Sunday, September 15, 2019

Rex Mi Amor is the September 19 Pup of the Week

There is no disease worse, in humans, dogs, or beasts than dementia.  It robs us of everything we know. It is painful for those that suffer from the hideous disease and their family members.  Our good friend Rex Mi Amor lost his battle with dementia this week. Upon arriving at the Bridge, he got back all that had been stolen from him, but then realized he had lost what he loved the most his parents  Passing to the Bridge from dementia can be bittersweet. 

He came running over the Bridge, his tail wagging in joy. He scurried up the steps and nearly jumped on my chest.  "Foley, I can remember everything," he yelped. "I am not confused any longer. I can't wait to let my parents know.”  He looked around and saw the angels. His smile faded, and he realized where he was.  

“It’s the Rainbow Bridge Dementia Catch,” I told him.  “You can’t remember unless you come to the Bridge, but when you come here you remember all you forgot, and it hurts.” 

For two months, it was difficult for Rex to hold on to memories.  He remembered who his parents were, more by scent than from sight.  Even with dementia, a dog never forgets a smell. When Rex arrived at the Bridge all those memories that slipped away from him like sands through an hour-glass solidified, and he remembered all the sacrifices his parents made to combat Rex’s dementia and all the love they showed him. 

During his last days, Rex pushed himself away from his family.   Whatever it was that controlled the mind after dementia takes hold was telling Rex to isolate himself.  Maybe, as he grew more confused, he felt safer on his own. This, combined with arthritis, made every day a struggle for him. He was restless all the time, unable to sleep or to lie down, except if he did so accidentally when arthritis made him lose his balance.  Cataracts were robbing him of his ability to see. 

His parents knew it was time.  His best friend, his dad, went to talk to the vet who agreed with their decision. His dad came home and told Rex’s mom he would take Rex whenever she was ready. His mom went to the bedroom to say goodbye.  Rex showed that there was still a little of himself left inside by giving his mom 1,000 kisses as a goodbye present. 

A short time later the rejuvenated Rex ran across the Bridge.  When he realized that this evening would be the first night he would spend without his parents, he became quiet, cursing the disease that had robbed him of enjoying his final days with mom and dad.  I told Rex he could revisit his family, first in their dreams, and then by other methods, and put him in an accelerated class so he could quickly learn how it is done. 

Like all pets, Rex wanted to assure his parents that he still exists, but in a place they cannot access.; to tell them “thank you” not only for saving him and taking care of him when he could barely take care of himself, but for letting him go at the exact right moment, so he could get back everything he had lost.

I know his parents would be thrilled to see that happy, whip-smart, zipping and zooming Rex is back, waiting for his parents in a place where all the pain is stripped away, and there is nothing but love.  




Until then, Rex will be in their dreams trying to heal their pain just as they wanted to heal theirs. 

Friday, September 13, 2019

Angel Tiara's Big Surprise

When Tiara went to the Bridge, leaving her sisters Tashi, Trixie and their grieving parents behind her first inclination were to find a new pup to help her sisters rebuild their parents’ hearts.

But, her parents were not sure if they wanted to make their duo a trio again.  Neither of their parents was getting younger, and they did not want a puppy. A rescue was the only option 

Tiara wasn’t sure what to do. She decided to take a look around the local shelters to see if there was a dog who would fit in the with family.  Her mother, Momma Linda, volunteered at one, and if Tiara could find a dog there, that would be perfect.  

Tiara spent her days interviewing dogs but could not find a pup who would fit with her family.  She was going to give up her search and start concentrating on protecting her family from Hurrican Dorian when she conducted one more interview.  

She found a perfect two-year-old dog who had just been dropped off at the shelter Momma Linda frequented.  After a five minute interview, she told the dog that their mom would be visiting soon, and to act extra cute, so she would bring it home to become part of their family.  The dog, overcome with excitement stood up. That is when Tiara looked down and said, “uh-oh.” 

This dog had something that her sisters did not — a tiny penis. “Don’t worry,” Tiara told him. “It won’t be a problem.”  

She knew it would be a big problem.  She visited her sister’s dreams. They were very excited about a new dog in the family. Then Tiara told them about the red rocket in the room. “He has a what?” Trixie asked.

“Oh, I don’t think so,” Tashi said.  “We can’t have that here. We already have one with Daddy, and that thing is nothing but trouble.  Sometimes I can’t settle on his lap. No, Tiara, tell him you were mistaken.” 

But Tiara knew that the dog, even with his thing, would be a perfect addition to their family.  She made a deal with her sisters. She would convince her mom to foster the little boy through the hurricane, and if Tiara could keep the storm away, the girls would not object to him permanently living with them. 

This was a big ask.  It is hard for one little dog to control a thunderstorm, never mind a category five hurricane.  Tiara asked her friends to float over Florida’s east coast and help her blow the storm away. Typically, we would not get involved, because someone would get that terrible storm and suffer from it, but when we learned a young dog’s future was stake, we got to floating and blowing. 

I don’t know if it was just we angels or divine intervention, but Tashi’s house was spared from the storm, and her sisters held up their end of the bargain.  The little boy was accepted at part of the Triple T family. 

The boy was given the name Teddy to keep the full house of Ts. He is going to be a challenge.  Whoever he lived before being dropped at the shelter did not train him. He does not like his leash.  He does most of his business outside but has to wear a band until that becomes one hundred percent. He has tried to mount Tashi, who was very upset, and even more so because Trixie laughed at her.  

Except for the occasional hump, Teddy being a boy has not been a problem.  The girls are more bothered by his energy than his manhood. They live a sedatory life.  Teddy has made the house more exciting. 

Most importantly, he is repairing the damage done to his parents’ hearts when Tashi passed.  He has already learned to snuggle in the bed. From all indications, Tashi made a sage choice. 

And their dad is pleased.  The female to male quota has become smaller.  



We can’t wait to read about Teddy’s adventures.  Welcome, Teddy, another exceptional dog who is spreading sunshine wherever he goes.  

Thursday, September 12, 2019

Pocket Finds Her Me Time


From kitties to possums to the lost dog lost, it has been a stressful time at Casa Pocket.  I am naturally a jittery dog. With the additional stress, it has been hard for me to get a good night's sleep. 

I consulted my therapist Dr. Vinnie Boombatz. He said what I needed was some alone time.  This went against my instincts. I hate to be alone. But sometimes what we hate is what we need the most. 

The problem was when could I find alone time? My humans don't give me a moment's rest.  They need constant attention. As a dog, I'm obliged to fulfill every request.  
Like most discoveries, I stumbled on my relaxation time by accident.  It started when Papa began stretching himself into a pretzel before he went to bed. It has something to do with a bad back and tight hamstrings.  Mama, River, and I would be in bed for 15 minutes waiting for him. 

I have been known to be forgetful at times, especially in stressful situations. Not having both parents in bed is unusual and worrisome. I’d forget where my papa was and get down to search for him. Moma would pick me up and put me back in the bed, I would get down again, and she would put me back in the bed.  Finally, I got down, and she didn't put me back. 

I found Papa in the backroom all twisted up.  I watched for a little while and then pawed his hand for attention.  He told me to stop. He seemed a little riled up, and I knew what cured that.  I kissed him. "Pocket, please," he said. When I did it again, he picked me up, put me outside the room, and shut the door. How rude. 

I went into the living room and waited on the recliner. In a few seconds, I found myself overcome with a feeling of calm.  No humans taking up the chair, no River Song chasing me from the warm spot on the pillow, no senseless sound from the TV. It was peaceful, and it heavenly. 

That is when I realized I found my me time. It may only be for 15 minutes a night, but when your seven pounds 15 minutes is an eternity. I snuggled down and listened to the peaceful noises outside. For a short time, I had no worries.

Once my Pocket time became a daily occurrence, I made adjustments.  I ordered a nice smoking jacket to relax in. I had a Keurig installed in my kitty condo so I could have something nice to drink. I made some scones and biscuits to enjoy while I relaxed in solitude. In those few minutes, I have to myself my worries float away. 

For 23 hours and 50 minutes a day, I am at the beck and call of my parents. I asked them to respect the 15 minutes before I get in bed as Pocket time. 




Unless they need me, then I will go to them in a flash. I am a dog I can't help it.

Tuesday, September 10, 2019

Monday, September 9, 2019

Monday Question

Are you a paper shredder?

Pocket:  Not me.  I am a good girl.

River Song:  Every chance I get

Sunday, September 8, 2019

Tucker and Cosmo are the September 8, 2019 Pets of the Week

There has long been a division between dogs and cats on both sides of the Bridge. They can, if need be, live together peacefully.  To dogs, cats are like drug dealers. We yell when we see them, we want them to be away from our houses; we don’t trust them, but, if they live with us, then they are our drug dealer, and they are okay. 
I understand cats feel the same about us but think of us as undocumented housekeepers, who are only welcome if we are work in their homes. 

My dear friends Pippin, Tucker, who are both dogs, and Cosmo, a cat lived peacefully together with other pack members at their home.  They not only tolerated one another, but they were friends. They had grown old together. Sadly, when you grow old with a pet sibling, the Bridge comes calling at the same time for both. 

Tucker was very sick last week.  His mom knew he did not have much time left.  But, Tucker was determined to stay with his mom.  He did not give her the sign that it was time for him to go.  His mom kept awake with him, holding a vigil for days. If he was going to fight to be with her, then she was not going to miss a moment with him. 
Cosmo also was not feeling well but hid the symptoms.  Their Mom was rightfully doting on Tucker. Cosmo did not want to steal the spotlight.  Secretly they had a deal. When Tucker gave the sign that he was ready to go, Cosmo would provide a signal too.  They’d cross the Bridge side by side just as they had lived their lives
.   
On Saturday Tucker gave his mom the secret signal that is was time.  Seeing this, Cosmo gave the sign too. It broke their mom’s heart to send them to the Bridge on the same day, but when a pet provides the signal with it is the parent’s duty to fulfill their request.  Then she made the most difficult decision, two times. 

There are two different entry points for dogs and cats at the Bridge.  Their souls wash up on the shores of the River of Life a quarter-mile apart. I  administer the oath to dogs at the foot of Doggyspace Village and in a separate ceremony at Kittyland Cotton does the same for cats.  But, Tucker and Cosmo were not interested in crossing apart. They ran towards one another, met in the middle, then crossed together, on the dog side.
There was a great deal of bustle at the Bridge when they crossed over paw in paw.  “It is a cat!” one of my friends said. “On the dog side! This is blasphemy.” 

I was more open-minded.  After six years on the immortal side, I had grown closer to the kitties.  I welcomed Tucker with a hug and then Cosmo. I ignored the gasps for my less than understanding peers. 

I saw my friends’ tails go up.  The cats we're coming over the hill.  “It’s an invasion!” a dog said.  

The cats’ hair on their backs went up when they got closer to the dogs. I was worried there was going to be a rumble.  Tucker got between the two groups and held up his paws. “Stop!” he commanded, showing a lot of fortitude for a new angel.  “We should not be fighting! We just came from a very divided place. We should not be like that. This should be a better place!” 

I smiled.  I felt the same way but was not brave enough to say it.  

“What unites our parents is a love of pets,” Cosmo said, “but they still concentrate on what divides them.  What unites us is our love of our parents. That should be enough to surpass our differences.”

The dogs and cats paused, then slowly walked towards one another and began to play  Cotton, and I scheduled a massive picnic just like the Indian and Pilgrims had. It will be a fantastic time. 

We are sorry that Cosmo and Tucker are no longer with their mom, but she should know that her two little angels have helped to heal the centuries-old rift between dogs and cats. 


Blessed are Tucker and Cosmo for they are the peacemakers.

Friday, September 6, 2019

Little Dog Found by Foley Monster


All angels love their families, and all angels want to serve their families. But sometimes our families make us say "God, these people!" 
Just days after I had to guide a group of kitties to their new home like some low rent, Moses I was called back to my parents' house for another crisis. They had a lost dog in their shed.


I popped in to check on the fellow. His name was Dexter. I asked him how he ended up in a strangers' shed.


"I came to this neighborhood with my parents," he said. "They were at my Nana's house. They brought me in a room so I could sleep. But then someone left the bedroom door open, and I slipped out, and then I caught a whiff of something on the air, I found the screen door unlatched, and I pushed through it and began to run.' 
"Do you know which house it was?" I asked.

"Not really. As I said, I'm not from around here, and all these houses look the same." 
I asked him if he could pick up a scent on the breeze.  "There are so many new scents here I can't make sense of them."  

I told him not to worry if you were going to be lost its best being in a shed belonging to crazy folks who would care for him like he was their own. I told him I would go find his parents. 

Of course, I had no idea how I was going to find them. But I've always had a high opinion of my abilities. I flew back to the Bridge and found lots of prayers for a lost dog in my parents' neighborhood. I flew back to where they originated, but a worried lady only occupied the house. I deduced the parents were already searching for their baby. 

I went back to the Bridge and found out that people were praying and moving at my parents' site.   Praying and walking is what we call a "Sorkin." They are difficult to pinpoint. I went back to fly around the neighborhood, hoping to find the parents who were hoping to find their dog. Both tasks were like trying to find you a weasel in the next in a haystack. 


The people who own the dog had been visiting the husband's parents. There was a new baby in the family, and the baby was being passed around and played with. The parents had such a good time they completely forgot they brought their black dog with them. When they got in the car to leave, they saw the blanket and remembered to go back and get the dog. But when they searched the house, they couldn't find him. 

They began to, as Daddy had, walk around the neighborhood looking for their dog. It was even later now, after ten, which translates to 3 a.m. in normal people's time. They knocked on doors, and no one answered. Their search grew more frantic by the moment. 

Then they stumbled upon the cookout. They asked everyone if they saw their dog. The man who took the picture happily showed them the photo of the dog who had been there a few hours before. "The dog is with Mr. Gay," the man who knew Daddy said.  They asked where Mr. Gay lived, and they answered, "we don't know, over there somewhere. Really, they don't see the house with the pretty flowers and nappy dogs? I blame Bacchus.  

Now that they knew my parents' name, the task was easier. I found them ten houses away from my parents and kept guiding them towards my parents' domicile. At 10:30, they knocked on the door. 

My parents were still up. They had been worried about what they would do in the morning.  Daddy had to work, but the lost dog needed to be walked fed and given water. Then there was a question about finding his parents. And how would the dog react to waking up when the sun came up?  Would he be crying in the shed? They were losing hope they would find the parents that night. Then there was a knock on the door. 

Daddy saw a man, a woman, and a child in a stroller at his door asking about their dog.  Daddy put on his shoes and went outside to meet them. He told the grateful parents that the dog was in the shed. He gave them a leash to wrap around the dog, so he didn't wander off again. Then Daddy opened the shed sure, and Dexter walked out. 

There hasn't been such a commotion and so much crying in my parents' yard since the hydrangea died, but these were happy tears. The dad apologized a thousand times to the dog. He said he was so glad he did not lose him like this after all they've been through. He and his wife thanked Daddy repeatedly. Then they walked the Dexter back to their car.

I'm glad I was able in some small way to help reunite the dog and his family. There's nothing scarier for a dog parent than knowing their dog is out there somewhere cold, alone, possibly wet and always in danger.  My parents took in the stray because they fear that someday one of their dogs will slip away and be lost. They treated the dog like a want one of their lost dogs to be treated.




Then I went back to the Bridge for a long sleep. I don't know what the next crisis will be, but I will be there for my parents. It is my duty to help lost people and pups. It is a noble quest. 

Thursday, September 5, 2019

Little Dog Lost by River Song

A leaky outside faucet can save a life.

It started when the splitter we had on the outdoor faucet began to leak.  My parents bought a new one. Putting it on was more challenging, and took longer than anticipated because the faucet was recessed and Daddy could not screw it on normally.  He had to unscrew the faucet, pull it out, and put on the splitter. What was a one minute job now took ten minutes. Then he began to water the front garden. 

That is when a senior black and white lab, with a grizzled chin, came from around the corner and sat next to Daddy.  It had no tags but looked well cared for. Obviously, it was lost.  

This was the third dog we have found in our yard.  The other two were tiny. Daddy picked them up and walked around the neighborhood until he found the parents. This dog was too big to carry.  There was no collar. The dog did not object when Daddy slipped a leash around his neck. They set off looking for the owner.

They came upon three women walking together. Pocket and I see these women a lot. We usually bark loudly to their delight and my parent's chagrin. Daddy asked if they knew who belonged to the dog. One of the women was sure the dog lived on the cul-de-sac in the back. Daddy and the black dog began waking.

It was a long slog to the back cul-de-sac. The old dog kept up. Dad noticed the Seresto collar and a bandana around his neck. Sadly there were no tags. He was a well cared for dog who walked better than we did. Daddy hoped they were on the right track and would find his owner.

Daddy knocked on the door at a house in the back of the cul-de-sac. It took a long time for the person to answer.  Daddy knew this would be problematic. It was almost 7:30. In the middle of sundown. Many of his senior neighbors were asleep. Finally, a woman opened the main door but was too nervous to unlock the screen door. Through the window, Daddy asked if she recognized the dog. She peered at it like she was trying to identify a mugging suspect who performed his heinous deed on a foggy night. After an interminable period of time, she shook her head no.  Daddy tried the other houses but got no answer. 

They walked back, and he saw the same group of women.  One of them said they meant the cul-de-sac on the other side of the development. Daddy thanked the woman, and he and the dog continued southward. They came to the two houses at the other cul-de-sac. At one home, no one answered. At the second  Daddy knocked on the porch door and when there was no answer, he went inside and knocked on the main door. He glanced down and saw a handgun on the table by the door. He fled. 

A couple of houses down a door was open. Daddy knocked on it, and when someone answered, he asked if anyone knew the dog.  "No dogs like that around here," the man said, "maybe try the other side."

Dejected Daddy thought he would never find the dog's owner. Meanwhile, the dog was having the time of its life. Every house they came to he hurried up the steps like it was his home.  He both read and wrote pee-mail. What a day to be alive. 

They walked down the road and came upon a cookout. Daddy asked if anyone had seen the dog. A man jumped up and said, "Oh, it's Mr. Gay."  Daddy didn't let on that he had no idea who this gentleman was. They all stood around the dog and gave him lots of attention, but no one knew to whom he belonged.  The man who knew Daddy said if no one came for the dog by Monday, he would take it. Daddy was happy about that, but he still wanted to find the owners. One of the people, enchanted with the dog, took a picture.

Daddy brought the dog home. He correctly determined that the dog could neither come in the house, which would freak me, Pocket, and him out, and could not be put on the porch where Pocket and I would be sniffing and barking as long as he was there. My Dad put a blanket down in the shed and told the dog to lie down.  He put a chair in front of the door so the pup could not escape.

Periodically Daddy would check on the dog. He was always standing by the door with his tail wagging wondering when he would be allowed to come inside. It was sad. He put the dog’s picture on a Facebook group, called animal control, and a notice in the mailroom.  It seemed like we would need a miracle to find this baby’s family.

Thankfully I have a sister angel who specializes in miracles. I contacted her to come down and help the dog.  I will let her tell the conclusion of the story tomorrow

Monday, September 2, 2019

Monday Question

There are seven things dogs should not do when you meet a stranger:
1.  Jump
2.  Lift your leg
3.  Go for the crotch
4.  Be aggressive
5.  Be shy
6.  Bark
7.  Nip
How many do you do?
Pocket:  We both bark and jump.  We are too small to do the others.  We certainly aren't shy.




Sunday, September 1, 2019

Ranger is our September 1, 2019 Pup of the Week

Rainbow Bridge is a lousy place to make new friends, especially on your first day.    It’s like trying to make friends on a crashing plane. There is so much fear, nervousness, and emotion; it is impossible to make a permanent connection.  But, still, I try.

On Tuesday, I went to Hobo’s Landing to swear in another new angel, as I have done for more than six years.  I can still remember the day I arrived. Mine was not by fate, but by appointment. I took the position as a judge at the fourth district of Rainbow Bridge after becoming the most famous dog attorney in the world. 

The change from the mortal world to the immortal one is shocking.  Dogs discard their barks and speak the common tongue. Many of us choose to walk upright, emulating humans. You meet all your parents' dogs who came before you, and every human, dog, cat, or other animals you encountered on the mortal side.

When I met Ranger this week, I knew this little black and white baby would have been a close friend of mine if had we met on the mortal side. He was so sweet and had a kind soul. I wanted to introduce myself, but many dogs and humans were waiting for him. Before I could get a word in he was whisked away. 

I was still thinking about the little cutie the next morning. Being a critical judge, I have on my I Paw access to the location of every angel. It took me five minutes to locate him. I decided to give it a day before I approached.  The only day as hectic as your first day at the Bridge is your second. 

On the third day, I made a picnic lunch consisting of chicken, liver, and rabbit then went to his house and knocked on the door.  When he answered, I introduced myself and told him why I was there. He said he would love to go on a picnic. We found a sunny spot on a hill and told me his story. 

Ranger had spent 12 glorious years with his family.  Then he began having seizures. He wheezed when he breathed and shook when he walked.  "It was a tough existence,” he told me in between bites of chicken. “While I loved my family and would have stayed like that with them forever, my Mom made the most difficult decision a parent can make. She sent me to the Bridge, transferring all the pain from me to them.  

"My mommy, daddy, and skin brother have been crying since I left.   They are worried they sent me too early. They feel terribly guilty too.  I wish I could figure out a way to let them know they did the right thing, that I am very grateful for their sacrifice and that someday we will be together.  I want to tell them that I am well, and will see them again.”

I asked him if he had visited his mom on a dream date.  He said he had, but could not knock down the door between the conscious and unconscious, so his mom did not remember it.  I then suggested he borrow a flying body: A butterfly, pretty bird, ladybug, or any other winged creature would suffice. They can fly back and forth between the mortal and immortal worlds I would advise his mom if she sees a pretty bird, or a songbird, or a butterfly, to know it is Ranger coming to visit her.  

“If you cannot do that, then appear as a ghost,” I told him.  “Your parents might see you, out of the corner of their eyes, for just a fleeting moment, and they will dismiss it because humans have such a hard time excepting what they don’t understand.  But it will register in their hearts and help them heal.” 

We looked at one another, smiled, and then we both flew as ghosts to visit his parents.  Maybe, just maybe, his parents, for just a fleeting, his parents will see him, and feel his love in their hearts.  In the world of ghosts, a second is a lifetime.


Ranger is devoting his immortal life to showing his parents that he is okay and easing their pain.  It is a very noble goal. I will help him in any way I can. 

Friday, August 30, 2019

Foley Tries to Find the Kitties a New Home

Sometimes we angels can only watch as those we left behind make foolish decisions that complicate their lives. Furthering our misery is knowing how different the outcome would be if we were still mortal. 

This week Pocket contacted me and asked that I be the angel for the cats that were living under the house.  She told me that she had warned them that the animal control officer was arriving so they didn't get trapped.  Now the kitties were in the breeze, and she was worried. 

I know Pocket has a big heart, but I wish they had not whittled away at so much of her brain to make room.  If I were still on the mortal side, I would have gone under the house and flushed those kitties weeks ago. We are ratters for heaven's sakes.  It's in our blood. But, for all Pocket's barking, she does not want to bite, but to get hugs from everything she sees. I told her if you hug a kitty, you get claws in the back. 

As for River Song, she is more interested in developing schemes to get the cats out then getting dirty in the crawl space.  That girl has forgotten she is a dog. 
I promised Pocket when I went to the Bridge that I would never refuse one of her prayer requests.  I hadn't imagined I would be shepherding five kitties and their mom through our village at night looking for a new home. 

"The key to finding a safe place is locating one with a new car in the driveway signaling that the person living there has money to support you, evidence that the owner loves animals, perhaps a birdbath or feeder, and that they have an unsecured bottom,"  I told them as we searched for their new home.  

“We had that!" The mama cat said, "then the humans put down traps. What a betrayal."
"You shouldn't have picked a house where they already had dogs!" I said emphatically.
"Dogs? I thought it was a ferret with a thyroid problem and a stuffed squirrel."

I stifled a laugh. "We have to find somewhere nice for the kitties," I said.  'Hopefully, the human living there will find the little ones adorable, bring them inside and adopt them." 

"My babes are not becoming domesticated," the mom said.  "My father was a feral. His father before him was feral. His father before him was feral. That is four years of my family being feral.  That's an eternity. Live free or die is our motto."  

"Did you ever wonder why life expectancy in your family is about three years?"  I asked. "I know Pocket thought she did the right thing when she warned you about the traps, but the kitties would be better off in the shelter than on the street." 

"You mean in the system?" the mama said.  "No, thanks. we'd rather take our chances out on the street."  I couldn't say I blamed her. Those shelters are terrible places. Some animals are never the same after they come out. But it's better than getting ripped apart by a crazed coyote. 

We found a lovely house with a beautiful lawn. There were statues of little dogs outside signaling that the owner once had pets. There was a nice hole in the skirt and a 2018 Fiat in the driveway. I told them they found their new home. 

"We'll  try it,'" mama said, "but if the amenities under this house aren't as good as the other house we are going back."  I couldn't blame them. My parents are kind people with big hearts. The cats would probably be safer under their house than anywhere else. And I think my parents are out of the "working with the authorities" business. 

The house was 50 yards from mine. I'm sure they'll be visiting my parents soon enough.  And seeing how my sisters the ferret and the toy squirrel are treated maybe, they'll learn that being inside the house is the best of all. 


I checked out my parents' house before I l left. All was well.   I know I'll be back soon. My family needs all the angel help they can get.

Thursday, August 29, 2019

We Have Kitties!

Like a biblical plague of locusts for the past two years, we have been beset by cats.  Their main point of entry is by the HVAC unit. There was a hole between the skirt and the unit perfectly sized for a cat.  A tiny kitty could also squeeze between the gaps in the skirt that surrounds the crawl space under the house.  

From the first kitty sighting, River has been adamant that we needed to build a wall on our southern border to quell the cat invasion.  I, along with my parents, took a more measured approach. I told River just because we build a wall doesn't mean the kitties won't find a way in.  

In March the kitties, in an effort to keep warm, ripped off the heat duct that had connected the outside furnace to the floor grates. After a cold late winter weekend without heat, and a big old bill, my parents sided with River and built a brick wall along the gap where the unit meets the house.  They were all mutually satisfied that they had solved the problem.  

Eight weeks ago, my Dad and I saw a fat female cat trying to squeeze under the HVAC unit.  We chased it off. There were small oval cutouts on the unit's base. It didn't look like there was room enough to invade, but life finds a way.  Daddy shoved bricks into the oval cutouts and congratulated himself on a job well done.  

When we went outside I would stop and sniff the skirt. "I think there is something down there," I told River.

“Don't be silly." She said.  "They have no way to get in."  

Last Thursday, while Daddy was working, Mommy leashed us so we could go outside.  She was ready to go out the porch door when she saw five kittens and their mom lying in a sun puddle. The kitties looked like they were having grand fun playing.  "They couldn't have come from under the house," River said. Just like that, the kitties went behind the chair, pushed back the skirt, and slipped under the house.  

River was incensed that the wall she touted would work 100 percent of the time had failed.  I was happy that a more nuanced response to the kitty problem had proven to be wiser. Mommy loved seeing the kitties, but she knew they could not stay.  She called Daddy at work, and he called the Animal Control Officer.  

The officer said he could not come out until Tuesday.  When he did arrive, he would put out a couple of traps. This upset me.  I hate to think of an animal in a cage. The next day when we went out, the kitties were playing under the chair, and the cat was lying in Foley’s garden.  My Mommy prepared to take us out the front door. I stopped and barked at the kitties. “Run for your lives. They are coming to trap you.” The mama cat sat up and nodded her thanks. 

For the next three days, there was no sign of the kitties.  I hoped they had listened to me and had found safer ground. I barked one final warning when the man arrived with the traps.  He put them by the hole where the cats had disappeared. 

On Wednesday morning, the trap was empty, and I gave thanks that no one was caught.  On Thursday I saw something moving in the cage. I looked out the storm door and saw a big possum imprisoned inside.   “You my lawyer?” he asked. I told him I wasn’t. “Can you at least give me some cigs..I need something to trade-in here.” 
Daddy called Animal Control.  A short while later the man arrived, freed the possum and took the trap.  The kitties were safe! 

I contacted Foley who reluctantly agreed to watch over the cats,  and the poor possum too.  

I hope my parents have learned their lesson and won't try to trap kitties because when you do, you often end up with an ugly possum.    Daddy said he had sealed the skirt, but we expect to have more kitties next summer. 


Nature and life always find a way to spoil human plans.  I hope the persistent pussies proved this to my parents. 

Tuesday, August 27, 2019

Beat This Caption



You only have one baby in there?  My mom gave birth to six.  It doesn't seem to be very time efficient to give birth on only one 

Monday, August 26, 2019

Monday Question

What are some of the wild animals you have seen?

We have seen possums, squirrels, chipmunks, groundhogs, eagles, owls, vultures, deer, coyotes, turkeys, and rabbits.

Sunday, August 25, 2019

Darby the Shark Fighter Is the August 25, 2019



Earlier this week I was taxed with speaking to sharks and trying to dissuade them from getting close to Cape Cod beaches.  I went as a ghost. I knew if I took corporal form, I was at a high risk of being eaten up. I don't know any land creature that is brave enough to approach a shark. 

That was before I knew of Darby a 1-year old pit-bull who confronted a shark and lived to wag the tail.  This is Darby's story. 

Darby's dad, James White, was fishing from the shore at Bodega Bay in Sonoma County, California.  Darby stayed in the car overlooking the bay and wondered why he didn't just stay home and relax. Sometimes when we ask questions, we get answers we did not expect.  

James hooked something big.  He fought to bring it to shore.  It took him ten minutes to land what turned out to be a sevengill shark.  It wasn't just his fishing skills that helped him land the beast.  The shark was swimming to shore as fast as he was being reeled in.  Perhaps it was looking for lunch.  

At this point, Mr. White's experience as a fisherman nearly led to his undoing.  An inexperienced fisherman would have cut his line and thrown the shark in the sea.  Mr. Brown thought he had the skill to save his line. He reached down to remove the hook from his prey's mouth; the fish mounted a counter-attack. 

The shark twisted and bit down on Mr. Brown's ankle. It severed an artery.  Blood began pumping out of his body covering the shore.  To make a bad situation worse, the shark would not relinquish the hold.  White jerked and turned, hit and kicked hoping the shark retreated.  It was acting more like a fish who had caught a human than a fish caught by a human. 

Meanwhile, Darby was just chilling in the car when he heard his dad scream for help.  Sometimes, when our parents are in danger, we dogs let slip just how talented we are.  Darby opened the car door, hoped his father would not notice his ability to do so, and rushed down the hill.  Without a thought of his own safety, Darby attacked the shark's side biting its gills. 

Unfortunately, this only caused the shark to tighten his grip. White tried to call Darby off, but they would not leave his human in danger.  Realizing his first attempt was unsuccessful, Darby adopted a new tactic.

The only creature in nature who can match a shark's bite is a pit bull. Darby sunk his teeth into the shark's tail and locked on. He began to walk backward up the hill, dragging the shark until it relinquished hold of the leg.

When the shark was clear of his Dad, Darby let him go.  Mr. Brown limped up the hill, grabbed the shark, and threw it into the sea.

Mr.  Brown told everyone that Darby had saved his life.  There would be no parades, no testimonial dinners, just the knowledge that his Dad is proud of him. To a dog that is enough. 


And somewhere in the Pacific is a shark with a pit bull bite on its tail and a whale of a tale to tell.

Friday, August 23, 2019

Foley Enters the Shark Tank

I have never been a big fan of sharks. I try to avoid anything that can chew me up like a Liver Snap.  Even the sharks I meet at the Bridge are cold, aloof and impatient, like a starving man waiting for his order to be filled at Subway.  The only sharks I truly like are the little ones who swim around in a fish tank. My friends Max and Baron have one. He's awesome. He is another soul determined to show smaller is better.  

I have received several prayer requests from business' owners on Cape Cod who are seeing their summer season washed away because of the number of times the beaches need to be closed after another shark sighting.  No matter how good your sales are, no one wants to shop Shark City. 

I love fulfilling prayer requests, but this one was tricky.  I decided the best way to approach the sharks was to be a ghost. The ravenous predators were likely to eat the body I borrowed, and I did not want to visit their dreams because they are dark and twisty places. 

I decided to levitate above them as a ghost. If nothing else it would be a cool visual.  7
I spotted two sharks who were lazily swimming off of Nahant Beach.  I perched above their fins. "Excuse me, " I said brightly. "I am a ghost who needs to ask you a few questions." 

The shark leaped out of the water and tried to bite me, only coming up with vapor.  "Who is there?" He asked, excitedly.

I said I had been tasked with asking them to stop hunting close to the beach and scaring the humans so much they stop swimming.

"We only go close to the shore because that's where the seals are," a shark, who identified himself as Fred, said.  "Have you ever had one of those things? Crunchy on the outside, creamy on the inside, with a caramel center. They are delicious."
I told him I did not like seafood. "My brother Tom was like that,” Ed said.  “Hated seafood. Last I heard he was trying his fin at being a land shark. I wonder how that worked out?." 

I asked him if I got the seals to move if they would stay away from the beach.  Bruce, the second shark, shook his massive head. "Truthfully, we want to scare the humans, with their jet skies, their motorboats, paddleboards boards. They are messing up a perfectly quiet sea.  Sometimes we swim up to them and go: "do, do, do, do, do, do, do, do," and watch them freak out." 

"And sometimes we eat them by mistake, " Ed said. "Have you ever had human?  It's mostly fat, it's gamey, it has a horrible aftertaste, and it is hard to digest.  The grain-free is a little better, but we don't have time to read the labels.

I realized this was one of those dreams that would be answered with an affirmative "no."  But, at least I had tried. I thanked them for listening and said I must get back. The Cape Cod Small Business Organization demands to hear bad news immediately. 
They asked if I could go with them to the ocean floor to watch a movie. It was the shark version of "Jaws."   I was intrigued and said I could hang out with them a little longer. 

The movie was great.  At the end instead of Roy Schneider killing the shark with a lucky shot, the shark lifted its head out of the water and snapped old Roy in two then had a Dreyfus Dumpling for dessert.

I found, as would humans if they took a chance, that sharks were utterly delightful creatures with the one drawback that they might eat you.


But what's a lost leg between friends? 

Thursday, August 22, 2019

River Has a Drinking Problem

"That's enough, River!" I heard mommy say from off in the distance. Mommy never tells me this; she can't get enough of the things I do, except when I am slurping water out of the bowl. 

I am a dog of tiny mouth, nose, and tongue.  To fully quench my thirst I need to stick my face, up to my ears, in the water and lap like a hummingbird trying to get the last bit of frozen nectar from a feeder in winter. 

Mommy doesn't like me spending too long drinking water because I am not a good judge of how much I can hold.  Sometimes, when I finish, water gushes from my throat, causing me to leave a puddle on the floor. 

Pocket has a small snout too.  Still, she can get a drink by gently lapping water.  Conversely, she has no empathy for my troubles.  

"Did you double dunk that bowl?" Pocket asked while waiting behind me for a drink. 
"What?" 

"You took a dunk, you came up for air, and then you dunk again!'

"So?"

"That's like putting your whole head in the bowl!"

"I have to put my whole head in the bowl. It's how I drink!”  I yelled back.

Pocket shot me a disgusted look and walked away.  She complained to Mommy that I was leaving "floaters" in the water.  That is not my fault. I sniff outside then I get stuff on my big, thick beard. When I stick my head in the water to drink debris comes off. I hear Karl Marx had similar problems with soup. 

After I get a drink twice as much water drips from my beard, then I consumed.  I leave a water trail, like that monster in The Shape Of Water does on the floor.  If I am the monster, then Mommy is the cleaning lady following me around with a Swiffer to keep the water from settling and loving me with all her heart.

Then there is the problem with the noise I make while drinking.  I am rather loud. Mommy says it is a cross between two blind dolphins trying to French kiss and a hypoallergenic monkey attempting to perform oral sex on himself.   Either way, it seems to be upsetting to delicate ears. 

Forgive me, but I think I am an old school drinker.  Animals weren't meant to be like Pocket and delicately lap their water like a Disney princess caring for a dehydrated chipmunk.  We are meant to be noisy, like the rhinos slobbering up more than their share of water on Noah's Ark, or a bunch of Buffalo Bills fan doing a kegstand in the freezing cold stadium parking lot after another close loss.  

I may not be a proper date for a distinguished ball. I grunt when I eat, I snort when I drink, I fart indiscriminately, I leave a trail of water wherever I go, I am a double licker, I have been pregnant, I am not the dog you bring home to mother, but I am loyal, lovable, and give great stare.


I am an All-American dog.  God loves me for it. 

Tuesday, August 20, 2019

Beat This Caption



Nothing going on here kids!  Your mommy had something caught in her teeth and I got it out.  Now go back to your rooms and next time knock before coming in

Monday, August 19, 2019

Monday Question

Where is your favorite spot to be scratched?

Pocket: I like to have my ears scratched.

River Son:  My lower belly is my favorite spot.  

Sunday, August 18, 2019

Bella is our August 18 2019 Kitty of the Week

We don't have many happy Bridge crossings here. Sometimes a human-angel is awaiting a new arrival, and their reunion is poignant, but there is also a beloved person left behind  We are lucky if the repair done to a heart by the reunion equals the damage done by the parting.

This week we had a rare happy reunion, although I had to go to the cat village to experience it.  The saddest day for a pet is when their human leaves for the Bridge. It is worse if it is a single-parent home.  The pet not only losses their reason for living but their house too. If the pet is lucky, they will be placed with a family member.  If not they go into the system, loveless and homeless.


When our good dog mom friend Mama Teri's mother passed away, she left behind her beloved cat, Bella.  Mama Teri's mom had made arrangements for Bella to live with Mama Teri's sister and niece after she passed.  Bella was lucky to go to a home filled with love and compassion instead of being on a shelf at PetSmart next to the litter.  But Bella's heart still longed for the woman she had grown up with.


Bella was suffering from cancer and was ready to join her Mom at the Bridge  Her mom visited her in her dreams (we have the advantage of remembering our dream visits because pets' minds are more open to miracles than humans, which is why we still think the Mets can make the playoffs) and her mom asked her to stay just a little bit longer, and to play just a little bit longer, because she didn't mind, and if Bella don't mind, she could take a little time before she left it all behind to play one more time.


Bella could never refuse a request from her Mom.  She said she would keep the Bridge at bay for as long as she could to ease the family's suffering over their mom's loss.  She loved her mom's kids too.

One day last week, after being separated for months, Bella told her mom she missed her and was tired. Her Mom realized Bella had given all that she could and told her it was time for her to come to her true forever home.


There was a  substantial amount of tears shed on the mortal side when Bella took her last mortal breath.  Her soul came to rest in the River and once reunited with her body, she floated to the Bridge.


We dogs hurried over to the cat village to watch the reunion.  We have greeted hundreds of pets who were saddened by their arrival. Finally, we had a soul yearning to be an angel.  On top of that, we would have a mother and child reunion.

We were standing on a bluff above the Bridge.  Judge Cotton was ready to give the oath. Next to her was Bella's Mom wearing the body she had on the last time Bella saw her.  Loud cheers erupted as Bella climbed the stairs toward Cotton and her mom.

Bella anxiously waited as Cotton administered the oath, and then she jumped into her mother's arms. There were a lot of tears, but thankfully, they were happy tears.  Bella didn't need any lessons about visiting her Mom on the mortal side. They were together again forever.


The last time I saw Bella and her mom Bella was happy curled up on her lap, and her Mom was contently stroking her.  They looked like they could stay there for eternity.

\

Friday, August 16, 2019

For Our Friend Enzo: The Art of Racing in the Rain's Enzo is No Match for the Original


I got an urgent request from my old friend and fellow blogger Enzo today.  When I abandoned my “Ask Aunt Foley” blog, Enzo picked up the gauntlet and has been answering our fellow dog inquiries diligently ever since.   But what if he who answers has a question?

Enzo is suffering a crisis of confidence.  For years he has been the one and true Enzo.  But this week a movie called "The Art of Racing in the Rain" was released featuring a golden retriever named Enzo.   Our Enzo is afraid he is going to become a second rate Enzo. To see if his worries were justified, I screened the movie.

Kevin Costner voices Enzo. He does a fairly good dog, but if I had a voice like his, I would sit by the bowl all day and say: "If I sit next to it, it will be full."  What a wasted opportunity.

The biggest issue with Movie Enzo's character is that he yearns to be human.  Why the hell would he want to do that? Dogs are the superior species. Our pre-prepared food is plopped in front of us at the same time every day.  Humans have to go to prison to get that sort of service. Dogs and cats are the only souls who have their poop picked up and disposed of for them. Cats get it done once a day; dog poop has to be picked up when it is fresh.  Most humans come home from a hellish day at work, look at the dog, and wish they could change places. Who would want to be a human?

Also unrealistic is the love story between Milo Ventimiglia and Amanda Seyfried.   Whenever a young woman falls for a middle-aged man, you can bet some old, balding guy wrote it.  It left me with the feeling that Jack was hitting on Kate's older friend. Creepy.

Then there is the scene where Milo meets Amanda.  Enzo smiles at her and in his Kevin Costner voice, he praises her grooming habits.  Ridiculous! If this were a real scene, Enzo would stick his nose in her crotch. That is how a dog judges a human, not by the color of their skin, but by the smell of their crotch. The world would be a better place, with proper hygiene, if humans did the same.  This is why dogs are better than humans. Our Enzo can sniff Amanda Seyfried's crotch whenever he wants. The worst thing that happens is he’s told: "down boy."  Kevin Costner sniffs Amanda Seyfried’s crotch once, and it is a whole #Metoo disaster. Dogs rule!

Many humans assumed that after the couple meets the film would be a cute dog story like "Marley and Me," but it's "Marley and Me and Manchester By the Sea."  There is death and crying and suffering and a lawsuit and death and death and death. It does stand as a tribute to a dog’s ability to stave off suicide. Casey Affleck became so distraught in Manchester By the Sea he tried to kill himself.  Milo takes Enzo for a walk and it's okay.

The most important question:  Does the dog die? I did not watch until the end. I fell asleep, but my minions told me that Enzo does indeed leave Milo heartbroken.  The movie tries to sell this as a happy ending because Enzo is reborn as a human, but we dogs know it is our worst fears realized.  

My synopsis of the movie:   Boy meets dog and falls in love.  Boy meets girl and falls in love. Boy sufferers immeasurable losses. Boy loses dog.  Dog goes to hell. Happy movie!

So, do not worry, my dear friend Enzo.  Unless you are a human wanna be, or a no crotch smeller, or a pup who is uninterested in food, or a dog who thinks there is a better life without their parents, then you are the only Enzo worth recognizing.


Don't give this movie a second thought. In a week it will be gone from the theaters. A year later, it will gather a little buzz when it is on HBO.  And then it will be forgotten. Being forgotten is something you never have to worry about.

Thursday, August 15, 2019

Pocket Wonders if She is Her Own Worst Enemy

This summer has been excellent for walking. We have not had many bad stretches of weather.  There has been some storms, and days that it was too hot to walk, but they have passed quickly.  I don't think we have gone three days this summer without taking our constitutional — not a bad record for this vicinity.

This year we began taking our hikes in the front of our village near the old yellow barn. From there, we walk to the big field on the left.  We do this because my parents mistakenly think that River, and especially I, act like crazed dogs desperately in need of attention when we see humans, so they keep us away from populated areas. We only pass four houses on our new route. It has totally changed our waking habits.

Because the barn sees little activity, it has become a place for the creatures of the night to gather together.  When the sun comes up, they go back in their holes, but they leave behind the most amazing smells.  

If there is no room at the barn, the critters overflow to the field.  By the time we turn to go home, we are on sensory overload.

The different ways River and I sniff are an indicator of our personalities.  I try to sniff everything at once, my head bobbing up and down in the grass. River will find a single blade and bury her face in it studying it like a scientist examining a new flu strain under a microscope.

Still, we miss seeing our humans. Our interactions with them have been few and far between.

This week we were blessed to see two people on our walk.  Better than just seeing us, they stopped, smiled, and reached down to give us blessed attention.

We approached the couple the way we approach life.   River slowly, and silently walked up to the gentleman and gratefully took his scratches.  I went to the woman, excitedly barking: "Me!  Me! Touch me." When the woman did, I immediately went over to the man who had to be better at giving attention. I muscled River out of the way.  The man stroked me once. "Nope, the lady is better," I barked. I went back to find that she was not as good as I remembered, so I barked and went back to the man.  I kept this up for the entire two minutes and only got ten seconds worth of attention. How did this happen?

I barked at them as they walked away and then we went in the opposite direction. "You know," River said, "you would get more attention if you didn't act like a spaz."

Goes to show what she knows. A spaz always gets extra attention.

But, maybe River is right. Perhaps if I learned how to curb my enthusiasm, I would get more attention. Perhaps I am my own worst enemy.

Hark!  What is that sound?   Are those footfalls outside my door?  Bark bark bark. Off I go, exhibiting my enthusiasm.


It is something that should be celebrated, not shunned, even in the most spastic little dogs.

Monday, August 12, 2019

Monday Question

We stole this from a friend on Facebook:  How many poop bags do your parents go through on an average day?
Pocket:  I usually poop three times a day and River poops twice so our answer is five.  Someday it can be less, which is okay, if it is more it's trouble.

Sunday, August 11, 2019

Scooter Lawson is our August 11, 2019 Pup of the Week

Once again, we at Rainbow Bridge have been subject to the curse of three.  

This week Scooter became my third friend from the Judd-Lawson gang to ascend to the Bridge, joining his siblings Jack and Jill. 
Scooter's mama Tina has always had large packs. The bigger the pack, the more love in the house.  But, it also means there is more heartache.  

Scooter entered this world with several strikes against him. He was a puppy mill dog and arrived at the Judd-Lawson home with all the social issues and anxieties that accompany them.

It took a lot of patience to get Scooter assimilated to life as a family dog. It is likely, in less experienced families, that Scooter would have been surrendered.  But, Mama Tina had been challenged by dogs before, and she had never given up the fight. 

Scooter found his niche in the crowded pack.  He was goofy, weird, and quirky, which made him stand out.  His mom could not have loved him more if he had come from champion bloodlines.  

 Scooter was unable to avoid the health issues that plague puppy mill dogs.  In 2016, at nine years of age, Scooter became gravely ill. After days of mystery, as Scooter drifted further away, the vet diagnosed him with hemorrhagic gastrointestinal disease.  After medication, he was back to his quirky self.  

Three years later, that wasn't to be the case.  All dogs are given a certain amount of heartbeats.  Puppy mill dogs get even less. Scooter managed to get more than twelve years out of his heart, a startling achievement given his humble beginnings.   But, when the Bridge Charons told him it was his time Scooter had little energy to hold them off. 

The Bridge Charons are the ones who present us with the final illness, which will be the medical reason we go to the Bridge.  Without humans, we would leave without fuss, which is why you never see squirrels with cancer. They just go to the Bridge to further torment us.  But, people are logical, and they need a reason that we go, which is why we get the final disease. 

This one came without a name.  Scooter became tired and would not eat.  He spent a weekend at the vets, but there was no improvement.  He was in pain and exhausted. His mom knew she had to help her little man.  Heartbroken, she made the sacrifice of setting him free taking on all his pain on to herself. 

Jack and Jill were thrilled to be reunited with their little brother.  When he saw them, he bounded across the Bridge like a puppy, which is how he felt.  He was so grateful to his mom for taking away the awful pain. If possible, he is even more devoted to her as an angel.   

Scooter was given one privilege when he arrived. We angles have birds who are fed continuously. Scooter was allowed to send the birds to the puppy mill breeders who caused him so many problems and let the birds poop all over them.




Scooter attests that no revenge is better than Rainbow Bridge revenge.

Friday, August 9, 2019

Foley Shares Popular Dog Hashtags


We dogs have kept a secret from you humans:  We have our own Twitter. Like a high pitched whistle, these tweets are only recognized by dogs.  I have been allowed to share with you some popular hashtags. 

#WhatsThatSmell?: This one is always trending. As is,
#DidYouHearThat?

#NeverHump:  Very popular with the spade and neuter crowd.

#IsThatThunderOrFireworks?:  An oft posted and self-explanatory summer hashtag.

#WhereisMommyWhereisMommyWhereisMommyWhereisMommyWhereisMommy?: This, along with #WhereisDaddy? is tweeted a million times by nervous dogs throughout the day. When their parents come home the tweet #IsItSupperYet? is posted a thousand times.

#ThrowTheBallThrowTheBallThrowTheBallForTheLoveOfGodThrowTheBall: This is the number one trending topic at the park.

#FakeBrady: Someone who pretends to throw you the ball but doesn't, making you chase after nothing, and look foolish. 

#ChanelNumberBleh: A dog that had been shampooed so much they lost their natural scent.

#MuellerButtSniffer:  A dog who spends an abnormally long time sniffing your butt and when he is done he is unable to draw any conclusions about you.

#HisLifeIsAnOpenButt: Dogs who give away too much information about themselves on the first whiff.

#FoodMyHumanDroppedOnTheFloor: Self-explanatory.

#NurseRatchedTreat:  When you think you are getting a piece of cheese and you find a pill in it.  

#BitterLitter: When your ungrateful kids won't call you.

#SecondSuperDiner: A poop eater.

#Pussyhats: An ill-fated dog scheme to make cats wear sombreros.

#FreeASAPRocky: A plea for a squirrel to be allowed out of his tree so you can kill it right away.

#Resist: The bath

#MAGA: A proud post for dogs who visit senior centers and means My Adopted Grandma's Awesome.

#Hamburgular: A dog who steals food from the grill.

#CommonStreetWalker:  A dog who walks on the street with just a leash and collar.

#DrRichardKimbleForaDay:  A dog that runs away from home for a few hours then comes home.




#MyPeopleAreTheBest:  What every dog tweets constantly

Thursday, August 8, 2019

River Gets a Clean Bill of Health and a Bad Attitude

This week I had my annual examination, or as more commonly known, my yearly humiliation.

Every time I  get in the car without Pocket, I end up at the vet.  But, that does not stop me from thinking, when Pocket is put in her crate, and I go outside with my parents, that we are going somewhere magical where Pocket is not allowed.

I sat on mommy’s lap as we steered through town.  I smiled at everyone. Then Daddy turned into the vet’s office parking lot.  I still smiled, having convinced myself that it was a social visit. 

Mommy carried me inside.  Any chances that this was a social visit ended when we were told to wait in the foyer.  Welcome visitors are never told to sit and wait, only paying customers.  

I squirmed to get down.  Daddy told Mommy I wanted to explore.  Wrong! I remembered the last time I got an exam they asked for a fecal sample.  My morning poop had gone in the trash. Even though I do not like the vet, I am accommodating.   I took a giant crap in the middle of the floor while wearing a proud expression. To my surprise, the vet tech threw this crap out too. So my crap wasn’t good enough for them? This was not going to be a good trip.  

I was brought in the exam room.  The techs told me how cute I was.  I hate when you go to the doctor’s, and they tell you what you already know.  They put me on the scale. I despised the feeling of the metal under my paws and moved around trying to find traction.  This caused the reading to fluctuate. The techs waited until the reading was at the highest point, said that was my weight, and declared I gained a pound!  So hurtful, and so unprofessional. 

Then my back half was firmly gripped, and I realized my precious bodily fluid was under siege.  I tensed my muscles, pushed off with my paws, wiggled like a Kardashian trying to escape a pair of tight jeans, all to no avail.  The experienced bloodsuckers tapped me dry, or at least enough to fill a tube. I had been violated! How do you take my blood but my discard crap?  Momma inquired about the rejection of fecal matter, and the vet said they only test it if presented with a problem. I wish I had known that. I would have saved my poop for the shoes of those who had brought me here. 

Then the vicious techs left me. I had a few precious seconds to convince my parents we needed to flee.  Neither acquiesced. The door opened, and the vet proper, a lesser-Herriot appeared.

I stood silently while they checked my vital organs. I appreciate this part of the process and fully cooperated.  Then the vet smelled inside my ears. "She has yeast," the doctor said. "It smells like Doritos." 

Bitch, what?  Doritos? Like I didn't smell from behind the door that D'angelo's number nine sub you had for lunch.  You best not be coming up in here with a “smells like Doritos" comment when you is all mushroom steak and cheese breath.  You be trippin'. 

The vet told mommy if she cleaned my ears regularly, I should be fine.  Sure, my ears. But what about my pride? She then checked my pearly whites.  She pulled my lips back to see the big back teeth where even Julia Roberts has gunk.  She found the treasure of tartar. "You might want to consider getting them cleaned," the vet said.  Yes, and you might consider a high colonic at noon. 

The vet noticed the chafing on my belly. Poppa told her that was from my demanding need to be scratched there three hours a day.  The vet nodded. Great, now she thinks I’m cutting. 

Finally, the wicked vet of the west left.  A few minutes later, the tech told me I had a dormant case of Lyme disease, which I have known about for the past five years.  Some blame dormant limes for my sour disposition.  

The tech asked if I needed dental work, and my parents declined.  Foley and Pocket had dental work done. My parents know bad teeth when they see it, and mine still look good. 


And then, when we left, my parents had to pay money for this abuse.  I guess getting a reasonably clean if kind of smelly, bill of health was worth it, but I sure hope I don’t see the inside of that place for a year.  Now, I have to go. For some reason, I am craving corn chips.