Missy Diva Continues the Yorkie Invasion of Rainbow Bridge

 

Missy Diva came charging across the Bridge like she had been shot out of a cannon.  Most of the dogs who arrive here are happy, and relieved, after reaching their final destination.  They also carry sorrow with them, because they had to leave their loved ones behind.  While Missy Diva felt the same, she also brought one big piece of emotional baggage with her.  She was pissed.

She said she did not think her mom; Mother Tracey should have sent her to the Bridge.   I told her that she had lived 15 long years, a marvelous achievement, even for a Yorkie.  She told me she didn’t care.  I asked her if she could remember her last days with her mom, and she said that she couldn’t.  I told her that it was because she had dementia.  She said she didn’t care.   I told her she had been both blind and deaf.  She said she didn’t need senses.  I then carefully explained that any parent who loved their dog senior dog, that was blind and deaf and whose dementia was so bad she could not remember from one day to the next, would help them go to the Bridge.  It was a humane thing to do.  Missy-Diva finally agreed that Mother Tracy did the right and loving thing.  She had stopped enjoying her life, except for the few days she recognized her mom’s smell.  But, she still held onto her angry edge.  She is a Yorkie.  Even when we give in, we hold on to a lifeline to go back and fight again.

I began to go over the Rainbow Bridge rules with Missy-Diva, but she assured me that she knew them all.  “I have read your blog.  It was filled with all sorts of immortal life spoilers.  Actually, after reading how you described it, the real thing is a bit of let down.”   I love the YWA:  Yorkies with attitude.

Missy-Diva enjoyed her welcoming banquet, although she sent her steak back three times because it was not cooked correctly.  I showed her the Yorkie mansion where she would live, and she said she liked it, but the drapes were awful.  She made me smile, having reminded me of myself when I was a fresh little angel.

Finally, I showed Missy-Diva the only thing on Rainbow Bridge that she would gladly accept without complaint.  It was how to go back to see her mom. I could tell when she had accomplished her dream visit.  Missy-Diva was smiling in her dream, and her mom was too.

My gosh, another Yorkie at the Bridge!  I am afraid our insurance rates are going through the roof!

 

 

Love Does Not Need a Home

 

We angels do have a lot of responsibilities.  They are all essential, none more so than taking care of our parents.  But, the most rewarding duty we have is when we reunite pups and parents.  Here is a story about one dog and person I helped.

    We dogs don’t judge humans.  We know some of them to fall on hard times.  A dog would never leave a man because he did not have a home or a warm bed to sleep in. Although some of our more pampered members may be insistent on having things the way they want them, if all that was taken away, they would be content with you. 

    Let me introduce you to Anthony Rogers.  He is an artist from Tennessee.  Sadly, his artwork did not sell enough for him to live on, and he lost his house, and his possessions, except for the most precious one,  his dog Bobo.

    Life was hard on the street, but Anthony made sure that Bobo was well fed, even if Anthony wasn’t, Bobo’s fur was well taken tended to, and he was never in danger.  Anthony could bear all the indignities life threw at him, as long as Bobo was by his side, but then came the tragic morning when he awoke, and Bobo was not next to him.

    Anthony searched the area where they had slept the night before and called Bobo’s name to no avail.  He didn’t have a way to post Bobo’s picture on the Internet.  He did have a photo he carried with him, and he made copies of it and posted it on poles, but he had no home, or a phone, so even if Bobo was found, there was no way to contact him. Positive he would not see Bobo again; he prayed his friend was alive and in a better home.

    Like all dogs, Bobo is a slave to his instincts.  When he was scavenging for breakfast, there was a squirrel doing the same in a dumpster.  Bobo had not tasted fresh squirrel meat in eternity, so he chased the vermin across streets, down alleys, through yards, and into a park where the squirrel jumped into his home tree, and Bobo realized he had no way back home.

    He was found and brought to the Memphis Animal Shelter.  Bobo was terribly upset that he had got lost, and hated being in the shelter, having become used to being free and outdoors.  He knew he could end up in a real home, but that did not matter to him.  He sent a prayer to the angels, and it landed on my desk.

    This was going to be a severe case, not because there were hundreds of miles between the dog and parent, but because finding Anthony would be as hard as finding Bobo was.  I decided to take it one step at a time.  I went into the dreams of Dorothy, a shelter worker, and suggested she look in the city for any Lost Dogs posters and see if any other them matched the new dogs they had just welcomed.

    Dorothy followed my instructions perfectly.  She found the flyer with Bobo’s picture on it and brought it to the shelter.  There was a number to a local store where Anthony checked several times a day.  He arrived at the store a half-hour after Dorothy called.  When he got the message, he ran to the shelter, where he was joyfully reunited with Bobo, who covered her dad with 1,000 kisses.

    Bobo was better off for his stay.  He has been examined, microchipped, bathed, vaccinated, and neutered, which should cut down on his roaming.  They are still on the street, but his dad is more determined than ever to find Bobo a forever home to live with his forever person.

    I will stay as an angel on their shoulder until they get there.

 

 

River Meets an Untrained Dog and Post a Stop to That

This week we were taking our early evening constitutional when we came upon a man walking his dog, a beautiful German Shepherd.  He was strolling perfectly in step with his dad.  He never wavered to smell the grass, or pulled in urgency to get to a scent lifted by the breezes.  Unlike Pocket and I, he neither barked or jumped to reach us.  It was odd behavior to say the least.

    Pocket and I were looking up, and barking at the big dog.  Neither of us came up to his knees.  He chuckled at us.  When he di,d his father immediately gave him a “down” command, which the German Shepherd did, faithfully.  More odd behavior.  We quieted down too, but not on command.  We were just hot and tired from all the barking.

    We introduced ourselves, and the polite pup told us that his name was Douglas.  Our dads began discussing the Red Sox, and something called the bullpen.  I don’t know what that is, but in the last couple of years, it has become the reason for much whining from Massachusetts’ men.

    Curious, I asked Douglas why he walked like a robot.  He told me that, when he was ten weeks old, a trainer came to his house and taught him the proper way to walk, which was always next to his dad, and in step with him, never pulling, or stopping to sniff.  Pocket looked up at him:  “You got hosed,” she said.

    I shushed my impertinent big sister, but she wasn’t wrong.  This dog had been trained the human way.  In the time it took our dads to conclude their parlay, I would have to teach Douglas how not to be the dog his father wanted, but the dog he was meant to be.  “Come over to the grass and sniff it,” I told him.  He was reluctant, but I assured him it would be alright.  

    Douglas took in several deep sniffs.  “What is this?” he asked.   He smelled some more.  “All these scents tell different stories,  about the animals who live in my neighborhood, and about my friends’ lives.  There is also information about the vermin who crawl in our yards and how to trick our parents.  How have I been missing this all these years?”

    “I am sure your dad is an excellent parent and loves you with all his heart, but some folks try to keep their dogs off the scent, because it provides us with information, and when we have information, we have power.”  Doug nodded eagerly.  “Now that I have shown you this world, you cannot let it be denied to you any longer.”

    “But how am I to get to the smells, Daddy holds the leash, and he decides where we go.” We both laughed.  

    “You are in control,” I told him.  “He has one arm, you have four legs and great strength.  Just get ahead of your dad and pull.  If we can force our Dad to go where we want him to go, imagine how far you can drag your dad?”

    Our parents ended their conversation and said their goodbyes.  We both told Douglas to remember what he had learned on this day.  He nodded as they walked away.

    The next day we saw from our window Douglas and his dad walking down the street.  Douglas was pulling him from one side of the road to the other while his Dad yelled, “heel.”  Pocket and I had a good laugh over that.

    We might open up our own business venture as dog trainers who bring dogs back to their perfect factory settings.  Who would want to change that?

Wordless Wednesday

Beat This Caption

Freddy hated when Felix wanted to play unicorn

Monday Question

Do you lick your parents' faces?

What do you do if they try to kiss yo

When Ashton Comes to Rainbow Bridge the Texas Yorkie Gals Throw Her a Fantastic Party

There are some days I would rather be at Rainbow Bridge, than on the mortal side, and I have recently encountered a streak of them, because the second member of the Texas Yorkie Gals has joined us at the Bridge, and the mortal side just got a lot less fun.

These two gals Chelsea and Ashton, and I have been together since we all were young.  I lived half a country away, but I got to know the duo on Doggyspace, and they were two of the first friends I invited when I formed the Tanner Brigade.  When we often get together for dream dates where we would play rodeo.  Our Yorkiness, and our love of our mom, made us fast friends.  I was the earliest to arrive at the Bridge, followed by Chelsea, and now beautiful Ashton.

When small dogs get older, they tend to go downhill quickly.  It is not strange for us to be healthy one week, and then go to the Bridge the next.  Plus, we are not complainers; we try to hide what is wrong until it becomes impossible.  This week Ashton followed the familiar route.  She became suddenly sick, packed her bags, and prepared to join Chelsea, as well as her other sisters Samantha and Ashley, at the Bridge.  His mom knew it was time and helped her make her final trip, taking on all of Ashton’s pain before she let her go. 

The Texas Gal’s Mama Dee only wanted one thing for Ashton to be greeted by the sisters as mentioned above, so she wasn’t alone.  It was a wish she did not have to make.  I could not have built a wall high enough to keep these girls from reuniting.  As I waited to swear in Ashton, the Texas Gals arrived in a covered wagon, raising their usual ruckus.

I try to keep my swear-in ceremonies tasteful and dignified.  This is a very emotional moment in a soul’s life, the beginning of a new chapter, filled with wonder, curiosity, and a touch of dread.  The change can be devastating.  When Ashton approached, I had soft organ music playing, and sweet doves flying overhead.  

All that was interrupted when the Texas Gals began to shoot their guns in the air and barked in their high-pitched tone.  I turned and motioned for them to quiet down, but there was no curbing their enthusiasm.  I swore an impatient Ashton in as efficiently as possible, and let her join her enthusiastic siblings.

Ashton went running to them as fast as her little legs allowed.  She jumped, and I swear, flew, an impressive feat for a new angel, on to the wagon.  Samantha held the reins in her teeth and turned the horses around.  Ashton, now in the back, motioned for me to join them.  I had to run faster than I ever had before, but I got to the carriage before it reached the uncatchable lawn speed.  

We arrived at the Texas Gal’s high rise.  I could smell the chicken fried steaks being cooked on the grill.  There were piles of coleslaw, brisket, menudo, and peanut butter pie.  There is nothing like a Texas welcome party.  I was given a tiny cowboy hat.  There was a bronc in the pen that I, after a few Texas Sunrises, attempted to ride.  It lasted three seconds.  It was a personal record.  We kept partying until the cows came home and told us to cut out the noise; they needed to sleep; they had a milking scheduled for the morning.

It was an awesome night.  We hope we made enough noise that it traveled across the river, and their mom noticed it.  If she hears the sounds of a far off party or sees silent fireworks in the air, she needs to know it is her angels partying as Texans do, and they are thinking of her, and, when they run out of brisket, and the party sounds end, to go to sleep because they are about the visit her in her dreams.