Tails From Rainbow Bridge: Flying in the Hurricane with 12, Chappy and Fuzzy

The deluge of weather related prayers have continued.  We angels have barely had a moment’s rest.  We wish we could do more.

I had just settled under the covers after a 14-hour grind of prayer delivery when there was the sound of a giant paw banging on my door.  I crawled out of bed and opened the door.  12, my massive angel friend and his brothers Chappy and Fuzzy Bacon stood in my doorway.

“Do you know what my mom did?” 12 asked.  “She got someone to go to Tommy Tunes’ Dad’s house to board up his windows for him before Irma hits.  She is his guardian angel.  We have to help my mom aid our friends.”

I invited them inside and made them cocoa.  “I understand you boys want to help people, we all do.  I have even met with Mother Nature.  She is one fierce witch.  But there is nothing we can do.”

12 cleared his throat.  “If Mommy can get Tommy’s Dad’s windows boarded up from four time zones away then there must be something we can do.”

“I wish I could think of something buddies but I can’t.”

“What if,” Chappy began, “like a team an angel superheroes we fly into the hurricane?”

I spit out my cocoa.  “Fly into a hurricane?  We would be knocked to Jupiter.”

“I don’t think so,” 12 said.  “I have the size and strength to impede the storm, Chappy has the charm to lessen its anger, Fuzzy has the ferocity to combat it, and a hurricane is nothing but a bunch of swirling air.  No one sucks the air out of a room like you Foley.”  Everyone else’s superpowers sounded so much more impressive.

“Our jobs are to be angels,” Chappy contributed.  “If that means flying into the hurricane in a feat of futility then that is what we do.”

“It is futile Chappy!” I said.  “But, we are angels, and the job of an angel is often futile, so I say let’ fly.”

We took off that night because if you are going to do something stupid you need to do it right away before you think it through.   We approached the storm from the west.  12 took the lead.  We flew into the wind, and the four of us bounced off of it.  We regrouped.  Chappy suggested we form a spear with 12 at the tip.  We flew into the storm again, and this time we penetrated deep inside of it.  We were violently thrashed back and forth.  12 put his shoulder to it and tried to get it to move, Chappy tried to reason with it, Fuzzy barked at it, and I tried to suck up as much wind as I could.  

We found ourselves in the eye of the storm.  Chappy told us to follow him, and he found a weak spot, and we flew out of the hurricane.  We landed at my house where we all curled up and went to sleep.

we awoke, we hurried to see what fury the storm had wrought.  I don’t know if we accomplished anything except giving ourselves some bruises, but even if we were able to decrease the wind speed by one mile an hour, or push it just a mile out to sea, it was worth it.

Every little bit helps when the rain falls, the wind blows hard, and the tide surges.  

I know, like 12, Fuzzy and Chappy’s mom everyone will do what they can to help.  We are all one another’s angels.  

12 is our April 1, 2012 pup of the week

This is one of the hardest blogs I have ever had to write. I have put it off for more than a week. Sometimes I believe, after dogs have gone to the Bridge, that if I don’t acknowledge it then the pups not gone. But that isn’t true. 12 isn’t here anymore.

I think I have had two lives. One where I lived in my house, went for walks, lay on Mommy’s lap, and the second, far more rewarding life, where I do all that stuff, but I also spend time visiting my friends on the Internet and uploading myself to their houses. I don’t think there was a single day of my second life, going back to the pioneering dogs of Doggyspace, that 12 was not a part of my life.

It seems like the first time I stepped into this big online playground the first dogs to greet me were three oddly named, mismatched dogs: 12, Chappy and Whiskey. And we knew, right then, that we were going to be best buds for a long time. There were some rocky times along the way, never with our friendship, but in our lives. Whiskey was a rescue and proved to be a challenge to train but his Mom and Dad did it, with 12 maintaining a firm control over his pack.

12 was bigger than most of us, and his heart was even bigger than that. When we were down 12 always knew what to say to pick us up. He always gave us a big shoulder to lean on, a large paw to go around us when we were sad. We can’t imagine all the tomorrows without him, and don’t know how Chappy, Whiskey, Blue and his family will keep on.

But we will all be here for them, helping them every step of the way, because they are family to all of us.

For those who don’t know 12 became sick in the beginning of January with pneurothorax. He had spots on his lungs that were rupturing and causing larger spots. He was losing weight. We all went to wait at the hospital so he would know we supported him. He was sent home but he was still losing weight and didn’t want to eat. There were other trips to the vets, with an 11th birthday in between. And our favorite big boy still wasn’t eating. Six weeks after his birthday 12 was not doing any better and his parents had to make the hardest of all decisions.

It is terrible when any pup passes, but when it happens to such a strong pup family, when you can tell through their blogs, their pictures, and their comments how much they love dogs, all dogs, the ones belonging to them, and others, how strongly they advocate for dogs, how much they appreciate what us dogs can bring to a family and to society, it is so hard, because these wonderful people should be able to keep their dogs forever.

But now 12 is doing what he did each day with us, watching over his wonderful parents and siblings. And I am sure he will guide them to another troubled dog in need of a home, like Chappy, like Blue, and like Fuzzy Bacon, who 12 is nuzzling right now at the Bridge, to his family, who will turn this pup into a wonderful member of the family.

12 you were a one of a kind dog and we will never forget you. Love you always, the Dogs of the Internet.

The Gustavson Pack is our July 24, 2011 Pack of the Week

Often life is like a trip at sea.  For days you have sunny skies and clear sailing.  Then the sea gets rough, a storm comes in, a sail is torn, the mast snaps, and you become swamped as your family starts to sink.  All you can do is chart your course and hold on tight.

That is what happened this week to our pack of the week, Fuzzy Bacon, the late, beloved macaw Irie, now flying at the bridge, their canine siblings, 12, Chappy and Whiskey, and their strong and courageous parents, The Gustavsons.

Their lives have gone up and down, listed from one side to the next, but under the study hand of their parents, they keep moving forward.

Fuzzy originally answered to Dexter when he was rescued by Roxy, Dutchess and their Natalie who fostered him until his forever home could be found.  That home seemed to belong to the Gustavsons who opened their home, their heart, and their great originality at naming pups, changing Dexter to Fuzzy Bacon.  When Natalie put Fuzzy in his new Daddy's arms he snuggled in with a sigh realizing this was home.  Each Gustavson pup came out to greet Fuzzy with various degrees of enthusiasm.  But he was accepted as one of their own.  Soon they were all playing in the yard.

Shorty after Fuzzy joined the family their macaw sister, Irie began passing blood through her cloaca which is a birdie butt and a good word to know in Friends With Words.  At first the birdtor thought it was just from her laying eggs.  But it was just the first swell of an incoming storm.


Like many of our rescue friends Fuzz had aggression issues.  Let's call them the dark clouds on the horizon.  His parents decided to send him to a K9 Clinic for re-hab, and, as we sadly found out this weekend, when someone says you need to go to re-hab, you do not say no, no, no.  But the clinic wasn't sure if they wanted to say yes, yes, yes because there were some "red flags" about Fuzz's personality that might prove to be too difficult to overcome.  His mother cried, knowing, at heart, Fuzz was a gentle soul.  His Dad gave him confidence, telling him he knew he could do it.

The wind began to rip at the sails.

Fuzzy was diagnosed as being a stealth aggressor which would be great if we hadn't already caught Bin Laden, and ironic since Osama did not eat bacon.  This means that he goes from being happy with his tail wagging to being angry without warning.  It would probably be easier for people to understand if it was called Nicholas Cage syndrome.  But then people would be confused that Fuzz's aggression came from massive amounts of cocaine and not something that happened in his past life.

Fuzzy had to go to pre hab before he went to rehab.  It is exactly what it sounds like, prison before re-hab, Lindsay Lohan land, when they watch you and evaluate how much rehab you need.  After that it was a trip to AA Aggressors Anonymous.    Fuzzy got dropped off and told his Mom and Dad he would do his best to make them proud.

The staff decided Fuzzy needed even more pre hab and obedience which was silly.  Whiskey was a tough rescue and his parents did a wonderful job with him teaching him obedience.  What was different with Fuzzy?  But the people at pre hab were "experts" so their parents  went along. 

Then the expert gave them the most distressing news.  He thought that Fuzz needed a new home.  That he needed to be an only dog.  They began the sad task of finding Fuzzy a new home.

Then his father came to a great realization, the "experts" were a bunch of ass hats.  Mom and Dad decided for a second opinion from another expert who was more pert than ex.  They found another person to evaluate our friend, this one came highly recommended by another dog owner they know.  So they busted Fuzzy out of rehab and brought him home, back to his family.  We don't know what the new expert will say, but whatever Fuzzy Bacon's fate will be it will be decided out of love and patience, and he's a very lucky dog to be a Gustavson.

But there are times the storm won't let you free. 

This week Irie the Macaw passed from this Earth in her Mama's arms.  From the Gustavson pack's blog breaking the sad news to us:  "Mom and dad were gently petting her and telling her how much they love her.  She had started pooping blood again, and even a trip to the vet yesterday was not enough to save her"

I don't know why such bad things happen to such a wonderful pack.  I have spent much of my life lying in the sun asking such questions. 

Life is a ride on rough seas.  Some days it's calm.  We've got to learn to enjoy the calm before the storm.


12, Chappy, Whiskey, Fuzz, Mama and Papa Gustovson, we love you.   We love your unwillingness to give up on a family member, the love your give our kind, the inspiration to others you give, the kindness, the wise advice, the friendship.

You are our pack of the week, and will always be number one if our hearts.