Waves and Wags to Forrest

We did not know Forest that well but it seems like he had a big impact on the community.  We will post our wagging and waving pictures for Forest. May he romp in peace until he is reunited with his family happily ever after

Pup of the Week: Whitley the Westie

After a week of meetings, the Angel committee decided to rebuild the wall with a beautiful door in the middle.  The door is for dogs who are suffering on the mortal side of the river because their tired bodies can no longer support their mighty souls.  I was on watch, standing by the door when I heard a soft knocking.

“Who is it?” I asked.

“It is I, Whitley the Westie,” the voice on the other side of the door said.

I sighed, leaned my head against the wall, and reluctantly let my little, white, furry friend into Rainbow Bridge.

I am lucky enough to have friends across social media:  On the Tanner Brigade, on Facebook, and among the wonderful independent bloggers in Blogville.  Whitley is one such blogger.
I wish more of you knew Whitley on the mortal side.  She is a cute, spirited, sassy little dog who was known for her homemade dresses and being a fashionista.  Many of you know my good friend Hattie Mae.  She and Whitley never crossed paths on the Internet, but they could have been sisters.  With their magnificent outfits and striking poses, they would have ruled the world together.

In her later years, after living in the Northeast, Whitley moved, with her mom, to Florida.  There she found the life she deserved.  Whitley rarely left her mom’s side.  Her favorite spot was the pool where she would either sit with her mom on a float or sit on her floatie.  Whitely and her Mom lived in paradise together.

Whitley’s soul shined very brightly.  Her body began to break down long before her soul was diminished.  Her legs failed her first.   The back ones stopped working but her Mom knew that Whitley’s inner strength and beauty were resilient.   Whitley’s Mom used a sling to help her best friend walk, she bought her wheels so she could still play on the grass, she purchased a stroller so Whitley could go on walks with her Mom and her best friend Finley, and Whitley spent hours floating in her pool.

If Whitley’s indomitable spirit could have kept her on the mortal side then she would have lived forever.  But her soul was too big for a small body to carry.  Earlier this year Whitley’s front legs stopped working.  Her essence was still willing, her eyes still sparkled, her love of accompanying her Mom on a walk in her buggy and resting on her floatie unabated, but it was becoming clear:  The day was approaching when her body could no longer contain her spirit.

This week her mom, unable to watch this great soul suffering from an uncooperative body, took her baby to the veterinarian.   The news was not good.  He diagnosed Whitley with degenerative myelopathy.  The diagnosis confirmed what she and Whitley’s friends knew.  The body could no longer enclose the spirit.

Her Mom knew that Whitley’s fabulous song, which included verses about her coast to coast travels, her scratches and rubs from the rich and famous (Supreme Court Justices, football players, and Senators)  and hundreds of dresses and parties, was concluding.  The next day Whitley’s Mom freed Whitley’s spirit from her failing body and soon she was knocking on the Bridge door.

Whitley went through the formalities of becoming an Angel.  She was polite and full of spunk, wholly enjoying her four working legs, but her spunkiness was undercut by anxiety about her Mom.  Tommy Tunes invited Whitley to his mansion to watch her Mom on one of Tommy’s several big screen televisions, but I had a better idea.

I led Whitley by the paw down to the River.  Tied to the dock was her new floatie and at the head of the floatie was a window through which Whitley could watch over her mom every day.  Whitley got on her floatie.  I handed her a cool drink.  She pushed off the bank and began floating down the River.

Tails from Rainbow Bridge: Max and Tupper Find a Macy

I had not seen my friends Max and Tupper running in the mountains nor playing by the river nor eating popcorn at Tommy’s nor ice cream at Otie’s for days.  Their seclusion concerned me.  I needed to investigate.

I knocked on their door, but no one answered.  I could hear movement inside. I opened the door.  Their house was a mess.  There were papers and folders strewn across the floor.  On a bed on the far side of their house, Max and Tupper slept snuggled together.

I softly called their names.  The both leaped out of bed. 
 
“Foley!” Tupper said.  “Sorry about the mess, we have been very busy.  We have been interviewing dogs.  Mom finally decided to get a new family member.  We had to find the perfect dog.” 

Max got down on the floor.  He began moving papers around with his paws.  Printed on the paper were descriptions of dogs.  Tupper and Max had scribbled notes on the reports.  Max found the paper he was looking for and pushed it towards Tupper.

“Macy!” he said, showing me the report.  “This is the dog we decided was best for Mom.  She is a rescue.  Her first mom had dementia and was forced to surrender Macy.  We think she is perfect.”

“How many dogs did you interview?” I asked.

“Eight thousand,” Tupper responded, yawning.

“Eight thousand dogs?” I asked stunned.

“Yes,” Max said.  “We wanted to do more, but Mom was getting anxious for a pup.”

“And how long did you interview them?” I asked.

“Six hours,” Tupper said.

“Six hours?  Eight thousand dogs?” My eyes were bugging out of my head.  “That’s,” I tried to do the math and gave up.  “A long time.”

“Well, we are here for eternity,” Tupper reminded me.

“You must have interviewed that many dogs when you found River,” Max said.

Sure.  I had interviewed Eight…..Teen.  Maybe.  I meekly nodded.  “I am glad you found the right one,” I said.

Max sighed.  “I hope so.  Do you think there could be a better dog out there?” he asked Tupper.
A look of concern crossed Tupper’s face. “You’re right.  Maybe there is another dog.  Hop into Mom’s dreams.  We need to keep looking.”

I hopped between them.  “Boys!” I said holding up my paws.  “You have done your job.  You have gone above and beyond your duty.”  I picked up Macy’s picture.  “Look at her.  She is beautiful.  And she is going to make your mom happy.”

They grumbled.

“I have this friend,” I told them.  “His name is Michelangelo.”

“The turtle?” Max asked.

“No, the painter.  He painted the Sistine Chapel.  It is considered one of the greatest works of art ever.  He told me he looks at it and wishes he had done something different.  I think you have found the Sistine Chapel of dogs.  So relax.  You have found a masterpiece.”

Tupper put his paw on my shoulder and thanked me for my kind words.

“But how hard is it to paint a Chapel?” Max asked.  Before they began looking for more dogs for their mom Tommy and Otis, also worried about our friends, appeared with popcorn and ice cream.  They kept the brothers occupied long enough for their mom to bring Macy home where Macy is building a brand new chapel in her mom’s heart.

So please relax, Max and Tupper.  You did a great job.  Your mom knows how much you helped her, and Macy will be a great dog.

Now have some more ice cream my friends.  You deserve it.

Pocket and the Public Restroom

We have all had it happen.  We are with our parents in a store:  There are so many sights and smells, we become immersed in the scents, and we begin relaxing our muscles.  And then it happens.  We leak, or worse; we leave a butt deposit.  Chaos quickly ensues.

Our parents frantically begin looking for a clean up station.  The stations are always hidden around an inconvenient corner.  If our parents are together one of them must stay with us.  They are embarrassed and repeating the same lie all parents say in this situation. “He/She has never done this before.”  Oh, if we could talk:  “Sure I have, yesterday at Home Depot, right by the gnomes.”  If our parents are alone, they yank us across the floor in search of the clean up material praying no one steps in our gift to the shoppers.

When they reach the clean up station, if they are not empty, they find small, skimpy bags that barely hold my five-pound body’s poop, and thin, non-absorbent paper towels.  It takes 64 or these towels to clean up my pee.  If you are a normal sized dog, it takes a roll and a half.  When the parent is done, they bring over an orange cone, large enough to warn people of a sinkhole the size of Nicaragua, to warn people that I had a secretion, doing no good for the people wandering around with my precious bodily fluids on their shoes.

Thankfully there has been a breakthrough in dog poop and pee abatement.  Forward thinking businesses, like JFK airport in New York, have created doggy restrooms.  They come with a stretch of fake grass and a fire hydrant.  There are poop bags and a hose to clean the area when the dog is done.

I had to try one.  I had mommy drive me to the airport.  We got out and went right to the doggy restroom.  I looked around:  It was beautiful.  Then I assumed the position.

“Excuse me!” a large man with a badge stopped me mid squat.  “What is your name?”  I told him my name was Pocket.  “I am sorry Pocket, but this is the ladies’ dog restroom.  The men’s dog restroom is down the hall.

“But I am a girl!” I insisted.

“Do you have an original copy of your dog license?” the man in the suit asked.  “Pocket sounds like a boy’s name, and we can’t let boys and girls go to the same restroom.  It wouldn’t be right.”

“But we pee on the same rock in the park!” I said.

“What you do in the park is your business sicko but here at the airport we have rules.”

I told him I did not have a dog license.  “Then you are going to have to roll on your back and show me,” he said.

Who was the sicko here?  I refused to be humiliated because I had to pee.  I told him I would not use his precious bathroom and walked off in a huff.  Before I left, I peed on the people mover.  It was the closest I could come to peeing all over the airport.

Listen to me my friends:  If they want to make you show your privates, or your license, just to pee:  Go on the floor.

Wordless Wednesday

Beat This Caption

Mom! How many time do I have to tell you! Knock before coming in! Please...just leave

Pup of the Week: Rain, Clyde, Quincy and Matilda

When it rains, it pours.  When it rained at the Bridge on Friday, it poured for a long time.  The rain was caused by the arrival of my friend Rain.  The rain that fell was created by tears that were shed by those who loved Rain.  Then came the deluge.  The deluge caused by those who followed Rain.

      

I blame myself for the deluge.  Friday morning I received word that Rain would be arriving in the afternoon.  Rain is my wonderful friend from Mexico.  Here at the Bridge, we try to ignore the pointless chatter that crosses the River from the mortal side.  Chatter caused by humans ruled by hate and fear; not love and compassion.  Chatter that led me to conclude that the last thing Rain should see before being welcomed to the Bridge was a big wall blocking her way.
            Every morning we build the wall to keep our friends from crossing over, and when we go to sleep at night, the Big Guy knocks the wall down.  We start again in the morning.  But, on the morning of Rain’s arrival, I ordered work on the wall to cease.
            Rain’s Mom was at the vet’s with her.  Rain had developed a tumor and could not breathe.  The same thing happened to me on the mortal side.  Believe me:  Breathing is something you take for granted until you can’t do it anymore.  I paced back and forth in front of Enzo’s Escalator waiting for my friend to rise to the Angels.
            She rose, and her Angel friends gathered around her.  We comforted her, reunited her with old friends, and fitted her with her wings.  Then the rain came.  Big clouds filled with human tears after Rain’s passing.  We gathered up our loved one's tears to help our gardens grow.
            Then I heard soft paws on the grass.  I turned to see my little, white furred friend Clyde.  He was not on my schedule.  “What are you doing here?” I asked.

            Clyde said he had a tumor on his spleen. The tumor burst, and he began to bleed into his stomach.  There was nothing anyone could do.  His parents made the only decision they could.  For the second time, we reunited an angel with old friends, had wings attached, and comforted Clyde.  Then more clouds came:  This time filled with tears for Clyde.
       The rain ended, and the magnificent terriers appeared. They were led by Brooklyn, Mckinsie, and Promise.  Their gathering could only have one meaning:  A member of the Magnificent Seven, the world’s greatest collection of Boston Terriers, would be arriving on this tragic day too.  I turned to see little black and white Quincy leaping off the escalator landing and running to his sister Brooklyn.  They jumped in the air, hugged, and danced overjoyed at the prospect of their reconciliation.

    Then they stopped and waited for the cloud of their Mom’s tears to wash over them.  It was a very dark cloud bursting with tears.  Their Mom, Miss Judy, had lost many dogs in the past few years, and now she had lost the friend she called her “bright light.”  Her little comedian who made her laugh every day. I wondered how a Mom could survive having her heart continually broken but then I realized that she is always surrounded by Terrier love.  She also has many angels who love her and watch over her every day.  Then again, looking at the puddles of tears on the ground, I knew how much her heart hurt.
            That is when I realized the wall was still down.  Clyde, Quincy, and Rain could be the beginning of a deluge of angels.  I frantically asked the angels to begin reconstructing the wall.  A giant shadow covered me.  I thought it was another cloud.  I turned and saw Moses, a huge Newfoundland looking down at me and shaking his head.
            Moses was the first angel I ever met.  When I joined the online world in 2007 Moses was living his last days on the mortal side.  He had cancer.  I can still remember reading his blogs.  Everything I learned about love and compassion I learned from Moses.  When I came to the Bridge, he continued to be my teacher.  There were four words I learned in 2007 and they are as true nine years later as they were then:  Moses is Love.
            Moses’ Mom’s heart was broken when he passed.  But it was healed, as all hearts are, by a new baby.  Her name was Matilda and I watched her grow up from a pup.  “By now she must be,” I thought to myself, then looked at Moses.  “No!” I said.

             Moses nodded to the escalator.   Matilida had arrived at the Bridge.  I began to get angry.  Moses was very young when he passed, and Matilda had not even had a decade of life.  I should confront the Big Guy. Then I felt Moses’ giant paw on my shoulder. “No Foley,” he said.  “This is the way it has to be.”  He could see the guilt on my face too.  “The wall wouldn’t have made a difference.  It was Matilda’s time, it was Rain’s time, it was Quincy’s time, it was Clyde’s time, it was your time, and it was my time.  We only get so much time, and then we come here where we have nothing but times.”
            He stood over me as more clouds came and then tears for Matilda poured down upon us.
            The clouds kept coming with tears for Quincy, Rain, Clyde, Matilda and every angel gathered at the Bride.  One new angel makes every Mom of an angel remember the passing of their baby.  Four brings lots of bad memories.
            The next morning I stood amongst the rubble from the collapsed wall.  I picked up a stone and put it in place.  Then another.  Then another.
            It may have been an act of futility but if it could prevent a quadruple arrival day it would be worth it.