Wordless Wednesday

 

Beat This Caption

 

Oh hey Larry. What are we doing? Just wrestling. Don’t be silly Larry. She’s my best friend’s wife, and I’m a dog. Don’t be foolish Larry. Why are you going in the closet Larry? What you got there Larry? Is that a vacuum? What are you doing with that Larry?  Don’t  plug it in.Don’t plug it in. ARGHGHH

Monday Question

Have you ever slept anywhere except your home?

Ruby's Answer: I have not. My parents travelling days are through. I did spend a night at a woman's house before I arrived at the airport here but since then I have been a home dog.

The Ruby Rose Report. Club Humpers

 I. am a night dog. When the covers are turned down it is my time to play. When I am done I lie in the bed, in the fugue state we dogs slip it, not really awake, and not sleeping.

It is a peaceful, easy feeling.

But, that peacefulness is interrupted by the most consistent noise that rips apart the night.

Rude downstairs neighbors.

I thought it was bad down there when the cats were inhabiting the crawl space, but then Peter Possum took over the lease, and it has been non-stop problems since then.

One night around 2:00 AM I heard a scraping sound under the house. I was sure Peter had killed someone and was hiding him under the sink. I jumped down from the warm bed, walked over to the large living room grate and softly barked down askling Peter what he was doing.

‘’Just some remodeling,’’  Peter explained. I told him it sounded like he was dragging a body. ‘

“Don’t be silly,” Peter aid. “I bury the bodies in the back of the shed.”

I wasn’t rolling in the grass there. I continued to press the possum on what he was doing down there. 

“If you must know, I am building a homeless shelter for feral animals. During the night there are cats, chipmunks, and an alcoholic groundhog who stumbles in here. Right now, we all sleep together with no privacy. It's not natural, do I build walls so I, the cats, and whoever may slink in during the night can be on their own and have privacy.”

I asked why they needed privacy.

“We are all feral, none of us have been fixed, and there is nothing to do all night, plus we have to keep warm. I have some beds with purple silk sheets with a matching comforter. There are purple curtains separating the rooms.”

I told him it sounded like a whore house.

“Not a whore house, it's the hottest club in town, called Fur Humpers. It will have everything: Silk sheets, crushed oysters, the first person off of Deal or No Deal Island, a mouse strip show, one of the lesser Kardasians, Stephen Miller on a leash, P-Diddy’s caterers, three flight attendants from Jeffrey Espteins’ plane, 1,764,216 recently laid off federal workers, and DOGE DEI hire Big Balls.”

I don’t know how he is going to fit everything under there but he is an enterprising little rodent. 

At least I am used to being up all night,

Poetry Thursday

The Two Spoiled Cats have provided for us this picture to inspire us for Poetry Thursday

  

The screen door slammed Mary’s dressed swayed

John watched from the edge of the driveway since he had been told to stay away

He yelled to her that she should climb in the front seat and their life would be nothing but play

She looked at him, sighed and said “Not today.”

The next week he followed her to work

Her life was very boring she was an office clerk

When she saw John looking at her through the window wearing a smirk

And she waved him off and called him a jerk. 

The years went on, Mary married and had kids

But of John she could not be rid

Her husband urged her to get a restraining order which she did

And John was told by the judge seeing her again was forbid.

John promised he would never darken her door

That is what the Internet was for

He paused as a widow who owned a bookstore

Mary made friends with the fake profile and John knew he could keep tabs on her forever more.

It stayed that way for years as they did age

His friends told him to move on but he couldn’t turn the page

Her husband passed when his lymphoma reached the genital stage

John decided to see her, but put it off, knowing it would send her into a rage

John was moving much slower

Instead of a a bike he had a mower

He put his faith in God in took off to see her

With a recliner on the back of the mower he would be her chauffeur

When Mary saw him she ran out of the elderly care door

She told him she was ready and that he couldn’t ignore

As she climbed in the chair and they took off his heart did soar

Unaware that Mary had dementia and thought she was going on a carriage with the duke of Windsor

wordless wednesday

 

beat this captioin

After years of crotch sniffing Floyd thought he had found the mother lode only to find it was a cruel hoax: Clara Belle was sporting dry holes

Monday Question

 We all fart. It is the only way to keep from exploding.

Tell me about your farts?

How often?

Loud or silent but deadly? 

How bad is the smell?

Also, when searching the Internet for a farting dog picture I got a lot of pictures of women fingering their va-jay--jay

Is farting dog a sex term?

What else about pets would be a good sex term?

I am the least farting of all Mom's dogs.

I am quiet when I fart.

Considering I do in infrequently I can stink up a room.

I think anal gland scoot would be l nn  

Foley's Tails From Rainbow Bridge: Foley, Grampy, and a TV torment Daddy

My dad is a gentle person, who is kind, and a little quiet. But, he inherited two bad traits from his father. He is easily frustrated and terrible at doing mechanical things.

When he was little, his dad tried to do something, like replace a rusted toilet seat, with a hammer and chisel, destroying the first toilet he and his wife had ever had together.

He never lived down the broken toilet seat, and his desire to DIY produced work equal to a lower rung DEI hire. It became a reason for his family to treat him with smug amusement. Even at the Bridge those scars did not heal.

Although he was never a dog person I do check on him from time to time. His birthday is next month and I asked him what he wanted. He thought about it and then said: ‘’Let’s mess with the boy.’’

I’m always up for mischief and knew my Grampy would enjoy seeing Daddy driven mad by a DIY project.

The first thing I did was kill the big mahawkin TV in the living room. I never liked it. It is too largefor the room. Unless they were hosting a film festival it was time for it to go.

When Daddy relaized it was expired he brought the TV from the bedroom into the living room. He carefully unplugged all the cables, and carried it into the living room. ‘’Watch this,’’ I said to Grampy, then wiggled my nose. The entire back of the TV changed.

‘’It’s all different,’’  Daddy told a skeptical Mommy.

‘Don’t be silly,’’ she said.

‘’I know I put the High definition cable here, and there isn’t a slot any longer,’’ Mommy rolled her eyes. ‘’And there is no place to plug the power cord to t*he TV.’’ Grampy and I snickered as it took him an hour to find the new slots.

Once Daddy had the substitute TY hooked up he  realized the TV strand was now much too big for the TV so he went to slide it on to a smaller table when he realized the TV had to be unplugged to bne moved. This was more fun than a day treeing squirrels. We changed the back of the TV again, making him yell even louder as his blood pressure rose along with his frustration.

Finally, he got it done, and the TV hooked up. All he had to do was use the remote to check the TV. I almost felt  bad because we had hid it behind the TV. It only took him an hour to find it.

Our masterpiece was knocking his glasses off the TV and onto the floor behind it. We hadn’t intended for them to fall into an open floor grate, or, for him, on the next day, to search for three hours for the glasses, before remembering the grate, and finding his glasses a foot down.

Two days later a new TV arrived and Daddy began to set it up. Grampy and I decided not to torment him (although it took some persuading to convince Grampy to stand down). I even helped him set it up, although there is only so much an angel can do with someone so mechanically inept.

The Ruby Rose Report: The Big Box

 

There is a glass box in our house that my parents study with great intensity all day long. I don’t mind it. The box leaves their hand clear which means I can get scratched, petted, and rubbed while the watcher keeps their eyes intently on the box.

There is only one time I pay attention to the box, when  that damn Liberty Mutual emu comes out to this entrance music. I wish I had entrance music, something that would play when I walk into a room. It would make me feel super important.

When the emu’s entrance music plays, I lift my head, or fight my way out from under the covers to watch the emu. Sometimes I give it a head tilt, or fight my way under the often present blanket to watch the emu. I have barked at it, and on days when  it is1particularly bothersome I even howled, which makes my parents laugh, which makes me angry because I don’t make fun of them when they howl.

This week one of the worst things that can happen to white, middle class, suburban, senior couples occurred.

The big TV passed away.

My parents went through the five stages of grief in the televisons’ final hours/

Denial: The screen went black mid progran, and the TV had to be restarted to get the picture back. They blamed the cable box, which could be returned and replaced for free.

Anger: My Dad yelled at the TV, and the Gods, who had foresaken him. Neither stopped the Tv’s decline.

Bargaining: My Dad said he would treat the TV better, not watch it as much, turn the brightness down on the screen, but it was too little too late.

Depression: There is nothing worse than  seeing a man genuflect in front of a black screen, then collpase on the floor, as slowly the truth necame apparent.

Acceptance: In a last second try, Dad unhooked the smaller bedroom TV, brought it in the front room, hooked it up wrong, again and again, as he grew madder until he got it right. Then he put it in on and the picture was perfect, which should have made him happy, but confirmed the big TV’s passing.

So now Daddy had to move the huge TV, and the two ton tv stand on to the porch, and then hook up the old TV. To say he had trouble is an understatement. Daddy said it was like someone was messing with him.

On Sunday Foley will pick up the story on how he tormented poor Daddy when he was trying to hook up the TV.

 

Poetry Thursday

 

This week's inspiration from the Two Spoiled Cats

At Wal-Mart you can find whatever floats your boat

You can find an inexpensive winter coat

If you injegested a toxin they have the antidote

And every third Thursday of the month you can get a half off goat

Goat

Goat

You can get half off a goat

Timmy got a shovel to build a moat

Mary some new pens to write a note

Gloria some pills for her sore throat

While Sarah bought a goat

Goat

Goat

Sarah’s going to have fun with that goat

For school Sam bought books to find a quote

He was an A student and he liked to gloat

For a birthday present Bobby got his dad a universal remote

While Sarah bought pants for her goat 

Goat

Goat

Sarah’s going to put pants on her goat

Elizabeth visited the pharmacy to get something for bloat

Danny was in clearance since his boss to him he had no choice but to demote

Sonja bought perfume to impress her new dreamboat

Sarah bought a clicker thinking she could train her goat

Goat 

Goat

Sarah thinks she can teach roll over to a goat

The fight between Mary and Jane over a half off microwave was cut throat

Johnny tried to find something with his grandfather’s birthday gift: A crisp c-note

Steven looked for shoes to wear on his new speedboat

Sarah bought cereal filled with oats for her goat

Goat

Goat

Sarah is going to give diarrehea to her goat.  

Senator Asher bought a new suit to get out the vote

Mrs. Smith bought the new Grisham book to see what he wrote

Tommy put back the candy he was going to steal remembering that if he did  God would smote

Sarah didn’t notice the hair on the back of her head had been eaten by the goat

Goat

Goat

Sarah is going to need a wig thanks to her goat

People got in line with everything they could tote

As they prepaped to pay with a banknote

They realized the store was not honoring what they did promote.

‘I am not paying full price for a flabby, flat assed, tattooed woman,’’

said the goat

Goat

Goat

You can’t put one over on a goat.

Wordless Wednesday

 

Beat This Caption

 

Henry was able to put three kids through college after inventing bird uber/ 

Monday Question

 Tell me a pet peeve that your parents have for you.

And, do you have a pet peeve about them?

My parents' pet peeve concerning me is my looking out the window and barking at nothing.

My pet peeve about them is when they aren't paying attention to me'

Foley's Tails From Rainbow Bridge: The Bird Flu

 

It is February and it has been a long time since I have been able to visit my parents as a bird. Some angels brave the cold to check on their family, but I am too delicate.

But, as we have passed the mid part of February #my thoughts have turned to the birds. I decided to take a walk to the bird body store to check out this year's model.

When I got there was a sign on the door that said ‘’Closed due to the bird flu.’’

I had heard of this affliction, but had not given it a lot of thought. Birds are the only creatures who are allowed to fly back and forth to the Bridge. It is why you never see dead birds on the ground. But with the bird flu dead birds are found in piles on the ground, and the new angels fly to the Bridge without their bodies, causing a shortage.

On the mortal side it has also affected the price of eggs, which has been bad news for the goose that laid the golden eggs whose output is now less expensive than store bought eggs. 

But none of that was my concern. I was consumed with the worry that come the spring months when my parents end their hibernation and stumble of out their abode like hobos off a rail car that I would not be in a pretty bird body to greet them.

I went to speak to the wise old owl who is in charge of the birds. I told him my plight but he was nonplussed, more worried about his brethren who could no longer take flight.

‘’Until we get a hold of this thing, birds are confined to their nests. Once a day the first bird who was hatched, born prematurely will go hunting because it has been ordered until this crisis is over that only the early bird gets the worm.’’

I protested but the owl could not be budged. ‘’I have seen you dogs in bird bodies. You fly too fast, you jump in the bird baths you canoodle in the nests, we can’t have that, at least until the flu runs its course.’’

I couldn’t argue. We dogs love to canoodle.

I went back to Doggyspace and put together a group to study the problem and find a bird substitute. They could only come up with bees. I am a first rate performer and I don’t want to be seen in a bee suit.

This year is not even good enough to be for the birds.

And I don’t see it getting any better. 

It is February and it has been a long time since I have been able to visit my parents as a bird. Some angels brave the cold to check on their family, but I am too delicate.

But, as we have passed the mid part of February #my thoughts have turned to the birds. I decided to take a walk to the bird body store to check out this year's model.

When I got there was a sign on the door that said ‘’Closed due to the bird flu.’’

I had heard of this affliction, but had not given it a lot of thought. Birds are the only creatures who are allowed to fly back and forth to the Bridge. It is why you never see dead birds on the ground. But with the bird flu dead birds are found in piles on the ground, and the new angels fly to the Bridge without their bodies, causing a shortage.

On the mortal side it has also affected the price of eggs, which has been bad news for the goose that laid the golden eggs whose output is now less expensive than store bought eggs. 

But none of that was my concern. I was consumed with the worry that come the spring months when my parents end their hibernation and stumble of out their abode like hobos off a rail car that I would not be in a pretty bird body to greet them.

I went to speak to the wise old owl who is in charge of the birds. I told him my plight but he was nonplussed, more worried about his brethren who could no longer take flight.

‘’Until we get a hold of this thing, birds are confined to their nests. Once a day the first bird who was hatched, born prematurely will go hunting because it has been ordered until this crisis is over that only the early bird gets the worm.’’

I protested but the owl could not be budged. ‘’I have seen you dogs in bird bodies. You fly too fast, you jump in the bird baths you canoodle in the nests, we can’t have that, at least until the flu runs its course.’’

I couldn’t argue. We dogs love to canoodle.

I went back to Doggyspace and put together a group to study the problem and find a bird substitute. They could only come up with bees. I am a first rate performer and I don’t want to be seen in a bee suit.

This year is not even good enough to be for the birds.

And I don’t see it getting any better. 

The Ruby Rose Report: Stressful Humans

 When River Song first approached me, at the same home she was born in, to interview me for her former position as the family dog, she told me that mostly life would be quiet, filled with long afternoons of resting on a blanket, followed by nights snuggled under a blanket until bedtime and sleeping with her parents.

At first, I made it seem like it was something I needed to consider, but after almost a year of living in Florida with a big pack, I was ready to be an only and it's been a single day why lives  peacefully ever after (which is better than happily ever after, which seems like a lot of work and very loud).

But River also told me the downside.

Both she and her parents had dealt with more than their allotment of stress, which had created two monsters buried within them, and it would be my job to suppress the monsters and drive them back down the hole.

River told me the monsters showed themselves in different forms. Mommy's monster is quiet and sneaky. Everything will seem fine, and then there will be a single tear.

Daddy’s monster is easier to spot. His breathing changes, his face turns red, and then something goes flying. Daddy is a thrower, but he has matured, and now only throws non-breakable items into the couch.

But, I soon found out, the telltale sign of the monsters rising is a change in the way they smell. I often know they are stressed out before they do, which makes me an early warning of the stress system. 

River also warned me to ignore Daddy’s sports related stress. It may seem silly, but it also brings out the monster, for a few fleeting seconds. ‘’No dog can fix sports stress’’ Foley told me.

She recounted a story from 200. The Patriots were playing the Panthers in the Super Bowl, and later in the game the Patriots scored a touchdown and both my parents yelled, waking Foley, who was asleep on Mommy’s lap. At the time they were living in the condo with stairs that had two turns and landings on it. Foley got out of the chair, went up to the first landing, looked at my parents, shook her head in disappointment and went up stairs to lay on her blanket.

Since then my parents have tried hard not to cheer during a game.

After River left and I got the job I, when the stress monster appears on Daddy I put my paws on his leg and implore him to pick me up, which he is reluctant to do , because he is busy being stressed, but I persist until he does, and I always calm him down, or at least switch his focus to me.

With Mommy it is different. She is usually in her recliner. I start on her lap. Grab a hold of grand tetons, pull myself up to her face, and lick away the stressful tears, and then the ones caused by more claws.

I work hard at keeping the stress monsters at bay, but there are more things to trigger the monsters every day.

I think all dogs are finding their parents’ stress monsters getting stronger, but we dogs are ready to defeat whatever empowers the monsters

Being a stress dog isn’t easy.

Thank God I sleep 20 hours a day

Poetry Thursday

 

This week's inspiration from the Two Spoiled 

Jimmy was playing on the floor

When he stood to make a diaper pee

Then looked up at the closed door

And thought ‘’there is a kid who looks just like me.     

They studied one another in great interest

The boys stood simultaneously

And moved without a difference

Both studying the boy who looks just like me

Jimmy pointed at the baby who pointed back

Then they touched their knees

They lifted their shirt to show their tiny six packs

One belonging to the boy who looked just like me

A head turn to the right

And hold i for a count of three

Jimmy was impressed with how bright

Was the boy who looked just like me

Sit down, sit up, spin around

They pretended to ride a pony

Jimmy threw himself on the ground

And so did the boy who looked just like me

Jimmy’s mom opened the door
And Jimmy shouted with glee

But suddenly across the floor

Went the boy who looked just like me

Jimmy stood his mouth open in shock

As he mommy picked up then boy who looked like me

His mom looked at him, and began to talk

Saying ‘’Why do you keep forgetting your twin brother Timmy?’’

Wordless Wednesday

 

Beat This Caption

 

Private Smith checked his watch. If Corporal Cupcake didn't climax soon Private Smith wouldn't have time to plow that bitch before they disembarked 

Monday Question

 Do your parents ever act like a dog or cat to play with you, and do they ever bark or meow to see your reaction

Ruby's Answer: My dad will get down on all fours and play pounce with me. We both get our heads near the floor, and butts up in the air, and then I pounce and lick his face.

Sometimes he barks, but he doesn't know what he is barking about.

Foley's Tails From Rainbow Bridge: How Tariffs Effect Dogs

It has been a hard winter, and as we enter the third year of the second Trump term, we all could all use answers.

(Pocket’s editor note: After she wrote this I informed Foley that Trump has been President for less than a month, which was quite shocking, since I am immortal and have aged five years since January 20.)

So. to help combat this stress. I, Foley T Monster has found my AsK Aunt Foley hat, and am here to answer your question to ease your minds.

So let’s open the old mailbag.

As always, these are fake letters from real dogs.

‘’How will tariffs affect dogs?’’

• Professor Peabody. Bell Labs.

Dear Professor Peabody: First, let me say I am relieved that the tariffs implemented against Mexico and Canada have been removed thanks to the brilliance of President Trump, or the buffonary of President Trump, depending on which channel you watch. Humans have a difficult time with the truth. Dogs have a much easier way of finding the truth, by  using our nose, although it would take days to fully sniff and judge the President. You can’t see the entire Grand Canyon in one viewing. 

Anyhow, I am glad I don’t have to pay extra whenever a Canadian grease poops in my yard or a Chihuahua leaves me a pee mail. 

But that still leaves China.

That is the country that every dog food company swears that they don’t get any food from, and now have to decide if they should try to hide it and take a loss, or raise the prices anyway and blames it on delays on the Panama Canal which will be another country we have a showdown with. We also are taking over the Gaza Strip. Our foreign policy is being run by an ADD afflicted kid on the spectrum and a spastic colon. 

The good news is I don’t think any of our favorite foods, or treats are going up in price.

But if you love Kong toys, or others you are in a bit of trouble  snce the majority of pet toys are made in China. That country can make things the American Way, overpriced and highly destructable.

On Saturday, in a local store, two parents were talking, with their dogs on their leash, when suddenly one bit then other in the nose and held of for maybe 30 seconds. The victim was a little bloody but unhurt.

Then it was noticed the dog had a Trump leash.

The attacker must have been upset about his Kong going up in price.

I am thinking tarrifs are not all their hyped up to be.

The Ruby Rose Report: The Night time is the right time for pig snouts

I read the exciting adventures my friends have, car trips, dog shows, train rides, running on the beach, dashing through the snow, or laying before a roaring fire. Meanwhile, I am either on the back of the couch, a lap, or my mat, where I chew on my toys, for about 20 minutes, before I start looking for a warm lap or a soft piece of furniture. 

But, when bedtime comes, and I am put on the big bed, it is time to work off that pent up energy. I charge around tbe bed, I get scratches and rubs, I build little walls with the blankets so I can play fort, and mostly, I chew.

I have become in a year and a half a bone connoisseur.

When I arrived here, many moons and pounds ago, I would chew anything, if it was made for a dog or not, but, being a dog of great intelligence, I learned quickly what was cute and what was tragic.

All humans, when they begin drinking alcohol, but the skankiest stiff, which is made to make people want to never drink again, but never does. 

We  dogs start out chewing plastic bones which are tasteless, and flaky. Like cheap beer they are made to decrease the desire to chew, but dogs like me persevere.

 

I love my Mom she is my heart human, but if she was my bone connection I would still be chewing plastic, but, because of my mom’s lack of mobility, Dad does the shopping, which works for me doubly: One - I get to spend more time on my Mommy’s soft lap, which I have broken in to perfection; and Two -my Dad wants me to have the best bed chews, because he likes to watch me, and knows if I don’t have a bone I sit on his chest and licks him until I either get to the chocolate inside or pass o

I now consider myself a bone connoisseur and I owe it to me Dad who, like Mikey’s evil brothers from the Life commercial, gives me something to eat I don’t let them down.

I have chewed on kangaroo, collagen, and dish fish skins They must be small, but not too small so I can choke on it. They must not be too easy to chew so I don’t eat them but not too tough so I lose interest.

I have settled on pig feet, ears and snouts as my favorite. I get them for a half hour every night. I could stay all night chewing but my selfish parents want to go to sleep. 

I roll around on the bed, build my forts, climb on top of Mommy for a preventive breast exam, and finally go to sleep, where I have the same dream.

I am being chased by an angry pig with no ears, feet or snout.

Poetry Thursday

This week's inspiration from the Two Spoiled Cats

Once upon a time there were three little girls who went to the police academy

And they were each assigned duties that were not gnarly

But now they live with me in a hospice

My name is Charlie

There is Sabrina, the smartest at 102

She used to do jujitsu, karate and defeat any attacker with ease

Now it takes her four cups of coffee

Just to cut the cheese

Then there is Jill the sexy one

Every man dreamed of taking her to their place

But she was one step ahead always getting her man

Now her breasts hang down to her waist

Kelly was brave, always putting her life on the line

She escaped so many traps her lives were much more than nine

Some say her mind was slipping no longer sharp

But her confusion came from her habit of drinking four bottles of wine

They still wear their bikinis, swim suit, and short dresses

They strap on their high heels and strut down the hall

They still act like the did in their twenties

Except for when they break their hip in a high heel caused fall

They still can’t help but flirt

And use their feminine wiles

But their seduction is not appreciated

As they uncomfortably move trying to ease their piles

They were once young, brave, and strong

They got by using their wits

Now they are a constant cause of complaint

When they flash the lunch staff their tits