Monday Question

 What do you do when your parents come home?

Ruby: I stand up by the front kitchen window and watch them then get on my back legs when they enter and expect to be greeted first. (If it's Daddy I give him a face bath when he gets home,)

The Ruby Rose Report: The Attack of the Mole Man

 This week was filled with danger. The mole men got under the house and tried to attack us. Luckily my barking kept them away.

It started with a puddle. During a walk, Daddy saw a familiar wet spot by the back concrete steps, he had seen it before but thought it was runoff from the rain, but it hadn't rained for three days. He removed a slat from under the house, looked under, and said some made of HBO words. By the time he called a plumber, I was sleeping.

Three days later, a man appeared tasked with climbing under the house supposedly to fix the leak, but he had sinister plans. He opened the door beneath the house and let the mole man out.

He crawled out of his hole, thirsty for Griffon's blood, and began hammering, trying to break the floor and come inside. I ran to the grate under the house and began to bark at the mole man to leave, but he persisted.

He was trying to wrench the floorboards off to get to us. My parents seemed to find this all normal, as they did not let the mole people bother me.

The man who opened the portal for the mole men must have closed the hatch each time she crawled out from under the house because the noise stopped. He left, and I thought we were safe, but apparently, he had to buy parts for the mole people, and he was soon back under the house, and the banging and wrenching restarted.

This went on for hours. I think my defending the house worked because, with my super hearing, I could hear the man saying that the "job" was more complicated than he thought. There is nothing worse than a whiney mole man.

Finally, the mole men were defeated, and the man who unleashed them in the first place expected payment. I was incensed. These mole me exterminators have you by the short hairs.  

That night I got a dream visit from River Song. She explained that she had loosened the clamps on all the pipes before she left for the Bridge, causing them to leak and driving her feral kitty animals from the spot under the porch. "I didn't want you to have to deal with them," River said.

I thanked her and didn't let on how I felt.

I would rather deal with a hundred feral cats than the mole men.

Nature Friday

Welcome back to my Friday introduction to our blooms via the Blog Hop hosted by our friends Jake and Arty. 

This week we are doing the plot known as St Anthony’s Garden, the central garden, the big garden, and most importantly, Foley’s park, so named because she thinks it’s the biggest and the best.

Here are some newly planted Impatiens called the Jonas brothers. Usually, we lose a couple to the Heat; poor Nick looks a little pale.

This is Billy the Great Big Lily. He is our giant plant but only produced a few bids. Rumor is it might be a victim of downsizing.

This is Sasha, the Shasta Daisy looking to have a good time.

This is  Woody, the oriental bittersweet. It looks like Woody is a weed to me.

Here are the Lily, Sistera Olga, and Gwen. They had a fight about a cross-pollinating bee.

Next week: The Pocket Garden

Poetry Thursday

 

Once again, Angel Sammys and Teddys Pawetaton have provided us with a photo for Poetry Thursday.

We are all born with different talents

Some silly, some downright gallant

But little Elvis could do one with ease

He was very fluent in squeakanese

When he got his first squeaky toy

He carried it in his mouth with joy

He squeaked it in his little mouth

And heard something that made his heart drop south

“Put me down,” the toy said in squeakanese

And Elvis looked around to see who he did displease

But it was just him and his toys in the downstairs bedroom

Elvis looked down at the toy wearing a worrying frown

“Keep me out of your mouth,” the toy did warn

It was the most surprised Elvis has been since being born

Elvis asked: “How can I understand you?”

Elvis did not have a clue.

“When we squeak, we are not just making noise

Just because we know it annoys

We are begging not to be de-squeaked

Just because you're in a fit of pique

“It is a very special dog who understands us

And now we have something for you to discuss

Tell all your dog friends that toys have feeling too

An entire species has put their faith in you.”

Elvis felt bad and wanted to help

And he hated to hear the squeakers yelp

But dogs are meant to chew, and toys be chewed

And he just hoped whatever he put in his mouth wasn’t rude.

Wordless Wednesday

 

Beat This Caption

 

I knew it. They cancelled my Chewy delivery. UPS strike my ass

The Ruby Rose Report: The Busted Buggy

 

Ruby has filed her weekly report. Here is your copy.

Last week I was accused of something that was not my doing: The destruction of the pack's buggy.

It has been passed down since Foley. I realized that I made it an antique, but it also met that it was old, maybe too old for service.

Every dog, including me, has grown bored in the buggy and wanted freedom. We pressed our heads against the front screen as souls who attack things head-on. We didn't expect this to have any effect, but over time, I maintained the zipper became worn, so two weeks ago, when bored, a little hot, and wanting a head scratch, I placed my noggin against the screen and suddenly it gave way. My head was out, but I was not happy. I knew the buggy was broken beyond repair.

Now, you may have several suggestions on how to fix the zipper. Still, given the people I had to work with and their limited mechanical abilities, the buggy was as totaled as a race car with a flat tire whose pit crew was entirely composed of badgers.

I could not get out of the buggy because I was tethered to it by a short strap, but my Mom did not want to put her faith in the thin, two-inch piece of fabric. So, the buggy was still functional and was even better because it was now a convertible, but it did not pass the mom inspection and was sent to the junkyard.

I was excited when a new buggy was ordered. It would be solely mine. I planned on decorating it in my style. My happiness ended as soon as I went to sleep.

I usually entered sweet dreamland, but I found myself in Judge Foley's courtroom, where I stood accused of destroying the family carriage.

I was disadvantaged since Foley was both the judge and the prosecuting attorney.

She began to speak. She called me careless. She called me reckless. She called me guilty and said I should be sentenced to be her dream butler for six months. It is the greatest penalty a soul can pay.

I was so gobsmacked I couldn't mount a defense. Then my savior appeared: Pocket Dog. First, she used the indisputable law of physics to state that my tiny head and tinier brain could not devise a way to break the buggy. Then she asked for a sidebar and approached Foley with a picture of her pressing her bulbous head against the zipper.

Pocket approached Judge Foley and showed her the picture. She turned red, then declared a mistrial. She did not want evidence of her guilt to be disclosed.

I enjoyed my new ride in the yard while my parents sweated in the gardens. It is a little unsteady because it has only one wheel in front, and when no one was looking, something tipped me over.

Then I saw the ghost of Foley snickering.

She had her revenge.

Still, it's better to be sideways than a butler.

Foley's Tails From Rainbow Bridge: Cosmo

 

Momma Silve has sent a lot of dogs to the Bridge. Having a lot of experience, you would think it would be easier, but they only get harder.

Parents never get over the passing of a beloved pet. They are, over time, able to bottle it in leaky containers that can't contain the pain, which seeps out periodically, and when heartbreak is experienced, as when a dog goes to the Bridge, those bottles are shattered. The heart has to collect the grief and bottle it again. Each time becomes more difficult.

Her newest angel, Cosmo, shattered the bottles when he went to the Bridge this week, dredging up memories of previous angels, like the latest, JD and Wendy.

Having lots of pets in your life means you have a lot of love and pain. The love outweighs the pain but is all-consuming when the latter is fresh.

Cosmo lived a long time on the mortal side. He did not suddenly get sick but slowly faded away as he aged, with his body slowly breaking down. When you see someone every day, you may not notice the changes as they age, like a picture that is gradually fading, until you look at it one day and realize you can barely see it.

Momma Silvie's baby boy reached up and touched the sky before splashing into the River of Life. He emerged from the water just south of Rainbow Bridge, which he warily crossed. Having siblings already there makes the transition easier, but it still takes a brave to begin life anew in a strange place.

JD and Wendy were the first to meet Cosmo. Passing over can be confusing, so the elder angels explained to Cosmo where he was. Having his feat confirmed and knowing he was not living with his mom was heartbreaking for the little pup, but at the Bridge, with so much beauty, good friends, and freedom from fear, it is hard to maintain sadness, and soon Cosmo began to feel joy in his heart.

Summer is an excellent time to become an angel. In the northern hemisphere, all the ways to visit a parent are available, from birds to bees, to little furry animals, and before the day was done, he was outside his mom's house, as a bird, watching his mom mourn him and waving his wings to signal he was there.

He and his siblings plan to be there every night.

And he will return to a happy care free land where sadness, worry, and pain are rare emotions.

If only parents could experience the same, there would be a lot less suffering in the world.

Nature Friday

Welcome to this week's Nature Friday. Thank you to Rose and Sunny for hosting it

These flowers are in the side garden, more commonly known as the River Song Garden.

Here are the Black Eyed Susans.

Her name is Sarah

She has a drinking problem.

This is a Common Speedwell

His name is Dexter

He doesn't like to be called a Common Speedwell

He chose Dexter because he thinks it's an uncommon name

I know it's not clever but he's a plant

This is his brother Dennis

He doesn't mind being common

I think he's Gay

Our Hydenga is just starting to bloom

We call him Slow Bob because he's a later bloomer

This is from our first Butterfly Bush called Jules I

River loves butterflies which is why this is her garden

It got cut down to almost the base this year anc came back

You can't keep a good Butterfly Bush down

This is from our second butterfly bush

You would think it would be called Jules II

Instead it demands to be called Vladamir the Impaler

Some bushes had delusions of grandeur

That is the tour of River's Garden

A den of liars, theives, and deluded bushes

Join us next week for Foley's Garden

If you don't you will face the wrath of Foley

Don't day you weren't warned

 

Poetry Thursday

 

Once again, Angel Sammys and Teddys Pawetaton have provided us with a photo for Poetry Thursday.

Roscoe was a happy dog living with just his mom

It was quiet and fun

Then his mom told him something that almost made him break out with mange

She was getting married but nothing was going to change

That wasn’t really true

He said to his Mom: “There’s a guy sleeping between men and you.

Can you make an exchange,”

She assured Roscoe nothing would change

Then one day she sat Roscoe down and said she was having a child

It would be cute, happy, playful, and not wild

But the two of them would never be estrange

And nothing would change

Roscoe’s mom was taking an experimental drug 

The doctor said she may have more than one, and she said humbug

Sure there were some things they may have to arrange

But nothing would change

Everyone was shocked when she had 17

And Roscoe’s life would never be serene

And from now on for food, he would have to scavenge

But nothing would change

Soon she found caring for 17 at once

With a husband she always knee was a dunce

And she was sure she would soon derange

And something had to change

She left in the middle of the night

And now Rosco and the dunce face a great fight

Their prospects looked poor in the short-range

Because there were 17 babies who all needed a change 

Wordless Wednesday

 

Beat this Captain

 

You are under arrest. You have the right to feed the cat. Anytime you don’t feed the cat will be held against you. 

Monday Question

 Does the heat affect you?

Does your palace have AC?

Is there anything special you do to beat the heat?

Ruby's answer

Being from Florida the heat does not bother me.

Yes, I would not live in a house without AC

I drink more water, and don't spend as much time under the blanket.

The Ruby Rose Report: A Pocket Warninh

 

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I respect all my ancestors and am often visited by them in my dreams. River, the one who chose me, is my most frequent guest, and Foley, the head of the table, ensures I am treating you right. Then there is Pocket, who appeared at the cusp of summer to issue a warning.

Pocket told me that the thunderstorms were coming, they would frighten me a tremendous amount, and if I needed her, to think of her, and she would be my thunder buddy. I had heard of Pocket's fear of thunderstorms and was touched by her selfless offer.

The first bad storm we got, I was on my mom's lap, under a blanket. I heard the bangs but knew I was safe and stayed there for the duration.

Pocket came to see me that night and asked if I was scared, and I said I wasn't. She informed me something worse was on the way, what she called the Fourth of July, when the sky exploded with whistles, booms, and fire. It sounded scary and not what I was used to, having spent my first Fourth in the part of Florida where everyone sleeps an hour before Mr. Night arrives.

But it rained on the Fourth, and there were some bangers on the Fifth, but it didn't bother me. I woke up to see Pocket looking over me in my dreams: "Are you made of stone?" she asked. "Every Foley got shaken up by fireworks." I shrugged. I am a naturally quiet dog.

Then we got a string of bad storms, one worse than the other. They came during the night, with the thunder rolling like a thousand approaching stormtroopers and rain beating down on our roof, like Pukwudgeirs banging on the shingles, trying to break in. Occasionally the wind would howl like rabid werewolves approaching from the woods—the lightning flashes, lighting the house in a most unnatural color. It is while fire in the sky, striking randomly, and, if you are unlucky and your home is hit, it could burn to the ground.

I stayed under the blanker during the storms, knowing I was safe. The next night Pocket appeared in my dreams and told me it was obvious I was not scared of storms and didn't need to be carried around the house when they were happening, or held and snuggled to sleep, or get special attention just because there was a storm. Pocket told me she was proud of me.

And I started to think maybe it would be better, snuggle-wise if I was afraid.

Nature Friday

 I am joining Rosy and Sunny for the Nature blog hop. It has taken a long time for our gardens to be presentable. I hope you agree that they are Rosy and Sunny worthy.

We have six gardens: The front garden, the River garden, the Foley garden, the Pocket garden, the back garden and the second chance garden.

This week we are concentrating on the front garden, our yard’s oldest, located in front of the house.

Here at my blooms

This is a great laurel with some black eyed Susan’s pooking through. Its name is Meryl,

This is a Day Lily. Its name is Fred

Here are the beautiful clematis. Its name is Paul.

This Hosta ventricosa is named Steve 

This Oxkeye Daisy is named Bruce 

The purple coneflower is named Natasha

And that is it for this week. Join me next week for the side garden 

Poetry Thursday

 

Once again, Angel Sammys and Teddys Pawetaton have provided us with a photo for Poetry Thursday.

Bob’s job was causing him stress.

His doctor told him he had to worry less

He suggested Bob start doing yoga

The doctor knew a good one in Saratoga.

Bob decided to find online poses.

Not wanting to go to a class and having a pretty girl grow his

These were the type of worries that made Bob an emotional cripple

(His therapist thought he was too young to be weaned from the nipple)

He was doing a pose called cobra

A position that made his dog Fred guffaw

“You should try it,” Bob told Fred

“It will make your problems go away,” he said

Fred could not relax.

It had been that way since he left his pack

He had never heard of yoga for dogs

It sounded like the kind of thing native to tree frogs

Fred lay next to Fred on his belly

He thought to bend like Bob, his spine would have to be jelly

He lifted his head and turned his back, yelling, “look what I can do.”

I felt like his penis was attached to the floor by superglue.

He looked over his shoulder to check out his butt

And saw it wrinkled up on the other side of his guy

He thought it made him look like a relaxed shar pei

With an ass like that, he knew with the girls, he would slay

For Bob, the treatments did not work

At work, he was still a stressed-out jerk

But for Fred, yoga changed his life

He made friends, earned kibble, and got a trophy wife

Yoga isn’t for everyone. That is true

But for Fred, he gave him a new life

He is now a dog yoga instructor and lives without doubt

He just couldn’t figure out why he was so stressed out