River Gets a Clean Bill of Health and a Bad Attitude

This week I had my annual examination, or as more commonly known, my yearly humiliation.

Every time I  get in the car without Pocket, I end up at the vet.  But, that does not stop me from thinking, when Pocket is put in her crate, and I go outside with my parents, that we are going somewhere magical where Pocket is not allowed.

I sat on mommy’s lap as we steered through town.  I smiled at everyone. Then Daddy turned into the vet’s office parking lot.  I still smiled, having convinced myself that it was a social visit. 

Mommy carried me inside.  Any chances that this was a social visit ended when we were told to wait in the foyer.  Welcome visitors are never told to sit and wait, only paying customers.  

I squirmed to get down.  Daddy told Mommy I wanted to explore.  Wrong! I remembered the last time I got an exam they asked for a fecal sample.  My morning poop had gone in the trash. Even though I do not like the vet, I am accommodating.   I took a giant crap in the middle of the floor while wearing a proud expression. To my surprise, the vet tech threw this crap out too. So my crap wasn’t good enough for them? This was not going to be a good trip.  

I was brought in the exam room.  The techs told me how cute I was.  I hate when you go to the doctor’s, and they tell you what you already know.  They put me on the scale. I despised the feeling of the metal under my paws and moved around trying to find traction.  This caused the reading to fluctuate. The techs waited until the reading was at the highest point, said that was my weight, and declared I gained a pound!  So hurtful, and so unprofessional. 

Then my back half was firmly gripped, and I realized my precious bodily fluid was under siege.  I tensed my muscles, pushed off with my paws, wiggled like a Kardashian trying to escape a pair of tight jeans, all to no avail.  The experienced bloodsuckers tapped me dry, or at least enough to fill a tube. I had been violated! How do you take my blood but my discard crap?  Momma inquired about the rejection of fecal matter, and the vet said they only test it if presented with a problem. I wish I had known that. I would have saved my poop for the shoes of those who had brought me here. 

Then the vicious techs left me. I had a few precious seconds to convince my parents we needed to flee.  Neither acquiesced. The door opened, and the vet proper, a lesser-Herriot appeared.

I stood silently while they checked my vital organs. I appreciate this part of the process and fully cooperated.  Then the vet smelled inside my ears. "She has yeast," the doctor said. "It smells like Doritos." 

Bitch, what?  Doritos? Like I didn't smell from behind the door that D'angelo's number nine sub you had for lunch.  You best not be coming up in here with a “smells like Doritos" comment when you is all mushroom steak and cheese breath.  You be trippin'. 

The vet told mommy if she cleaned my ears regularly, I should be fine.  Sure, my ears. But what about my pride? She then checked my pearly whites.  She pulled my lips back to see the big back teeth where even Julia Roberts has gunk.  She found the treasure of tartar. "You might want to consider getting them cleaned," the vet said.  Yes, and you might consider a high colonic at noon. 

The vet noticed the chafing on my belly. Poppa told her that was from my demanding need to be scratched there three hours a day.  The vet nodded. Great, now she thinks I’m cutting. 

Finally, the wicked vet of the west left.  A few minutes later, the tech told me I had a dormant case of Lyme disease, which I have known about for the past five years.  Some blame dormant limes for my sour disposition.  

The tech asked if I needed dental work, and my parents declined.  Foley and Pocket had dental work done. My parents know bad teeth when they see it, and mine still look good. 


And then, when we left, my parents had to pay money for this abuse.  I guess getting a reasonably clean if kind of smelly, bill of health was worth it, but I sure hope I don’t see the inside of that place for a year.  Now, I have to go. For some reason, I am craving corn chips. 

Wordless Wednesday

Beat This Caption

After all the year's of eating that tasteless cardboard

now you tell me grain-free isn't good for me?

How do you sleep?  Do you run in your sleep?  Do you whimper or bark?  Do you twitch when you dream?  Do you snore?  Do you like to snuggle?  Tell us more
Pocket:  I like to snuggle when I sleep. I am pretty quiet but I do let out a whimper now and then.

River Song:  I can wake up my neighbors by snoring. I also run.  I am a handful.  

Guluva, A Hero Dog, is our August 4,2019 Pup of the Week

Dogs will do anything to save their parents, but Guluva, a crossbreed dog from Philippi, South Africa, was ready to make the ultimate sacrifice for his family.  
Guluva lives with his beloved human, Derrick Mfengwawa, and his family.  He was happily playing in his gated yard when Mfengawa’s brother-in-law drove up and unlocked the gate that surrounds the property.   

Guluva heard a commotion by the gate.  Taking pride in his role as a protector, he walked towards it and found their guest trying to get back in his car while being surrounded by a group of criminals who were attempting to steel the vehicle. 

When the criminals saw a determined Guluva charging at them, they turned heel and ran. One of them fired a shot as he fled. 

Guluva was ready to sacrifice his life to save humans. We dogs may not have the best eyesight, but we do have sharp ears and outstanding noses. 

Guluva heard the bullet crackling through the air and smelled the bitter, sour scent of a recently discharged shot.  He determined where it was and jumped in its path to impede its progress. 

The bullet hit Guluva in the face. It briefly staggered the dog.   He ran in circles and rubbed his face on the ground. Remarkably the bullet did not take him down. 
When Derek's sister heard the shot, she ran outside screaming that someone had shot her boyfriend.  Derek saw blood on the ground and reached the same conclusion. They were stunned to find the boyfriend uninjured and Guluva still standing. 

Then Daniel noticed his brave little man was bleeding from the nose and mouth. His brother-in-law told him how Guluva had taken the bullet for him. Daniel got a towel from the house and wrapped Guluva's head then rushed him to the vet. 

The dogs who were on prayer patrol that day were discouraged about Guluvu's prognosis.  They flew their prayers up to the mountains to The Ones Who Decide and vehemently lobbied them to have mercy and to spare Guluvu.  The dog angels knew the Ones Who Decide did not like getting involved in helpless causes. Still, the angels persisted with every measure of their devotion.   

We don't know what the cause of the miracle that happened that day was.   It might have been the prayers, or that Guluva's feat was so exceptional that it needed to be acknowledged by the Ones, or that it was just a lucky shot, but when the vets examined Guluva they determined the bullet went through his nose, the roof of his mouth and exited under his jaw, while not hitting anything vital.  A few stitches would staunch the bleeding. Guluvu is to stay at the vet's for a few to ensure there was no infection, but his prognosis was for a full recovery. 

Guluvu is still in need of prayers. A lot can happen when a dog is hospitalized.   Those angels who flew the original prayers to the One who Decides are working extra hard to make sure that' the little hero is returned to his family, safe and sound.  

So I bring to you the rarest to stores. The hero dog who stopped a bullet and got shot in the face for his troubles but somehow in a great confluence of love, prayers, and devotion is still with his family ready to save them on another day.


Dogs are humans angels on Earth, and sometimes they need the angels at the Bridge to help them. We are always happy to oblige.

Foley Catches Up on Some Unanswered Prayers

I have been so busy; lately I have been unable to answer some of the less pressing prayers that have come my way.  Please bear with me while I do so now. 
Please give me guidance on what to do with my dog, Fred. He has never got along with other dogs. He goes behind me to avoid them on walks, and if one comes to close, he snarls at them. Now that he's a senior dog I worry he doesn't have any doggy friends. Should I introduce him to other dogs to see if you'll finally get along with them?  Anxious mom. 

Dear Anxious Mom:  How would you feel if you lived your whole life avoiding idiotic people in the quest of solitude and when you reached an age when you needed to depend on others they decided the best thing for you would be to sit you in the park all day and have you put up with stupid people?  Fred just doesn't like other dogs. Let him live the rest of his life in peace. We dog only need human companionship. Spend less time worrying if your dog is lonely and more time with him. 

I am planning to go with my husband and three children to Auckland for six months on a sabbatical. My husband will be working at a hospital there. I think it'll be an excellent experience for the whole family. The only problem is we can't bring our Yorkie Digby with us. Friends of my daughters say that they will take him for the six months, but they would like to share custody of him when we come back. Please guide me on the right thing to do. Traveling mom. 

Dear Traveling Mom: So your entire family is going but not your Yorkie?  Isn't your Yorkie part of the family? I was watching this documentary from the 80s about this family that left their little tow-headed boy home alone while they went off on a sabbatical. He ended up being attacked by crazed robbers and during the encounter, and he almost killed them with fishing line and a paint bucket.  Would you want that for Digby? If he can't go, maybe no one should go. Digby is going to be very confused when you come back. Having a dog is a commitment, and sometimes a commitment means you can't do things you would like to do. Besides, why do you want to go to a country that puts immigrating dogs in cages?  It is barbaric, unlike putting immigrating kids in cages, which is beautiful. 

My dog Molly is perfect in every way except at night when we are sleeping she sneaks in our rooms and steals our shoes. When we get up in the morning, we find them in her dog bed. Is there any way we can get her to stop stealing our shoes? Shoe lover 

Dear Shoe Lover: I think Molly is aware of the fact that she lives in a house with a bunch of idiots. If your dog is stealing your stuff in your sleep, put it up higher. I don't think she's taking the shoes for any nefarious purposes. I think she knows you're all going to be stumbling around looking for things in the morning and if you know the shoes are in her bed you'll probably get to work on time, won't get fired, and her kibble supply will stay steady. Don't feel bad.  The dog is the smartest member of every family I have encountered. 

River's Kissing Rules

I have rules about kissing. I am the kisser.  Whoever I am kissing is the kissie. They need to sit there and take it. Kissing is like kicking off in football. Both participants can't kick-off at the same time. Then your balls would be at either end of the field, and nothing would get accomplished. 

Poppa is my main kissing partner. I will give Momma a smooch here and there, but Poppa has totally given up on life, so I can kiss him as long as I want.  

I cling to Momma more than to Poppa.  I wait for her outside the shower. I fret and pace when she's not home.  I sit on her lap for hours on end. But, as a lickee, she has her shortcomings. 

First is that she doesn't want to be licked. I'm not going to spend a lot of energy kissing her if she doesn't appreciate it. Second, she has much better hygiene than Poppa. You can barely get any taste off of Momma the way she washes her face and brushes her teeth. But Papa's lackadaisical bathroom manner leads to greasy skin, and food stuck between his teeth. That is why he is the perfect candidate for a good licking.  

Last week, I was intently kissing him trying to dislodge a bit of corn that was stuck between his teeth two weeks ago when Poppa did the most unmentionable, unconscionable, unprofessional, act ever:  He puckered 

I loathe the sight of the human face puckering.  They suck in their flabby cheeks. Their eyes become even beadier.  And then, for some unknown reason, they try to put their lips on me. Disgusting. 

I made a little moaning sound and looked at Momma, hoping she would tell him to stop. She laughed and told me not to b ea doofus.   A doofus? A Griffon is never a doofus. 

I decided if I closed my eyes when I licked I wouldn't see that awful puckered face. But, the sensitive nerves on my tongue told me his lips were puckering.  I stopped and looked at him with my most ferocious gaze, which is pretty much my everyday look with a little more glare.  

I was left with little choice. I lifted my right paw on to his lips and raked it down his chin. Papa let out a cry and his hand went to his mouth to see if he was bleeding.  I knew he wasn't. A dog knows the strength of their own paws. Poppa looked at Momma, but she remained equally uninterested in either of our plights. 'That's what you get for puckering," she said. 

So, now I have added a face rake to my repertoire. As soon as I feel the onset of a pucker, the claws come out. Although, I do wonder if between the suffocation that can be caused by the rapid movements of my little tongue and the pain that can be caused by my clawing if Papa isn't enjoying this a little too much. 

Regardless, I was able to achieve my goal of making him shut the puck up.