Monday Question

 I, Pocket, recently had to go on Flagyl to try and stop my diarrhea summer.  

What medications are you on or have you taken?

River Joins the List of Souls Abused by Governor Cuomo

 

Politicians recognize that dogs influence people. It is hard to get elected without our endorsement, so we are starting to be invited to sit down with officeholders to help them keep their death grip on their elected positions and improve our lives. 

    Thanks to being my sister and featured on my blog, River has become a prominent figure on social media. When one embattled politician figured a dog endorsement would strengthen his place in the polls, he contacted River.  That is how she got to meet Andrew Cuomo. 

    I have always encouraged my sisters to be risk-takers.  That strategy brought me happiness and glory, and if they show some guts, my sisters can have that too.  But I was worried this Cuomo guy could be more than even River could handle. 

    Before River went, I told her to be careful because the governor had a reputation for being “handsy,” but, as usual, the stubborn Griffon sister did not listen.  River scoffed at my worries.  “It will be fine; I like a good rub.”  I knew they both would.

    River arrived for her meeting at the governor’s office in Albany.  Cuomo had sent a limo for her.  She was escorted by two of his Dobermans into the waiting area.  She was given water, a bone to chew on, and some bacon. River was sure she made the right choice.

    The door opened, and River was invited into the office.  The Governor was sitting behind his desk, and River took the chair opposite him.  “Wouldn’t you rather sit on my lap?” he asked.  River loves a lap, even a puffy one like the governors, and she happily jumped down on him and curled up.

    The Governor put a gentle hand on River and slowly stroked her fur while River told him that, even with his killing of those people in the nursing home, he would easily be reelected if he offered free health care for dogs.  During her speech, Cuomo continued to stroke closer to her tail and then Hello!  Something wasn’t right.

    River jumped up, her customary frown even more pronounced, and shouted, “Excuse me!”  The governor looked confused.  “You were getting familiar with my anal glands,” River accused. 

    “No, no,” the dirty governor pled his innocence.  “I noticed that your anal glands were a little impacted and squeezed them.   I hope you experienced some relief.”

    “My anal glands are on the surface, sir,” River charged.  “I think you were knuckle deep up my butt.  It felt like the vet used the Great Dane rectal thermometer to take my temperature.”

    “I have never touched a dog inappropriately in my life!” the Governor insisted. Just then, a cat startled them both by jumping on his desk and taking a swart at Cuomo.  “Now, I’ve done it with cats, sure, but who hasn’t?”

    River left his office in a huff, which is how she leaves everywhere, but the governor didn’t know and assumed he was in trouble again. The Doberman stopped River at the door and forced her to sign a non-disclosure form stating that she could not speak to a living soul about what had occurred.

    My sister kept her word and didn’t say a word to a living soul, but that doesn’t apply to me. I am under no such agreement.  So now the world knows the truth.  I am sure the Governor will have his own story.  The dirtier men are, the more desperate they will be to keep power and lie for it.

    It doesn’t need to be said, but the governor will not be getting the coveted dog endorsement. 

Pocket and the Seven Griffs

 

  There once was a dog named Pocket who was the cutest of them all. She went to live with a lovely queen and her husband when she was just a puppy.  She met her sister, named Foley, who was the fairest in the land, at least according to the face in the mirror.   Yes, the face was her own, but until Pocket arrived, the sentiment was correct. 

Although she would not admit it, Foley was the jealous type and saw Pocket as a terrible threat that must be eliminated. . One day, when the Queen and her driver were away, Foley told Pocket about a magical spot in the woods where all their dreams would come true.  Being a puppy, still naïve and not worldly enough to deduce her sister’s ill intentions, Pocket happily followed Foley out of the house and into the forest. 

Pocket became concerned when they went deeper into the woods, and it grew darker.  They stopped by a river to drink when Foley said she would forage for berries and never returned. Lost and alone in the woods, Pocket crept forward softly,  calling Foley's name. 

She heard in the distance the sound of dogs barking woof woof/woof woof/ woof woof woof woof woof woof, and followed the noise.   She found seven Brussels Griffons walking in a single file with pick axes on their shoulders, barking and marching in unison. Pocket jumped in front of them, startling the pack. 

She introduced herself and explained that she was lost and needed help finding her way home. The Griffons surrounded her and began excessively sniffing. The leader, a Pup with a beguiling frown, pronounced to the others that she was no harm. 

“My name is River,” she said kindly, “and these are my sisters Rover, Raver, Rower. Ripper, Rapper, and Dopey.” “We were mining bone,s but now we are hungry, so we’re going home for fourth lunch. We want to help you, but we don’t have the time; Fourth lunch is the most important meal of the day.”

Pocket suggested she would make their food and clean their house if they would help her find her way out on their first day off. That is how Pocket began to cook and clean for the seven Griffs. She had miscalculated how infrequently they took time off and was there a week without a single day of the search.  

At home, Foley began to think, as her parents frantically searched for Pocket, that she had made a grievous error.   She asked a bird friend to find Pocket.  It came back an hour later to say  Pocket was living deep in the woods with a group of bone mining Griffons and was seemingly content. 

Foley feared Pocket would never leave the Griffs, so she had to force her housemates to make her do so. She sent the bird with some bad chicken knowing Pocket couldn’t resist a tasty bird.  Foley injected the chicken with diarrhea-causing bacteria knowing no one likes a guest with the runs. When she found the dropped chicken in the backyard, Pocket scarfed it down. 

An hour later, she had terrible diarrhea and gas. Instead of shunning her, the Griffons skipped worked to nurse her back to health. The mine owner, a Great Dane prince named Odie, arrived at the cottage to check on his missing workers, and when he saw Pocket fitfully sleeping,  he kissed her, which instantly revived her and made her pain disappeared.

 The Griffons thanked him profusely, but he said it was more than his kiss that saved Pocket:  His Flaxel lip gloss deserved the lion’s share of the credit.  When Pocket began to miss her family, Odie showed her the way out of the woods, which he knew because he owned them with his brother Scooby. 

When she got home, she was suspicious of Foley but could never confirm her sister's betrayal. vvShe prayed that someday she would have a sister like River. 

As the years passed, River joined Pocket’s family after she retired from the bone mine. Maybe the spot in the woods was a place where dreams came true.

Jimmy the Anti-Vaxxing Dog

 

I like to keep tabs on what is occurring at my former home.  That is why I visit Pocket in her dreams each night:   To know if there is a situation that requires angel assistance.

Usually, there isn't any trouble within the house except Pocket asking for help when her IBS flares.   But she is a voracious reader of pee-mail and informs me if any of her pee pals are in danger. 

She brought to my attention a dog named Jimmy. Pocket had sniffed the two-year-old Cockapoo’s message that he had never been to the vet or received a vaccine in his life.  Pocket left one inquiring if he meant just suggested shots like Bordetella or Lyme disease.  Jimmy re-peed that was every shot other dogs had received. 

They exchanged pee one more time. Pocket asked how Jimmy kept from getting sick and was told that God had given him a perfect immune system and he didn’t need any shots forced on him by greedy doctors, controlled by big pharma, using experimental treatments on him.

That was a heck of a pee. 

I sighed.  Jimmy was not the first dog to ignore science.  Pups with his attitude were difficult to deal with.  But I would try because he was a friend of Pocket’s.

I visited Jimmy’s dreams and laid it out for him:  I was from Rainbow Bridge, and that place was filled with souls who wouldn’t listen to the advice of medical professionals. I didn’t want Jimmy to be another.

He accused me of being a devil in disguise and banished me from his dreams. I told Pocket I had tried and requested she keeps track of Jimmy via his urine stains.

Pocket went a few days without a message, from him and when she finally got one, Jimmy said he had been home with a persistent cough.   Pocket responded it was probably Kennell's cough, but Jimmy scoffed at the idea. Everybody knew bordetella was a hoax.

Two days later, Pocket received Jimmy’s mail saying he may have to start leaving messages closer to home since he tired easily.   Pocket inquired about heartworm medication, and Jimmy said he never touched the stuff. “That’s like injecting poison into your system.”

Pocket was concerned about her friend and asked me to help, but I was blocked from his dreams and then discovered Jimmy had prevented all angels from giving him advice. 

A few days later, Jimmy peed that he must have eaten some medication by mistake because he was so itchy.  Pocket didn’t have to ask about flea and tick medication:  Jimmy’s arrogance, ignorance, and stubbornness had become a lifestyle for him.  The last message Jimmy got from Pocket; he said he had been limping and didn’t know why.

After that, Jimmy stopped taking walks; a few days later, I noticed a familiar dog in line to be sworn into the Bridge.  After I had done the honors, I asked Jimmy if he regretted his stance on medication, and he told me not at all.    He inquired if he was in heaven, and I told him yes. Then he asked if they did vaccinations here, and I admitted we didn’t

“See,” he said pridefully, “I told you that they were bad. This is heaven. If the medication were okay, I would certainly have them here.”

Then he walked off, blissful in his own ignorance but still quite, at least on the mortal side, very dead.

Wordless Wednesday

 

Beat This Caption

 

Hey!  Do you mind?  Put your shoes on!  I don't want to be smelling your feet all the way to Tennessee. 

Monday Queston

 

Describe your personality in one word.