Tails From Rainbow Bridge: Welcoming AJ

Mommy’s brother has a cat.  I guess that makes us cousins.  I never talked about it much.  When you grew up in my neck of land being related to a cat isn’t something talked about in pleasant company.

The cat is named AJ.  The truth is I never cared for AJ.  And he never cared for me.  When his parents went to my house, he would be left alone.  When my parents went to his house, I would be left alone.  Neither one of us liked being left alone.

My mom was afraid if she brought me to meet AJ I would bark obnoxiously and chase the cat until he squeezed himself into a high spot where he could not be unsqueezed.  That does sound like something I would do.  Also, in my lone meeting with a cat, I got bipped on the nose by a sharp paw and wasn’t allowed to retaliate.  Some cat, somewhere, had it coming.

Thursday I found out that AJ got sick and was coming to the Bridge.  I felt bad for him and for his parents, who are both very nice, even if they are occasional parent nappers.

Before AJ arrived, I went to Cotton, whose job is to greet new cats when they cross over the river.  I asked her to make sure that AJ had a wonderful celebration and was made to feel welcome.  “You know, it’s not his fault he’s a cat,” I told Cotton.

“You know I’m a cat!” Cotton said, slightly offended.

Cats!  Always with the attitude.

I watched from my hiding spot as AJ arrived to great fanfare.  Cotton was a good egg, for a cat.  They brought out the champagne (yum) and the caviar (blech).  I saw Cotton whisper in AJ’s ear.  AJ looked right at me and ran towards me.  Cotton!  Bad egg!  Bad egg!

I could have run away, but it is the sworn duty of a Yorkie never to run from a cat.  I stood up to finally face off against my fellow parent stealer.  I arose tall, but a gust of wind caught my wings, and I lifted off the ground and fell backward.  Humiliation!

AJ was standing over me.  I was at the mercy of my sworn enemy!  Then he licked me!  What kind of torment was this?

To my surprise, he took me by the paw and asked me to join him.  He brought me over to the table and gave me a big glass of champagne.  He introduced me as a member of his family and insisted I be treated as such.  I was the guest of honor at a kitty party.

And it was wonderful.  I laughed.  We sang.  We danced.  By the time we were done, I was exhausted.  Before I left, AJ made me promise I would visit him soon, and I promised I would.

I guess AJ proved to me that kitties aren’t so bad after all.

Or he’s planning something.

With cats you never can tell.

River Song: Trained Porn Sniffing Dog

 While Mommy is making breakfast in the morning, I educate myself.  I get on the table, turn on her I pad, and search for dog news.

        Recently I came across a fascinating article.  Dogs are trained to sniff computers in search of the unique smells hard drives emit when they are extra hard.  Or, in other words, when they contain porn.

        I thought:  “Now here is a job right up my alley.”  During my wild upbringing in Florida, I became an unwed mother.  I made several mistakes, which has made me the lollipop I am today.          

        Somewhere on the Internet is my sex tape.  I don’t think anyone has found it yet.  One day, when I was outside doing my business, my neighbor was sitting on his patio, searching his laptop.  I heard a familiar pant.  I broke free of my harness and ran to my neighbor.  On his computer was a video of two dogs I did not know having sex.  Nothing strange there.  I don’t know why he looked so guilty.

        When I read about porn sniffing dogs, I knew I could find my sex tape without having to keep trolling doggy porno sites.  First I had to take an online course on porn sniffing.  Luckily, while Trump University no longer offers humans classes, it has gone to the dogs.  I enrolled immediately.

        Six years later I had a glossy picture of the Great Pumpkin and me, and the ability to sniff out porn from any computer.

        When I received my degree in the mail, I immediately put my nose to the test.  I went to daddy’s computer and was overwhelmed with the scent of downloaded pornography.  “J Accuse!”  I barked.  I clicked on the offending material exposing his sins.  “I don’t know how it got there!” Daddy said.  “It must have been attached to an email I opened.  I had no idea.”

        I did not have any luck finding my video until I got to my groomers where Suede now lives.  I sniffed the computer and immediately caught the familiar scent.  I waited until they were fussing over Pocket and I clicked on the porno, and there was my tape.  I barked at Suede asking him what our tape was doing on the computer.

        “I don’t know how it got there!” Suede said.  “It must have been attached to an email I opened.  I had no idea.”

        Men!  He promised there was only one copy, and I had destroyed it, but I know you can’t trust a man when it comes to smut.

        If you see me around your computer, don’t be alarmed.  I am still on a quest to find all the copies of my tape.

        I can’t let my fine degree go to waste.

Wordless Wednesday

Beat This Caption

HA! HA!  I'm a German Shepard and you're not

Pup of the Week: Saviors of the two and four legged variety

When I was curled up on my mom’s lap while she watched TV and managed my online computer profiles, I barely paid attention to what was happening on that stupid old picture box.  But there was one movie that caught my eye.   It was about a primitive tribe in Africa.  A member of the tribe, Xi, found a Coke bottle which brought envy and greed to his village.  The movie was called The Gods Must Be Crazy.

I think there are people in the mortal world, in Italy, on the United State’s east coast, in Lousiana, and in Oklahoma, who would agree with Xi:  The Gods Must Be Crazy.  Earthquakes, tropical storms, floods:  The Gods have been testing people with ceaseless natural disasters.

The Gods Must Be Crazy, but the Angels are definitely worried.

Our families and friends are in the path of the storms and floods, are being tossed and turned by these quakes.  We wish there were something we could do to stop it.

I don’t ask if the Gods are crazy.  I know they are.  They think their evil little tricks will break human’s resiliency. I know that no matter how many times people are knocked down, they always get up.  It is amazing.

Dogs are tasked with aiding humans in finding that relentless part of their souls that allows them to battle through the most strident calamities.  When natural disasters destroy people’s property and livelihoods, they risk their lives to save others from worse peril.  But it isn’t just humans they are saving.  They gamble with their lives to save us dogs as well.  Beyond that, if we have become separated from our families, these brave humans work to find new homes for us.  

For proof of this, I turn to our Italian correspondent Paco.  Here is a link to a story about how dogs saved people, and people saved dogs and the bond between dogs and men in Italy after the earthquakes.  You will have to click the translate tab:  http://www.repubblica.it/cronaca/2016/08/27/news/terremoto_emergenza_animali_mille_allevamenti_nella_zona_colpita_in_campo_una_task_force-146725201/?ref=HREC1-5

Here is a second story provided by Paco about a dog named Romeo rescued ten days after the earthquake hit.  http://video.repubblica.it/dossier/terremoto-24-agosto-2016/amatric…

And this link https://www.romper.com/p/whats-happening-to-pets-stranded-in-the-louisiana-flood-heroes-have-come-to-the-rescue-16986 will show you videos of humans risking their lives to save dogs, of people reunited with their dogs, and of dogs in search of new homes.  There are heroes in every story, both dog, and man.

We don’t know when Hermine will depart our shores, and what damage will be done, and if dogs, or people, will need to be rescued. And we certainly don’t know what the Gods, or the meanness that infects this world and causes people to spread evil, will do, but we know that no matter how hard people are hit they will rise.

And we will be right next to them.

Tails From Rainbow Bridge: Reconnecting With My Birth Sister

It was a beautiful late summer day.  I had finished a busy day of judging and found a comfortable spot under a tree, circled several times, laid down, and curled up.  Another Yorkie passed me, then stopped, and turned around “Fluffy Tail?” she asked.

This was common at the Bridge.  Dogs were always mistaking one another  I looked up at the familiar dog ready to tell her I was not Fluffy Tail when the name sparked a memory.

“Dirt Face?” I asked.  The Yorkie nodded.  I leaped up and gave her a hug.

Dirt Face was my birth sister.  We had lived together for eight weeks when my mom came to get me. Us puppies gave one another names.  Dirt Face was always rubbing her muzzle on the ground.  I had a fluffy tail.  We weren’t creative, but we were only three weeks old.

I had left the farm where we were born before Dirt Face and asked her what had happened to her.

“The very next day an older gentleman came to the farm, and I left with him.  He drove me to the big city with loud noises and tall buildings.  I was quite scared.  I was carried into this little room with lots of numbers and the next thing I knew I was lifted straight up.

“That is where I met my mom.  She was only 18 and lived in a big apartment on the top floor.  She said she was going to give me the best life ever, and she did.

“I went everywhere with her in her little bag.  There were always people taking our picture.  We went to clubs, and I got to meet all sorts of interesting people.  There was loud music, but I didn’t mind.   The next morning my mom showed me pictures of us in the newspaper.  She had named me Angel, but the newspaper was confused because the headlines said, Tramp.

“I was the most famous dog in the world.  Mommy spent thousand of dollars on me a year?  I slept in the best hotels, ate the best food, and travelled the world.  I felt very sorry when I had to leave her, and I will wait for her forever.   I am sorry you did not have as good a life, Foley.”

I hugged Dirt Face and promised to see her again then watched her scamper away.  I thought of that day, 16 years ago this month, when I first saw my mommy, and I took off running.  I had got to her seconds before Dirt Face reached her.  I jumped up on mommy, and she picked me up.  We fell in love right then and stayed that way forever.

I remember the look on Dirt Face’s snout when she saw me with mommy.  She knew she had just missed out on the best mom who would ever visit our pack.  No amount of money, food, or fancy hotels could change that.

Sorry Dirt Face.  You missed out on your dream life by a few seconds.  

Adventures in Eating by Pocket

Eating is a complicated endeavor in our house.  Some parents are able to plop food in a bowl and never give it another thought.  No such luck for our parents.

I would like to blame River Song for the obstacles our parents have to overcome to feed us but dinner time idiosyncrasies are all mine.

Foley and I used to eat on the floor near one another.  We were fed on small dinner plates because Foley was a princess who would not eat out of a bowl.  For the most part we ate peacefully.  I knew better than to mess with the legit boss.  When I did she would give me a sharp growl and a ferocious snap.

When River Song arrived I thought I was the legit boss.  When I growled and snapped at River she snapped back.  A fight would break out, our plates would get tipped and our food spilled.

Mommy decided to separate us while we ate.  We were put in different rooms.  Neither of us ate.  We were sure the other was getting something special.

Mommy decided to feed me on the couch near her.  River eats on the floor by daddy.  Since I am not a pig and take time to chew my kibble River is done first.  To slow her down I stop eating and growl at River.  She growls at me.  Mommy growls at us both and we continue eating.  We do this every meal.  At least we are consistent.

When River gets done eating I growl and bark to keep her from eating my food.  Daddy goes to pick her up but River twists, turns, and rolls on her back to keep from being captured. When she is secured Daddy sits her up next to him and gently pats her back until she burps.

I continue to slowly relish my food, one agonizing kibble at a time.  I stop eating, Mommy asks if I am done, I look down, nose some kibbles, pick up one, and chew on it like it is a piece of Big League Chew.

Finally I signal I am done by jumping on the floor.  River is let go and we both sniff the floor looking for any stray kibbles while our parents wonder how they lost 20 minutes out of their day.

They are lucky we are not spoiled.  Imagine how long eating would take if we were.