But why?

It’s been just more than a week since Ding left us; a week and two days and a couple of hours actually. Since then I’ve talked to so many people about how I feel; about the overbearing sadness that comes with this loss. Interestingly, everyone I spoke to was right there with me. So why do we do it? If it hurts so damn much to lose a pet why do we have them and why do we keep getting them?

One of my issues is that I feel like if I’m not sad every second of every day then I’m no longer honoring Ding and all she means to me but is that really true? Would Ding want me to be sullen all the time? I don’t think so. I think she’d want me to live life even more knowing how bad loss feels shouldn’t I want to celebrate the life I have and the lives of the other two dogs? I know this is the right thing but I can’t stop myself from this feeling that I need to mourn her loss every single second of my day.

I worry that I’ll forget her. I do. I worry that I’ll forget the details of her and her life. Will I remember the little things a week from now? A month? A year? I don’t want to forget her; I don’t want to forget a single minute of her time with me but I can already feel those details slipping away.

Dammit. I don’t want to forget anything about her. I don’t want to forget that sometimes the “saddle” marking on her back looked like a heart if she curled up a certain way. I don’t want to forget the first night I brought her home back in April of 2001. I was single then and lived in my little tiny first house. I thought this adorable dog would be so thrilled to have free reign to be on any furniture she wanted because she was my girlie and could do what she wanted. I put her new doggy bed in my bedroom with me and patted the bed for her to jump up. She jumped up for a minute, let me pet her soft ears then jumped down and dragged her new dog bed out of the bedroom, through the kitchen, through the living room and planted herself next to the front door where she proceeded to hunker down for the night in protective mode.

I don’t want to forget when we moved to this house and she got out of the yard but didn’t cross the street because someone had taught her not to cross streets so she was wandering the neighborhood as long as there was no street-crossing going on. My husband (then boyfriend) was the one who left the gate open and he knew if he couldn’t get her back safely he’d do best to pack his stuff and skip town. Lucky for him he got her back safely.

I don’t want to forget all the years she started out the night on the dog bed in our bedroom and then once we were safe and sound she’d quietly make her way downstairs to keep her guard by the door.
All the times she contentedly would roll onto her back and spend hours and hours in that position. I think it was because she was so safe and happy and content with her life, I need to believe that. Sadly, after the stroke almost two years ago she was no longer able to roll over that way and snooze away the hours in her favorite position. She never complained though. Nope, not my Ding girlie.
How much have I already forgotten? Too much.

I dreamt about her Monday night. One week ago was the last night she spent on planet earth…one week later all I had was her in my dreams.

The dream was so beautiful, so HAPPY that I was sad to wake up. I was so damn disappointed when I woke up and realized it was just a dream.

In the dream I was going up to bed and Ding was on the stair landing, I was surprised to see her, especially on the stair landing because she couldn’t do stairs since she had that damn stroke so I knew in my dream that she was all better, she was whole again. I bent over and rubbed her super soft ears and she looked up at me. I told her that I loved her so much and she made her happy grunting sound (we used to call it her piggy grunts) and put her head back down. Then in the dream my husband came up to bed and I looked up to see him and Ding was on the dog bed in the bedroom just like old times, my husband looked at me and said, “Did you see her? She’s HERE isn’t she? Did you pet her? I did”. In the dream as I lay back down I was actually waking up for the day, I looked over to the dog bed but it was empty.

Was she here with us? I sure hope so. Maybe it was just her way of comforting us and saying “good-bye” and letting us know that she really IS okay, she IS whole again and not broken with cancer and neurological issues.

I don’t want to forget her, ever.

But I’m human, how do I make this happen?

How does my feeble human brain keep all those memories safe and alive when she isn’t anymore? I don’t know the answer but I hope I can figure it out. I’m open to suggestions folks.

Dogs make us more human

Ding died this past Tuesday. Ding was my first ever dog. She was the one living being I wanted more than anything else in the world. My earliest memory is of wanting a dog. I got Ding in April of 2001. She was about 10 months old, maybe older, who knows she was a rescue and there wasn’t a lot of info about her. And yes I did have a lot of years with her, I know that, she was a dog and they just don’t live all that long (certainly not long enough).

I’ve gone through a lot of emotions this week (obviously). We have two other dogs that still needed to be fed and cared for so as attractive as it seemed to curl up in a fetal position with Ding’s collar and cry until there was nothing left; that wasn’t an option.

I asked myself why we have pets if we know we have to face this in the end. I mean there was a moment when I looked at the other two and thought, “I’ll RE-HOME THEM! I’ll never have to see them sick or dying, they’ll just go away…” That’s ridiculous. There’s no chance that could happen.

The many, many horrible animal abuse stories we see every damn day on Facebook and in the news ran through my head. Now that my husband and I had held my beloved Ding as she left this world it really made me wonder what kind of creature could abuse an animal when we stood there together as our hearts broke with our loss. It made abuse so much worse to me because it de-humanized the abusers for me; completely and totally removed their humanity in my eyes.

And then I knew that dogs (and cats), our pets make us more human. They bring out all our emotions and still stand by us. They make us feel things to the core of our beings in ways that other humans just can’t.

Ding made me laugh and cry, she made me angry sometimes and sometimes she just listened as I poured out my anger after a frustrating day. She never complained. She was beautiful, she had the softest ears. She caught Frisbees, I loved that.

Interestingly though, I don’t know anyone that can say anything different about THEIR pet(s). Each animal has their own distinct personality but they also all share what they give back to us; the ability to stretch fully into being human.

I never wanted to see the day come when Ding would leave me. Never; and now that she’s gone the past several days have seemed fuzzy, surreal, I don’t have many clear memories of each day. My brain is playing tricks on me to try to protect my shattered heart but the fact remains that she most certainly has left this world.

My husband has said that he thought a few times he’s heard her bark in the night and thought he caught a glimpse of her out of the corner of his eye, so have I, she’s there you know, she’s just at the fringe of “being”.

I’ve done breed specific rescue since 2008 or 2009, I don’t even remember anymore, it’s just that thing I do. It’s that place where I’ve made a whole “other” set of friends who “get” me in a new and different way. It’s that place where we can celebrate our successes and mourn our losses together. Ding even brought me this area of my life. She got me to this group, to this place, to these fine and wonderful people. And doing rescue makes me more human. Doing rescue has helped me define my own boundaries while also pushing a little at my comfort zone. I’ve learned how not to over promise and how to honestly deliver what I do promise. Funny that all my years in the corporate world never taught me these simple truths I learned doing rescue. We can’t save them all no matter how much we want to; and we definitely want to.

Since Ding’s loss I’ve been treated so warmly by so many people. My co-workers have been amazing, my boss sat with me on my first day back in the office and shared my grief, my friends far and wide have said kind, wonderful things, hell, the folks I know only through the bar where I hang out, literally my neighborhood watering hole, all sat around last night sharing their own stories, people I normally only argue politics with or debate the jukebox choices were now telling me about their pets and the losses and the joys they experienced. Wow. Strangers were even eager to share and as my heart broke more and more it also soared with the value of what dogs, pets, bring to our lives. There is just no comparison.

It’s truly astonishing that so many have been so willing to give a hug and share their own stories, it’s made them more human to me. What an amazing gift a 40-pound dog has given me. How does anyone ever re-pay something like that?

My house feels empty with just the two blue dogs here. They don’t bark as much, they barely bark at all which is so strange, so QUIET but they are who they are, they each have their own personalities and also their own grief, a grief they can’t even tell me about so where I get to see friends and share hugs and tell the story of my sadness these two other dogs have each other to communicate with and us to stand by them unquestioningly. And stand by them we will, as they too grow old, as they change into old dogs, we’ll be right here with them and we’ll be more human for having them in our lives.

My friends have told me that I’ll never stop missing Ding but that the hurt will change over time. It’s amazing to know that all these people in my life who have lost pets still feel that loss years later, if that isn’t humanizing then what is? And here we are, caring for them, walking them, playing with them, and loving them. Mostly loving them.

Ding girlie, I’ll miss you every single day and I’m grateful for the person you’ve helped me to be; the imperfect human I am was made just a bit better because you were with me for all those years. I’ll never say good-bye because you’ll always be a part of me.

Occupy this…

I'm going to explain a harsh truth here. Companies are in business to earn money for their investors. That's it.

Despite whatever you may hear, it is NOT about the patients (heard in the pharma and biotech industry), it's not about healthy living (food industry), it's not about a healthy lifestyle (certain sneakers, workout fashions, etc.) it's not about ANYTHING other than the investor community.

What you eat, what you ingest, what you wear is not there to nurture you, heal you, or keep you warm and dry…it's there to line the pockets of the very wealthiest people in our society.

Here are two recent articles detailing exactly how far we've come in the greed game:

This one, from the Huffington Post speaks to how business has managed to skirt a law to REVEAL CEO pay, the greed here is heart stopping. The question is, could someone else do as good or even better than these money sucking CEOs? http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2013/04/30/ceo-to-worker-pay-ratio_n_3184623.html

Bloomberg puts a more personal spin on things; they show the difference between a JC Penney employee who lost her ($8.30/hr) job vs. their recently departed CEO. Yes, he did an awful job, yes, he walked away with wads of cash. http://www.bloomberg.com/news/2013-04-30/ceo-pay-1-795-to-1-multiple-of-workers-skirts-law-as-sec-delays.html

It's astonishing to me that this system has gotten so far and that the American public doesn't seem to mind supporting this system. Do people really believe that these overpaid CEOs are worth the money they're paid? I've heard people say to me, "well, they've worked hard for it". I work hard; just about everyone I KNOW works hard and none of us are pulling in that kind of money.

Here's another article, one talking about the 10 things Americans don't know about America, http://bananenplanet.wordpress.com/2012/07/17/10-things-most-americans-dont-know-about-america/ this article actually touches on the fact that America's primary economic intention is to satisfy the investor community.

I can say with some certainty that the current selection of FDA approved pharmaceuticals on the market are nothing short of miracles. We have cured or controlled countless horrible diseases just in my lifetime and that's GREAT. What isn't great is what we pay the CEOs and other officers of these companies. In some cases a pharmaceutical CEO makes in one year what an entire drug research and development program would cost over the entire lifespan of that program! Yes, it's true.

Many research programs get started but most of them fail before every getting near to an actual product and all those failures cost money, LOTS OF MONEY but there is value there as well. For all the failures many make it through to save or enhance our lives. But why oh why does that mean that the CEO, CFO, CMO, etc. of these companies are entitled to salaries and bonuses equal or greater than the entire cost of a drug development program?

And why do we do nothing here to put a cap on that? Trust me when I say that not one of these people is the sole or even PRIMARY reason that a particular drug makes it to market. Their goal is to bring value for the investors not better health and well-being to the public.

Another bit of background reading, http://www.fiercepharma.com/story/novos-exceptional-first-quarter-still-disappoints/2013-05-01?utm_medium=nl&utm_source=internal about a diabetes company, you'll notice that most of this article is about the investment community and their response to the Q1 earnings update. But here's what ISN'T said, this is a company that primarily makes insulin to expand their product line they've gone further and further down the insulin path into more and more EXPENSIVE territory. Guess what folks, you could remain reasonably healthy with diabetes by using regular ol' human insulin and a vial and syringe. As long as you were compliant about testing your blood glucose and knew how and when to inject your insulin you'd be fine, but that isn't what's at question here, it's how well the investment community is responding to how well a company can generate profits.

It doesn't matter if you're the CEO of Target or the CEO of Pfizer, you're there for one reason and one reason alone…investor profits. The clothes you stock your shelves with can be poorly made by cheap labor in foreign lands because that boosts profits and higher profits equal higher rates of return for investors and that's the only good news. Buy American you say? How when no one will SELL AMERICAN. No one will INVEST in America in the truest sense of the word.

How much really is ENOUGH? If I made $17 million this year and was expecting $21 million next year how would I even SPEND all of that before I die? Why can't this be cycled back to the employees and the products and services offered? Why are the rich so breathtakingly richer than the rest of us; and what is it really buying us? It's buying us unemployment as jobs are off-shored, it's buying us inferior quality products, it's buying us American poverty and a forced greater dependence on welfare and other social systems.

I still have no answers to this but I can't help but raise the issue again..and again…and again.

Please folks educate yourselves' about these things, if corporate America isn't willing to admit it has a problem then maybe if we all wise up we can find a way to change things, Occupy had good intentions but nothing changed. We desperately need some change.

So whatcha gonna do ‘bout all that?

A friend of mine at work, someone who listens kindly and even encourages all my wild ranting, asked what my solutions are. She agrees that I've done a good job of identifying the problem or problems but what next? Most people, most BOSSES, don't want you to come to them with a problem unless you're prepared to offer a solution.

I thought about it for a second then admitted that maybe I don't have a solution, maybe I'm as far as putting the thesis together and that's where it stops for now.

As I talked though it occurred to me that even if I come up with a solution it won't matter because, just like with a substance abuser, the first thing is admit you have a problem. That's it. Corporate America, corporations, need to step up and say, "Hi, I'm a corporation and I have a problem, not only do I HAVE a problem…in many cases I AM THE PROBLEM!"

Right now, from what I can see, corporations don't believe they're the problem. They tout their corporate values and make sure everyone is abiding by them and then check each one off during the twice-yearly performance reviews. Yay for us, we have values and we stick to 'em.

What a crock of crap.

When corporations are ready, willing and able to call themselves out on their behavior then I can start coming up with solutions or better yet maybe THEY can come up with solutions. For now I'd like to see it get to the point of admitting a problem. At least it would be a start.

And once they each can own up to having a BIG problem then they can start to drill down to the little ones, get specific, look in the mirror and see the warts, and blemishes, and worry lines wrinkling their corporate foreheads.

But right now, I'd just like to see them start by standing up and admitting there is a problem and it can't be fixed by re-writing the core values or doing another lame team building exercise.

$$$ Uh-huh $$$

I've always kinda thought of myself as someone who *gets* math and even science at some level. Sadly, I've never really pursued it beyond patting myself on the back for knowing that I *get* that so yay me.

Some of my posts are just about silly things like please stop picking on Jennifer Aniston (I stand by that one, give it a rest folks, she's in her 40's there's no baby bump, shut up) but others, from the beginning of this blog, dealt with things like what the HELL is wrong with corporate America. I still hash this shit out over and over again with friends but haven't re-visited it here in a while.

Somehow in the past 24 hours I managed to come across two companies that might be getting things right.

Valve (http://www.cnbc.com/id/100522971/A_Billion_Dollar_Company_With_No_Bosses_Yes_It_Exists) is a video game company with no bosses, no HR department and seemingly no corporate-style issues like performance reviews. It seems to be working. Why is it working for them but not for everyone?

This morning I saw a news story on The Today Show about Zildjian (http://zildjian.com/About/History/Background ), the cymbal company, yeah, you know those shiny metal discs that hover above the drum kits on arena stages all over the world. They maintain a more corporate structure but still keep a family feel to the whole thing. They've never had a layoff in the company and when a job gets replaced by an advance in technology the person who had been doing that job gets re-trained for another comparable job. They showed one guy who'd been re-trained 7 times during his (many) years there and was pretty darn happy about it.

Why are these companies news items? Because they're not the norm, they ARE newsworthy. No one is reporting on the drudgery of corporate life in the entire REST of the companies here. No one is talking about the uselessness of performance review and goal setting season (just now drawing to a close in corporate America).

I'm discouraged, I'll admit it. There are no changes out there in the big world of corporate jobs.

I recently read an article about a couple of new books about FDR and The New Deal. I admit most history has completely escaped me by now. I know I learned about it but that's all I remember, I remember that I learned about something and that's it. The article made me want to read more about those times in not just US history but in the history of the world overall. It was during that era the Securities and Exchange Commission was founded and wasn't that a significant step towards where we are today?

Where are we? We don't innovate, we don't provide quality goods or services, we DO just enough to satisfy the investment community and that is our primary focus for anyone at all who even TOUCHES an industry. Even the small town deli owner is touched by big corporations when they buy their deli meats and other products. We're all in it; we're just all in it for the wrong reasons. I admit, I'm no investment guru but now I'm beginning to see that is the only real way to play in this game.

As the world became more and more industrialized people went from working farms or other small family businesses to working for someone else but in the beginning you did your job, you did your best to turn out a good product and as a reward you got to keep your job (usually for life) and even walked away with a pension, something that was set aside for you to live off of in your declining years. It was easy in many ways.

With the rise of stock trading markets it is clear that we no longer work for a company to produce quality goods and work out our days until we're rewarded with a pension in our twilight years. We work to meet the goals and expectations of the financial investment community. That's it. There's no gratification in that. Yes, I want to make money as much as the next person and live comfortably and all that but there is no deep, personal, emotional connection or gratification to doing what I do.

Systemic mediocrity just may be the result of historic bureaucracy and governed by a financial system only looking to increase the bottom line at any cost. It sucks the soul out of the people engaged in doing the actual work and in turn seems to suck the soul out of the society the work is (supposedly) being done for.

Obviously there will be more on this from me. Some thoughts perhaps on what happens when you DO suck the soul out of individuals and society as a whole…

I’m American

I recently participated in a Scarborough Research survey. I wasn't going to, it seemed invasive but then I thought of all the times that I heard about a survey in the news and when I didn't agree with the results my knee-jerk response would be "no one asked ME" so someone was asking, I thought I'd answer.

The gentleman conducting the survey was a sweet, friendly guy. I chatted him up quite a bit which I'm sure negatively impacted his call time since the objective of any of these positions is to get people OFF the phone but I figured I wasn't giving in THAT easily, he'd have to put up with my corny jokes and reading recommendations (also I had already polished off a beer and was feeling friendly).

The survey was fine, I answered honestly and could see how some of the survey results we see published in the media end up the way they do. There were questions like "Do you think there's too much sex on TV?" The problem was that the only answers were "yes" or "no" and honestly "I don't care" would've been my true response. Saying "yes" made me sound like a member of the "Million Moms" (crazypants) group (newsflash, I'm not even a mom) and saying "no" kinda made me sound like a pervert. "I don't care" would've been more accurate; without that option I chose the pervert route.

There were other minor flaws in the survey questions and their proposed answers but none that were really offensive, they were mostly just dopey omissions of what a real answer (at least for me) would've been. It highlighted the flaws of survey research.

Then it was time for him to gather the demographic info, household income, own or rent, value of home, number of children under 18 living in the home, number of children over 18 but under 26 living in the house, and all that other happy horseshit. We were wrapping up when this question came over the phone line:

"What ethnic group do you identify yourself with?"

This was EASY. Oh yeah, no question about that one, I'm American. I am. My mom was in The Mayflower Society and The Daughters of the American Revolution. My family has been on these shores long enough to have intermarried and crossbred enough times to identify with an American ethnicity.

American wasn't an option.

I kid you not.

He kept prompting me for something more specific. What kind of food did we eat growing up? Mac and cheese, hot dogs and hamburgers, pork chops and chicken cutlets, salads made with iceberg lettuce and fresh jersey tomatoes, grilled cheese and tomato soup. We ate American food.

What languages did my grandparents speak? Huh? They spoke English…American English.

I finally gave the guy several answers, none of which I was happy with.

This ate away at me for the past few days and I finally sent Scarborough Research an e-mail explaining to them just what I've explained to you. I'm American. My name is American. My mom was born in da' Bronx, NYC. My dad was born in North Jersey, at home. I'm from HERE. Right here. I knew how to take the bus to NYC by the time I was 8 years old. I knew how to ride the subway. I knew where to get the best New York style cheesecake in NYC and in No. Jersey. I knew where to get an Italian hot dog or a Texas weiner (it's a way of serving a hot dog, trust me here). I have several wonderful recipes for mac and cheese.

I'm offended. Not just for me but for anyone who does identify as American, just like me. American.

I might be a bleeding heart liberal and have friends that are hardcore conservatives but the thing that allows us to have lively debates and remain friends, is that we're American.

I can't wait to hear back from Scarborough Research. I've asked them to add American as an ethnic choice and to be sure to update my survey answers to accurately reflect that response.

So, what ethnic group do YOU identify with?

PS: This blog post is dedicated to my mom who died approximately 2 ½ years ago. Mom and I didn't see eye-to-eye on most things and to say we had a contentious relationship would be an understatement but I know that she'd agree with every word I just wrote.

The Great Canine Christmas Caper of 2012

This only peripherally involves a "real" dog, it's really the story of an iron doorstopper.

The back story; hubby was working with his brothers a few years ago to get their parents into a nursing home and then sell the family home. One brother (we'll call him "GB" for "good brother") was great and very helpful hubby and GB would spend entire days getting rid of a lifetime of crap out of that house. It wasn't a big house but it sure contained a lot of CRAP. The other brother (we'll call him "PiA" for "pain in the ass brother") lives further away, is basically un or underemployed (by choice) and is generally a pain in the ass. PiA managed to cruise by one day when hubby and GB weren't there; his contribution to the clean-out was to pile up any and all metal he saw so he could sell the metal and keep the profit from it, he also brought his bulk trash all the way from one state away to leave at the curb.

Hubby went over, found this pile and was FURIOUS, how DARE PiA make this decision for his own gains. Hubby picked through the "trash" metal and found a lovely iron dog. He brought the iron dog home and looked it up on the internet, it was about 4 inches high at the withers, the head was probably about 6 inches from paw to the top of the head, it was a fox terrier (we have Aust. Cattledogs so there was no emotional connection to the breed). The internet (as usual) revealed some interesting details about the little bugger; they were Victorian era doorstops, there were certain breeds, all sorts of stuff. He excitedly read off details to me as he found out more and more about the history of the little iron dog. It was nice that he was so excited about this. It was interesting to look at. We have a sorta Victorian style home that is nearly 100 years old so it even "fit" nicely in our home.

Hubby named it "Ironsides" and Ironsides quickly won a place of honor in our home. He was placed on a soft mat in the center of a side cabinet in our living room. Ironsides became a family member. We were glad he was rescued from the trash heap…just like our three flesh and fur "real" dogs had been rescued.

We're not collectors. We don't have Precious Moments figurines or beanie babies or anything collectible. I can't stand the clutter and even without that stuff we STILL have clutter so we are NOT collectors of anything. Hubby made it clear that we would not BECOME collectors either, despite his clear love of ol' Ironsides he would remain our one and only iron doorstop and we were both good with that. Despite his obvious value on eBay, we didn't rescue him for profit or to become hoarders, we rescued him because he was on the junk heap at hubby's parents' house and he certainly was NOT garbage to be sold for the price of his metal weight.

Hubby and I have been together since December of 2001 and been married almost ten of those years. We're not new to each other so Christmas giving between us has become quite a challenge, add to that the fact that we have no kids to buy for so we can't even divert our gift giving attention to our kids or grandkids. It's just us (and some friends, etc.). I struggled this year over what to buy him, I actually bought AND RETURNED gifts before Christmas even dawned. We had agreed to buy ourselves a new TV for the living room as our "gift" so we were really just getting some smaller items but once the shopping frenzy hits it's tough to stop.

I had finally come to terms with the mediocre array of gifts I had stashed in the upstairs closet. It was the eve of Christmas Eve (that'd be December 23^rd), other than buying some scratch off lottery tix, I was DONE with my shopping. Put your pencils down folks and close your test booklets…you are DONE! Awesome.

Hubby and I were sitting in the living room enjoying The Sound of Music on TV with the dogs (3 live, 1 iron) strewn around us and the twinkling lights of the Christmas tree adding sufficient atmosphere when hubby mentioned that in his shopping travels he wandered into a local antique center and was AMAZED by the many interesting things there. I grunted in agreement and let him continue talking. He went on to say that he was surprised to find another iron doorstop there, he mentioned it was tagged at $140 and he didn't buy it because he doesn't want to become a "collector" but then he went on to say that maybe after the holiday he would go back and offer them $100 for it and see if they would take it.

EUREKA! A "special" gift…but it was at an antique center in a small downtown area where they kept variable hours AT BEST…would they even be OPEN on Christmas Eve? SHIT! But suddenly I was fired up by the thrill of the hunt.

Hubby rarely has a day off but he DID have off on Christmas Eve so I needed a reason to leave him the morning of Christmas Eve and go on my hunt. Enter one of the LIVE dogs…"Honey, I'm taking Maggie to the dog park…." Perfect, we can spend HOURS there so how would he know if we were there for an hour or 3 hours? Off we went.

We did legitimately spend an hour and a half at the dog park because I had to give said antique center time to open for the day, I figured if I got there between 11AM and noon I'd be able to get in because they'd either be open from early-ish until noonish or from noonish to whenever. We (meaning me and Maggie…the youngest of our dogs) got to town around 11:30ish. Maggie hunkered down in the car tired from her hour and a half of running around like a lunatic at the dog park and off I sprinted to the antique center. SUCCESS, according to a crayoned sign on the front door (not lying, blue crayon) the antique center was open on Christmas Eve from 11AM-2PM; YAY!

The place, like many antique places, is really an old store (Woolworth's in this case, I believe) divided into little booths with different vendors for each booth but they usually cover for each other. The guy manning the front booth was a grumpy guy; I explained what I was looking for, an iron fox terrier doorstop my husband had just seen the other day. Grumpy Guy (his name is actually Rudy) kinda shrugged and said he wasn't sure if he'd seen one of those but there was a Boston terrier somewhere in the back…maybe. Three other women, booth owners, were also there; they were MUCH more enthusiastic than Rudy. We spread out across the space to start looking for this silly iron doorstop. We were shouting across the store as we found things that might be "my" doorstop. Two more shoppers wandered in and got sucked into the hunt for the iron fox terrier. Dare I say this, it was FUN!

I was starting to wonder if maybe I should settle for that Boston terrier in the back and wandered off to use the ladies' room while the hunt continued in full swing. Suddenly I heard someone shout, "GOT IT!" I ran out of the ladies' room still drying my hands, the booth vendors and the other patrons were all shouting and pointing at a glass case RIGHT UP FRONT BY GRUMPY GUS RUDY ("GGR")! It was right under his NOSE. They fumbled around to find the key and finally liberated the little guy from his glass prison and placed him in my hands. He appeared to be in good shape and the genuine item but he was priced at $195 and I KNOW hubby said the one he saw was $140. Hmmmmmm.

I told GGR that I was sure this was the one but that my husband told me it was $140 and this one was marked $195. Without flinching GGR shrugged and said he must've told hubby he could have it for $140 so I could have it for $140. He barked out (HA, DOG…BARKED…soooooo funny), "you want it?" YES! YES I WANT IT!

I was soooooooooooo happy.

I figured I'd leave my little treasure in the car overnight and sneak it in the next morning when I got up with the dogs. I snuck it in, wrapped it in tissue paper and then tucked it into one of those holiday bags and then I stashed it in the cabinet in the living room where the Christmas tree was and where Ironsides resides.

Hubby FINALLY wandered downstairs at around 10ish, made coffee and said we'd open presents once he got some coffee in him.

I was like a little kid, so excited I was ready to POP!

We did the usual "you open one, I open one" and giggled and oohed and aahed over each gift.

When we were all done I said, "hmmm, the cabinet seems to be open a bit, did Santa hide something here?" DUH!

I handed hubby the bag from the cabinet, he remarked that it was awfully heavy (DUH) then he ripped the tissue paper off and his face went into one of those truly surprised faces, the kind where your mouth forms a perfect "O" and your eyes get big and round. I thought, "wow, he IS a good actor"…or maybe he really is surprised?

And then I found out that he really was surprised…and why.

It turns out that the eve of C'mas Eve I hadn't been listening to him all that well, he hadn't seen the fox terrier doorstop, he'd seen the BOSTON TERRIER one, he was kinda willing to SETTLE for the Boston terrier because he had no hope of finding the matching fox terrier to Ironsides, the FACING one. He asked where I'd ever found it and I sheepishly told him that it was at the antique center where he'd seen the Boston terrier doorstop, I admitted I thought he DID see this one. He said that had he seen this one he would've bought…at $195 and I admitted that I had gotten it for $140 because I thought this was the one he'd seen and I told GGR that it was $140 so he gave it to me for $140.

It was so much better than perfect. My mistake turned the gift into something so much better. He spent the next hour or two scouring the internet to learn more about our now perfectly matched pair of iron fox terriers, one left facing, one right facing. He'd occasionally grunt then shout out some little factual tidbit.

SUCCESS!

And there ya have it, The Great Canine Christmas Caper of 2012!