ask him how his day at work went, trying to hard to suppress the giggles that are forming, watching Brie furiously wag her tail at the new person who has just entered her new world.  Dad takes his time taking off his shoes, putting down his bag, and just shrugging off his work day.  He then looks up and sees this little pug face staring at him from over the top of the couch.  "I said no more dogs!" was the first thing out of his mouth.  My response, "But look how cute she is!"  So he came scowling into the living room, giving Brie the stink eye as he approached.  In true Brie fashion, in an obliviousness that would follow her through the rest of her life, she continued to wag her tail and wiggle with excitement as he got closer, not knowing that this was the one person in the house who could, and quite possibly would, send her packing.  Dad took a seat on the couch opposite us, and as he tried to maintain is gruff demeanor, and not quite succeeding, he held out his arms and said, "Well, let me see her then."  And the rest, as they say, is history.      

Brie pretty much charmed the rest of the family from there on out.  Everyone loved her.  So much so that there are now at least 5 other pugs in our immediate and extended family.  Prior to Brie, there were none.  My family loved her so much that when I decided to move out, they told me that I should leave Brie with them and get another pug for myself.  So I bought my parents their own pug, Sadie, to make Brie's moving out that much easier for them.  After that, Lady, Brie, and I started our life together.  Cooper joined the party two years after I got Brie, and it was then that I instituted my Dad's original command…No more dogs!  :)

Picking up turds by the Big Dam Bridge in Little Rock, AR

It's been said that pug owners are some of the craziest dog owners out there.  Being realistic, I'd have to concur.  Although, I do believe that Boxer and Dachshund owners are not far behind…just had to throw that out there…hahaha!  But that's neither here nor there…pug owners truly are kind of crazy.  You have to be.  In nature, pugs would not survive.  Everything that makes a dog, a dog has been bred out of them.  Pugs are not very bright, they're difficult to train, they have a slew of chronic health problems, and they lack that people-pleasing element that is so prominent in other dog breeds.  Pugs are willing to do what you want, as long as it benefits them in some way or another.  It's like convincing them that your idea is actually their idea.  It's a cycle of constant vigilance, and it pretty much starts at acquisition, and ends at death.  However, whatever they lack in normal dog attributes, they make up for in spades with their goofy personalities and laid-back demeanor.  I couldn't tell you the number of times Brie has almost had me in tears over some weird thing that she had done.  She had such a personality, and even though she could be an epic pest, I loved almost every minute I got to spend with that little beastie.  I say almost, because we definitely had our moments.  I'd give anything to have more of those moments with her, but her poor little body had other ideas.  

Brie with one of her favorite pig toys

This last year with her has been really hard.  Gone was the happy-go-lucky little dog who used to chase Cooper, her pug brother under the bed, and then bark furiously until he came back out so she could chase him back under again. Gone was my little snuggle bug who would jump up on the couch and curl up behind my knees for a nap.  Gone was the little dog who loved to go for walks, go for rides, go anywhere as long as she was going along.  In the course of a year, Brie managed to lose almost all of her sight, all of her hearing, and slowly lost functioning of her back legs due to a chronic disease called Degenerative Myelopathy.  It made her very anxious not knowing where I was, as she could no longer see or hear me.  She would shuffle through the house in a panic trying to find me, sniffing everything that resembled a leg until she found mine.  And then she could relax, knowing where I was.  If I moved, the whole process started again.  It was heart-breaking to watch the little dog with whom I had literally climbed mountains reduced to a neurotic mess because she couldn't find her person in a 1,000 square foot house.  I tried to make things as easy for her as I could.  I kept her pet beds always in the same spot, and when she appeared lost, I would guide her to one of them and help her lay down.  If I was going to bed, I would pick her up and bring her with me.  If I was going to sit on the couch for any length of time, I'd set her next to me.  I myself probably got a little neurotic in this last year, always wondering where she was, what she was doing, hearing her shuffling from room to room looking for me or the water dish…those were usually the two things she was always looking for.

As stressful as it was to watch Brie's steady decline, I know it was hard on people who came to visit us to see her.  She shuffled, she staggered, it was obvious that she couldn't see or hear very well.  People would make comments or ask questions out of concern or curiosity, and I would sometimes get pretty defensive, feeling as though my ethics and abilities as a pet owner were being called into question.  It's hard to make an assessment from the outside looking in.  Even from the inside, it was tough as nails sometimes to watch her struggle.  But then in the next minute she'd be furiously chewing on a toy or running to the front door to greet whomever was coming in.  It was just this continuous cycle of good moments and bad moments, happening multiple times a day, every day, over the course of an entire year.  It was so exhausting and frustrating and sad, and it left me feeling so inadequate and helpless because I just didn't know what to do to make her better.  It's funny how sometimes doing the best you can still just isn't enough.

Brie demonstrating some hops during the Pug Olympics in our hotel in Fort Myers, FL

Her spirit was still so incredibly intact right up until the end, and I think that's what made it so hard for me for so long.  There were days when I was convinced that it was time, and then she'd do something silly like throw a toy up into the air and catch it, or eat all of her food and half of Cooper's.  Just little things that showed me she was still there and still wanted to be.  But last night I knew we had turned a corner…the corner that has been hovering just out of sight for the past few months.  Brie was no longer able to stand.  Of course, standing had been a struggle for her the past few months, but she was always able to get to her feet either by herself or with some assistance from Simon or I.  Last night she couldn't find her feet no matter how hard I tried, no matter how much I massaged her little legs, so matter how much I put her paws on the ground and tried to put her in a standing position.  Nothing worked.  And then she got stressed.  She started to cry, and thrash, and the only thing that calmed her was for me to pick her up and hold her like a little baby.  I knew then that it was time.  I couldn't watch her struggle any more, and it was obvious that all the things that we had been doing to help her were no longer working.  Luckily, our favorite vet, Dr. Sarah, was working last night, and she was with us when Brie passed.  Of course, prior to her passing, Brie managed to eat about 10 dog treats, something she hasn't been allowed to do due to food allergies, so she was happy as a clam, munching away until there was nothing left to munch.  And when the end came, it was quiet and peaceful…we should all be so lucky to pass quickly and quietly, with a belly full of treats, surrounded by those who care about us the most.       

One of her favorite places to sit

Of course I'm struggling with the guilt that comes along with the relief that it's over.  There's always that.  I know in my heart that I did everything I could have for her, that the only reason she made it as long as she did was because I was constantly there for her.  But still it wasn't enough.  It never is, really.  When it's your time, it's your time, and no amount of glucosamine, antibiotics, snuggles, expensive pet food, or treats is going to prevent that.

So, I'd like to get away from the sad stuff, and share some of the things that made Brie so special.  Not just to me, but to almost everyone she met.  She was seriously one of the goofiest dogs I've ever seen.  She loved nothing more than to be propped up on the couch like a person.  She'd just sit there contentedly watching the TV, barking every now and again as an animal or person would go running by on the screen.  She'd sit that way for hours until she would fall asleep, and then tip over and continue snoring.  If snuggling was an Olympic sport, she could have been a gold medalist.  I'd barely get settled on the couch before she'd be crawling into my lap.  And while pugs might appear to be small dogs, they are quite dense, and 25 pounds of pug on one's chest or full bladder could get quite uncomfortable.  Since I was her person, and had pretty much coddled her since I got her, she followed me everywhere, even into the bathroom.  In her younger years she would jump into the tub with me while I showered…it was kinda funny to be soaping up while a little dog was running around at my feet.  As she got older she was content to lie on the bath mat and wait for me to come out.  She also frequently insisted that she be in the bathroom with me while I was using the toilet.  Sometimes she would try to crawl up on my lap while I was sitting there.  Sometimes I let her.  Sometimes I realized that it was weird to have a dog on my lap while using the loo, but at the same time, it was kind of unique in its own way.  How many people can say they've gone number 2 with a dog snoring away on their lap?  Probably not many, I suppose (see previous paragraph about pug owners being crazy).  In the event that I went into the bathroom without her, I could usually hear her snorting outside the door, and occasionally she would stick her paws under the door, as if she thought she could squeeze under it and get to me.   

Like Lady, Brie travelled all over the country with Simon and I.  She's climbed mountains and bluffs in Vermont, North Carolina, Arkansas, Wisconsin, and Colorado.  For such a portly little thing, she was actually quite agile.  She out climbed both Cooper and Lady, displaying her inner-mountain goat capabilities.  People always looked surprised to see us climbing a mountain with pugs in tow.  Of course, it was only possible to do that during the most perfect of conditions…pugs can't handle much heat, cold, or physical exertion, so the weather and conditions had to be perfect or we'd be carrying her.  That happened a time or two, but she was always so excited to go and get outdoors and just be a dog in the woods.  She's seen the Gulf of Mexico and the Atlantic Ocean.  She's taken a poop in more states than most people I know.  And seeing as she was under the impression that all the world is her toilet, that's a lot of poop.  

Catching a snooze on the back of the couch

Of all my dogs, Brie has always been the most playful.  She destroyed more toys than Lady and Cooper combined.  There are toys scattered all over the house, and I'm trying to decide what to do with them, as Cooper shows very little interest in toys these days…not that he showed much interest in them to begin with.  Whenever I would come home from being out and about, Brie would always furiously hunt for a toy to carry around, and then she would strut around me with a toy in her mouth, snorting happily the entire time.  She didn't want to play with it, she just wanted to carry it around as some sort of sign that I was home and she was happy about it.  I'm really going to miss that.  It was such a small little thing, but it was unique to her and it made me feel special to see her happily running around me with her favorite toy in her mouth.  Even in her last few days she still made an attempt to greet me with a toy.  She was also famous for her drive-by licking.  I was used to it and didn't think much of it, but she had this thing where she would wander past a bare leg, give it a quick lick without missing a beat, and continue on her way.  I can't even count the number of times friends have commented, "Did she just lick me?"  Yeah, yeah she did.  She does that.  Up until a few years ago, she would army crawl across the floor.  It was seriously the funniest thing.  We could pretty much get her to do it whenever we wanted by getting her to lay down and then tap the floor in front of her.  And off she would go, crawling on her belly across the carpet.  She hadn't done that in quite some time…just didn't have the strength in her legs anymore.

Getting in some reading with my Dummy in Cape Coral, FL

She was undoubtedly the stinkiest dog I've ever owned.  Granted, I've only owned three, but of those three, she was by far the stinkiest.  I could bathe her and get her smelling all nice and clean…and within a few hours she was back to her stinky self.  She did have a bit of a skin condition, which I think was probably part of it, but still…so stinky!  And gassy!  That dog could clear a room with her toots.  I remember the first time my friend Dave ever heard her toot…he was so perplexed as to how a creature with no butt cheeks could produce a fart sound.  Trust me, Brie didn't need butt cheeks.  The funniest was when she was trying to jump up on something…she would fart with the effort, giving the impression of a little jet propulsion to get her where she wanted to go.  Simon and I would be lying in bed at night, and we'd hear a fart from the foot of the bed.  We never had to ask who did it.  We knew.  It was always Brie.  I'll never forget the time she was sleeping under the blanket and produced quite the audible fart.  A few seconds later she was furiously crawling out from under the covers, having severely dutch-ovened herself.

Of course she had her fair share of nicknames, as all pets do.  To name a few: Breezy, Brietard (not PC, I know, but there it is anyway), Brie Butt, Breezy Pup, Baby Girl, Little B, Young Beezy, Brie B, Beezy Bub, Little Dummy, Beezer. 

My sweet little B and her other favorite pig toy

I'm going to miss her warbley little bark, that was more like a howl than anything.  I'm going to miss hearing her snoring from the foot of the bed.  I'm going to miss her warm little body snuggled up with me on those cold winter nights.  I'm going to miss her snorts, her pug kisses, and everything that made Brie, Brie.  As I wander around the house and pick up all the things that were hers…her toys, her dish, her leash, her meds, her personal care items, I can't quite come to the realization that she's gone and that she's not coming back.  She was a part of my everyday life for 12 years, and her absence this morning feels so huge.  I know that will fade away as the days pass, and that I'll probably always miss her on some level.  My first pup, the little dummy who made me laugh when the rest of the world had me in tears.  Fare thee well, my little B!  Thanks for the memories, and for giving the best years of your life so selflessly (for a pug) to me.  :)