R.I.P.

I don’t think it’s really dawned on me yet.  One day she was here.  Today she is not. 

It happened pretty fast.  She was a little clingy last night, but nothing really out of the ordinary.  Then this morning at 7:30, she came into our room and was foaming at the mouth and breathing weird.  I called the vet and said I was coming over with my pug.  By the time I brushed my teeth and wrapped her in a towel and got to the car, she was starting to go.  She died in my arms before I could even start the car.  She had been trying to tell me goodbye, and it didn’t occur to me that she was dying.

Babe has always been there.  She was a tough little monkey and nothing wrong ever happened with her physically, at least until two weeks ago when I took her to the vet for her arthritis.  Since giving her the anti-inflammatory meds, she’s been a lot more mobile and was even going for walks again.  But I realized this morning after I stopped crying, after Derek buried her in the backyard in her favorite lurking spot, after I changed my clothes where her bladder had emptied out once I got out of the car – she has been dying steadily since she lost her hearing about six months ago.  See, Babe always had to be part of the action.  She loved to be involved.  Put goofy outfits on her, take her picture, let children tug on her ears and loose funny skin – she was in heaven as long as she got to be close to you.  Losing her hearing took her away from all that and really confused her.  It depressed her.  Turned her into a ghost.  She really hasn’t been the same since.  So in a way, I’m kind of relieved.  She wasn’t physically suffering, but her larger-than-life personality was suffering, and that’s just as bad if you ask me. 

She had a really good life.  A woman from Little Angels Pug Rescue happened by her one day, tied to a stake in some asshole’s backyard.  She was skin and bones and had been flea-bitten so badly, her skin was infected all over her body.  The woman offered the guy $50 to take Babe off his hands and nursed her back to health, in spite of her own small children and three other dogs in the house. 

When I saw Babe at the adoption fair that day, she was my dog.  I took her home and put some meat on her little pug bones and walked her constantly – her big joy in life.  She squealed and screamed when she was happy, which was often.  She moved with me five times one year after my divorce and was always a trooper.  Back before old age caught up with her, she could hike just as long and hard as the big dogs as long as the weather wasn’t too hot. 

She loved me.  Even when I wasn’t so nice to her.  Even when she took a backseat after the baby was born and she was no longer The Baby.  She never resented him for it.  She loved to walk up to him on his little play mat and sit next to him so he could reach out and grab her dog tag and not let go.  She was such a good dog, and I don’t think I will realize how great she was for awhile after she’s been gone.  It doesn’t seem real yet.

I had grand plans today of washing her bed, but it still sits there and I can’t seem to bring myself to do it.  Maybe tomorrow.

L'Artiste Patisserie

We have driven past this place every freaking day on our way to work as long as we have lived in our humble home, and it is one of those adorable-looking, relaxing, patio-having, delicious-tasty-treat-making type places that always makes me give a wistful glance out the passenger window as we pass by and go “Sigh! How do I sign up to get a gig where I can go to some great yoga class in the morning, have a facial, then go hang and drink coffee and eat delicate French pastries until the afternoon at this adorable little French place whilst reading some swanky publication like W or French Vogue or something like that? What do these people do for money who get to do this on a weekday morning like they have nothing to do and all day to do it? Besides hooking? Could somebody please let me in on it, ‘cause I would really like to sign up.”

Depending on the day of the week, this kvetching could continue all the way past Mulholland.

Anyhoo, Mom and I had plans to go to breakfast on Saturday, so we decided to walk The Big Brown Dog and the Portly Pug to this adorable little place and give it a try. It does have an outdoor patio area, so dog situating is easy to do.

Right away, we were struck by how friendly and helpful everybody there is. You order your food at the counter and they bring it out to you when it’s ready. The coffee (choice of medium or dark roast, in addition to the usual cappuccinos, lattes, espressos, etc.) was served in those giant cup and saucer rigs and was serious quality joe, grown locally in North Hollywood, I was told by our server.

Breakfast is served all day, and includes things like baked-on-the-premises croissant sandwiches, prosciutto and havarti omelettes, and orange-vanilla brioche french toast, hello? Are you drooling yet? Geez! I opted for the scrambled egg and cheese croissant, while Mom had an omelette. Both were absolutely fresh and delicious and large (had to take half my croissant home and it supplied a very easy and tasty breakfast en route to Big Bear the next day). Our giant coffee cups were never empty and there was never a shortage of smiley-happy people coming by to give some lovies to the attention whores-- I mean four-legged furry creatures--who live with me. Mom and I shared a blueberry tart thingy, which wasn’t too sweet, but was not sweet enough for Mom’s taste. I ordered a genoa, basil, mozzarella sammich to go for Homeslice and he raved about it later.

Let me be blunt: this place rules. I will be spending every Saturday morning there, if at all humanly possible, eating French goddess food and caffeinating and dreaming.

And if anybody figures out a gig as per my specifications above, you know where to reach me.

L'Artiste Patisserie
17312 Ventura Blvd. (at Louise)
Encino, CA 91316
(818) 386-0061

Berfday and Godbaby Extravaganza

Oh man, I love me some godbaby. She is just flat-out and hands-down the most adorable, happy, smiley, radiant little creature on the planet. But I'm not biased.

I held her, I played with her, I read to her, I listened to her views on Little Brown Nut Hare vs. Little Rabbit. I was hoping to read her the all-time children's classic Everybody Poops, but alas, it was not amongst her extensive collection. [Note to Godbaby-Mama: This is a must-read. So is Captain Underpants And The Perilous Plot of Professor Poopypants.]

I watched in awe as she sat on the floor and giggled in response to The Big Brown Dog constantly sniffing her, licking her head, nibbling at her diaper. She just simply was not fazed by him one bit, but he was sure fazed by her. I've never seen him so nervous before, and I realized he hadn't yet really been around someone that young, and a 9-month-old baby is quite akin to a very drunk person: they wobble, they teeter, they fall unexpectedly, they make strange noises. I think he was afraid her little drunk ass was going to fall over all the time, not to mention all the great smells coming out of her diaper. Forget butts -- diaper smell is THE SHIT, people!

Here he is, all like "Awwwwwwyeah, diaper booty gettin' in mah bed!":

The below photo is mildly deceiving since Babe also took quite a shine to the Young Juliette. She doesn't ordinarily display a particular fondness for persons under the age of 21 now that she is older and just can't be bothered. But she wanted to sit next to Juliette at all times. Not lick her, not sniff her, just sit beside her and look proud. It was so cute.

But in this photo, she seems to be saying "Oh heyall naw bitch, you ain't getting in this bed! You're cutting into naptime, punk!" And it's not even her bed -- it's actually Rufus' bed that he graciously shares with her when her own bed is just not deemed as being sufficient for Her Royal Pugness:


And here she is again, giving you the ol' stinkeye:

So I got sick the day before my berfday (WTF???) which really blew, but I still managed to have a great one anyway. Several adoring fans came over to oooh and aahhh the Darling Godbaby, but here are a couple of preliminary photos from Jillie until I get mine out of jail in the camera:

Here's me and MY FIANCÉ (squeeeeeeee! love saying that!) -- pigging out for a little pre-berfday celebration at Buca di Beppo in Encino. Man, I love that place. You walk in hungry, and you leave full for a week. And Bonus: it's within stumbling distance of our house.
But the real treat was having my precious friend in the house for four days, and remembering all over again how great she is, and how God was smiling on me the day I was placed next to her at that shark tank-- I mean law firm-- all those years ago. I love you, Jillie-pew:

Babe's First Slumber Party

Now most of you who know Babe know that she is the friendly, outgoing, attention-whore sort. But the arrival of the Big Brown Dog nearly three years ago forever changed the level of attention she gets because A) Rufus is an even BIGGER attention whore; B) Rufus is just plain bigger and will thwart her attempts at getting lovies every chance he gets; and C) Rufus is so damn freaking cute (still looks like a puppy, even though he is huge and beefy) and funny (still entertains us daily with the strategically-timed recital of the Super Happy Butt Wriggle Can You Feel My Jungle Heat? Dance, and smart (is currently completing his thesis on Deconstruction of the Suburban Compost Pile).

But let’s be clear: Babe is no freaking slouch either. Pugs were bred hundreds of years ago for the express purpose of being companions to Chinese royalty. When it comes to breeding, she is built for one thing only: to be as adorable and cuddly and charming as caninely possible. But at some point a year or so ago -- could be her older age, or just no longer giving a crap -- she just sort of threw in the towel and let the big guy get the lion’s share of attention and petting and squealing and cooing while she just loped off to her bed for another nap.

So I recently received an invitation to attend an intimate slumber party at my dear friend Milli’s house to check out her pad and sleep out in her little Shangri-La backyard, and that dogs would be welcome. So I packed up my blanket and pillow and Babe’s little leopard print faux fur bed (no, she’s not spoiled) and schlepped over to Milli’s house. Little did I know, I was about to make Babe’s millenium.

First of all, there was only one other dog there to compete with, Milli’s chihuahua mix Chela (aka “Scoops”). And she is WAY smaller than Babe. If Babe were so inclined, she could totally trounce Scoops. But Babe is about the love, so that wasn’t an option. Then, there was this yard full of all sorts of interesting plants and waterfalls and smaller-dog-butt to sniff. That alone is like Disneyland for Babe. She got to poop on a strange lawn -- always a treat. Then there were chicks, a bunch of them, passing out lovies for FREE and lavishing unrestricted praise upon Babealicious like it was freaking Christmas. Then she was given handouts of cauliflower, a new and exotic treat the likes of which had never before been savored! It was a magical evening for a neglected pug.

But the best part came early, very early the next morning whilst we slumbered in the tent, sleeping off the mojitos. Babe was in her bed at my feet (placed as far from earshot as possible to reduce at least some of the decibels from her deafening snoring).

It should be noted here that my dogs have always had their own beds since I don’t believe in having dogs in bed with you. It’s not only confusing for the dog, thinking they are on the same level with you and thus, not buying it when you try to train them, but also rather unsavory when you think of all the dog poo that gets mashed between a dog’s toes when he performs the post-poop hind leg scooting ritual. Yeeaaaah, not for me. I like my bed pristine and dog poop and dog hair-free, thanks. I give them plenty of cuddles and snuggles throughout the day -- they can live without being next to me for eight hours every night.

So there we were in the tent, and as the morning light began to permeate the tent, Babe awoke and realized, holy shit! -- she was in bed with three chicks! Dear lord, what have I done to deserve such unadulterated bliss?!!! This sort of thing only happens in a pug’s wildest dreams!!! She went from one warm snuggly body to the next and was cuddled and pet and cuddled some more, and she squealed and looked around at the scene before her and I swear, the look on her face was something I have never seen before. It was like when a Buddhist master reaches the highest level of enlightenment: This was the Holy Grail of Pug Existence. Where could she possibly go from here? What on earth could ever top this? Then the tent was unzipped and wheeeeee! -- more smelling to be had out in the beautiful yard!

Later that morning as I arrived home, I noticed what a pig sty my own house had become. After being gone for five days last week, then starting back to massage school, I haven’t been home much to clean or pay attention, but the squalor was becoming more unavoidable, and it stood out in sharp contrast after being in Milli’s beautiful, clean zen-like pad overnight. So I did what any girl would do. I put on the soundtrack to Flashdance (amidst Derek’s “Oh Dear Lord” looks) and started to clean my ass off, while Babe, my little party girl, slumbered happily back home in her little bed, having had the time of her portly little life.

I Love Encino In The Spring

Do you see why I'm such a homebody lately and don't want to join the land of the living? Why go anywhere when your pad and its surrounding flora looks like this:

My favorite Big Brown Dog taking time to smell the flowers:
"What? It's not as good as eight-hour butt, but it's okay I guess." My favorite Pugnacious taking the time to give you the ol' hairy eyeball:I stained and finished these teak chairs and table myself. Pretty cute, yes? You have to twist your body into all sorts of positions to adequately stain something. Who knew I was a contortionist? Anyway, this is now my fave place to sit and chill. This was once a carport when the house was built in 1949, but now is a section of yard we refer to as "The Slab". I think it looks like some cute little Italian villa now. I'll take this over Skybar any day: Me and my forehead, kickin' it and being happy: