Blissfully Naked.

25 hours and countin'

nobody@vox.com(RPM) — Tue, 01 Apr 2008 21:53:27 -0600

I haven't even been gone for 48 hours yet, but I'm thinking about her. At least three times a day. Wondering what she's doing, hoping she's comfy and not to worried about anything. I've mentioned her at least once a day to others who understand my affection and can relate to my missing her so terribly even with scenery as breathtaking as the sights around me.

Mecca then

She's in the back of my mind. Big hazel eyes boring a hole into my head with total adoration. A head beneath a fleece throw, able to hear the slightest crinkle of a food wrapper a million miles away.

I will get home tomorrow night, just 25 hours from now. She will hop gingerly on her front legs; the rear legs are too stiff to play along. She'll lick her chops in anticipation, beckoning me to let down the baby gate so she can race around the carpet, smell my luggage and then proceed to lick every inch of my skin she can find. And then she'll follow me from room to room, to ensure I don't stray. She'll lay outside of the bathroom door, waiting for me to come of out the shower. She'll watch me without fail until I tell her to get into her bed. I'll cover her with her favorite blanket, and kiss the top of the her furry soft head. I'll whisper goodnight. She'll yawn in my face and burrow deeper under the covers. I'll go to sleep while she does the same.

People ask me why I pamper her. It's because for over nine years, she has pampered me. For all her days of vigilance, comedy, entertainment and mischief...it is the very least I could do.

Much as I love San Diego...I can't wait to return to my Mecca.

Here...the face of a killer.

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On my lunch break...

nobody@vox.com(RPM) — Sat, 16 Dec 2006 23:32:45 -0600

Got a late start on my writing, but I've hit a good roll. After taking a ~~coffee~~ pee break, I decide to go down the hall and check on the Meccster. It's late, and I'm sure she's sleeping, but I wanna peek in and see if she needs covering. (Yes, she sleeps in her dog couch under a blanket. Stop laughing).

I turn on the light and I find this...

Dog on break.

Somehow, I just don't think an explanation does it any justice.

...back to work.

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Vox Hunt: Can't Live Without...

nobody@vox.com(RPM) — Fri, 15 Dec 2006 15:49:21 -0600

Show us something you can't live without.
Submitted by tOiXc_HoNeY.

Much like Mecca gazing at this slice of bologna...I can't live without hope.

Hope lives...eternal.

And yes...I let her have it. What the hell, it's Friday and she's precious.

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Mecca and the apple.

nobody@vox.com(RPM) — Tue, 05 Dec 2006 16:03:10 -0600

12-05-06_1535

I know. I obsess. But she's so stinkin' cute.

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Vox Hunt: My Pets

nobody@vox.com(RPM) — Sun, 26 Nov 2006 14:19:20 -0600

Show us your pets.
Submitted by Prakash Daniel.

Like you guys aren't good and sick of looking at my baby. I promise, she won't pop up for another three months. When you have no life, no children and no mate or even the promise of one...you snap photos of your dog. Lots...and lots...and lots...of photos of your dog.

The Don Mecca...
Mecca and the Soul Brother (for which she's named)...
Return of the Mecca (one of my favorite tracks)...
Mecca-million...
Mecca-lecca-hi, Mecca-hiney-ho...
Mooshie (don't know, my sister and just started callin' her that)...
Meccer-doods

Introducing...the Diva, the Star of every show...the show stopper...

Mecca.

Snow romp.

Sweet lil baby.

Little buttered bean

Busted. Sleepin on the job.

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QotD: All My Pets

nobody@vox.com(RPM) — Thu, 28 Sep 2006 10:52:24 -0500

How many pets have you owned in your lifetime? Tell us about them.
Submitted by jennajellopy.vox.com.

1. Marmaduke: How original right? He was a great dane, I'm sure you had no clue. I was maybe five or so. And I truly believed he was a pony, not a dog. It took some real persistence on the part of my mother to tell me otherwise. I still lied and told the kids I had a pony anyway. He was very large. So large he could put his paws on my father's shoulders and stare him square in the eye. (My dad is 6'5) After squaring off with my Dad a few too many times, 'duke was escorted to a new home.

2. Napoleon: Napoleon was a doberman. He stayed outside, and it's a good thing he did, because he went bananas (as doberman's can tend to do). And the white truck had to come and get him as a result of the foaming mouth. I never felt really warm and toasty with him anyway.

3. Midnight: a black lab, Midnight was the silliest dog. He was made to stay outside, and as a kid that broke my heart. My parents bought him for me on a family vacation in California. Literally, from a man selling puppies in a box on the beach. We flew home with him, and he was my love. But I was a kid, and it was Dad's house. So outside he stayed. We snuck him in sometimes when my Dad worked an evening shift...but my Dad was hard on him. Neighborhood kids began to throw rocks at him through our fence, and torment him...so my Dad finally took him to the country. (Or so he says) I believe he took him to the pound, or worse. I don't really like remembering that...

4. Mecca: an American Staffordshire /Pitbull Terrier. Mecca was the first dog I've had, as an adult.

meccaandpot

I've had her for seven years, which means I was seven years younger than I am now. hehe. If you know me at all, you'll know she's my heart. Cinnamon brindle with hazel eyes, and riddled with issues from arthritis, to knee ligament repair, to allergies...my stepbrother calls her "the lemon dog." But for whatever her ailment, she's the toughest dog I've ever encountered. She never knows her pain, and always make me her top priority. And for that, there's no amount of money I wouldn't spend on her diva-butt. And like most ailment riddled troopers, I suspect she'll be around empying my pockets for some time. They'll be more after her...but there will never, ever be another like her.

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Is it a dagger? A shark tooth?

nobody@vox.com(RPM) — Tue, 19 Sep 2006 09:40:25 -0500

toenail

No, it's Mecca's nail. As of last evening at about 9:15pm CST it was pretty firmly embedded in her foot. As of about 9:20 pm, it was stuck in the carpet in my bedroom.

She was doing her usual race about the house upon my return home from group therapy last evening. I come in, weathered and exhausted from all that emotive "sharing." All I wanted was a glass of wine, and the 2nd half of the football game. Instead, I had a nailess dog, and mroe blood then I care to see.

I couldn't find the nail at first. Actually, I'm not sure at what point during her 'race' she lost it What I do know is, One minute she's running, the next I'm following a trail of blood to her dog couch where she sat quietly tending her raw toe. I wasn't sure what she had done first. It seemed like way too much red for something small. I take her paw while she stares calmly at me. There's the gaping hole where a nail should be. And she's bleeding all over herself. So I have three options.

1. Swoon
2. Gag
3. Treat the wound

I opt for number three, though numbers one and two did seem like viable considerations. Still no peep from Mecca, as I apply a bit of pressure to the hole to stop the bleeding. Not one yelp when I drowned the wound in hydrogen peroxide. Once the bleeding stopped, I cleaned the carpet, and her bedding. Then I nabbed the neosporin, applied a heaping goop of that magical salve, and went on the hunt for the nail. I found it hooked into the carpet. Perfect tear. She literally ripped it out at the root. *insert gag here*

Called the vet today. Nothing left to do but watch for infection. The nail should grow back.

I've watched this dog walk on a leg with multiple tears in her ligaments in her knee. I've watched her move about with aches and pains with not one whine. And now, she completely tears out a nail, and today doesn't even walk with a limp.

I don't have a dog. I have a little lioness.

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A girl and her dog.

nobody@vox.com(RPM) — Tue, 22 Aug 2006 21:24:15 -0500

I know I have an unhealthy love for my American Staffordshire Terrier, Mecca. We all know it - it's no secret. She is my heart and soul, my littlest, brightest star.

Sweet lil baby.

I've had her since she was eight weeks old, a chubby little sweet faced hazel-eyed baby with the heart and tenacity of a lionness. Everything I roll through, she rolls with me. Every high, every heart shattering low, she's kissed away tears no one knew I was crying but her. She knows my every weakness, and she loves me nonetheless.

I think I realized just how much she meant to me when she had knee surgery a few years back. Those were the longest three days of my life. I didn't sleep, I couldn't focus. I won't bore you with details, because if you're not in love with your animal, you just wouldn't understand.

Mecca is seven now. As I look at her gradually greying muzzle, her arthritis/hip dysplasia affected gait and her knowing eyes...I can't help but thank God for all the laughter and good medicine she's given me.

Maniacal Grin.

All our moments of comedy, all the compliments I've been given on what an angel she is. I know they can't live forever...but I don't know if I'll ever be ready to be without her. So this weekend, when she pulled up limp after running to catch a toy, I panicked.

As she tossed and turned and struggled to get comfortable, I watched her. I felt every grunt, every whine, every whimper. I stroked her head intermittedly until she would get into a fitful sleep, and I wondered...if this was is it. Had she broken the leg? Had she done some damage that could not be undone? Was tomorrow going to be the day I had the hear something I don't ever want to hear? I slept 45 minutes on Sunday night, weighing the potential outcomes.

Folks who really know me. I mean, really have peeled back the layers of the onion that is me...knew where I was. So all day Monday, I got IMs, texts, emails, calls. "How's our girl?" "What's the prognosis?" "Heard anything yet?"

My secret heart was especially concerned. He reminded me that it was my responsibility to do what needed to be done - no matter what that was. And he reminded me that he would be there, and that life would go on, if the hardest decision had to be made. Ironic that I wanted to both shove him and thank him for always being the steady hand in the small of my back - even when I've wished I could hate him.

Turns out, those tough decisions didn't need to be made. Mecca was x-rayed, and other than arthritis and an

Sweet but Tough

elbow strain - she's fine. Seven to ten days of bed rest, some anti-inflammatory meds and she'll be in good shape. As her vet said, "she may not be a pup, but there's plenty of strength, heart and willfullness in that old girl."

Amen on that.

My girl is sleeping tonight, after a long day of anesthesia, tests, teeth cleaning, x-rays and general annoyances. She's a little dopey from meds, but I can look over and see that sleepy face peering back at me. And there is nothing, nothing in the world as sweet to me as that little face.

I am going to sleep so well, tonight.

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