Pup of the Week: Dirty Harry

This tail should have been written weeks ago.  I started it several times but my friends, Odie, then Leo, then Paco, arrived, and each week they needed to be recognized.  This tail was set aside.

Luckily, more than a week has passed without a close friend joining us.  So I can grip my quill and finally recognize a dog who never had a home, but had a lot of love.

Let me introduce you to Dirty Harry.

Before coming to the Bridge, Harry lived on the streets of Oildale, CA.  He never had, nor wanted, a home.  In a world of domesticated animals, where dogs sleep in warm beds and are warm and dry during storms, Harry wanted none of it.  What he wanted wwas independence.  

He would not let himself be adopted, or even touched, but he did choose a human.

Dirty Harry selected as his human our friend Yolanda Agredano, mom to our cute little friend Beaux Jangles.  Miss Yolanda is a postal worker delivering mail on the streets Harry liked to roam.  

Harry had no schedule, no routine, except one:  Each day he would wait for Miss Yolanda and accompany her on her route.

Miss Yolanda adored Dirty Harry.  She would have loved to have picked him up, take him home, and make him Beaux’s brother.  But Harry would never let her touch him.  As much as he loved her, he loved his independence more.

Harry was brave to live on his own. Houses provide protection; leashes provide guidance; freedom is much harder and inevitably ends the same way.

Harry had crossed many a street in his life.  No one is sure what happened that final day.  Did he forget to look?  Did he misjudge the car’s speed? The answer doesn’t matter.  It wouldn’t change the end.  Harry was hit by a car.

Miss Yolanda, who was on her lunch break, rushed to his side.  Harry finally let him touch her.  He looked in her eyes to tell her everything was alright, and then he slipped away to the
Bridge.

This should be where the story ends.  Homeless dog hit by a car and dies.   But for Dirty Harry it is where the story began.

Everyone on Miss Yolanda’s route knew Harry.  He was the fabric that held their community together.  

People began leaving tokens of appreciation for Miss Yolanda to honor Harry.  Word spread about the homeless dog and the postal worker he followed.  First, the print media, then television, interviewed Miss Yolanda, and the people on her route, about this dirty little dog.

It created a spark, which became a fire.  The community came together on a Sunday afternoon.  There were probably some Trump voters there, some Hillary voters, the two sides in this supposedly divided country, to honor Harry.  No one there cared about whose life mattered more than Harry’s.  A dirty, little, white dog showed us we are all alike and undivided.  By sundown Sunday $745.00 was raised for, and 260 pounds of dog food was donated to local shelters in Harry’s name.  

And a little dog shall lead them.

As for Harry,we made him a wonderful home to live in with a great big bed and lots of toys.  He turned it down.   He has no interest it a home.  And in a place where everything is always clean Harry somehow remains dirty.

For all his roaming and freedom, Harry still keeps one appointment. Each day he flies into the sun, back to Oildale, where he still dutifully follows her on her route.

When she is done Harry returns here to run the streets with no name knowing he is forever known and loved, and that he wAas the luckiest dog in town.

Tails From Rainbow Bridge: Of Weasels and Royals

I would like to thank all members of the Tanner Brigade for having patience with the weasels who run the site that hosts our playground:  Ning.  For more than half of last weekend the site was down.  My parents submitted three tickets stating there were issues signing on TB, and Hattie’s Mom Miss Darla submitted one as well.   They answered Miss Darla and told her they could only discuss the problem with mommy (to whom they had not responded.)  Mommy asked Miss Darla to respond with mommy’s email and a request that they contact her.  The weasels did not answer.

I took control of mommy’s Facebook page and navigated to the Ning Page.  Ning’s motto is Ning:  Your brand.  Your members.  Your control.  I posted this:

‎Marsha AndTed Gay‎ to Ning·

“Ning. Your Brand. Your Members. Your 500: Unexpected Error.”

This inspired a post from Ning stating that several of their sites were experiencing the same problem, and it has been corrected.  If I have learned one thing dealing with Weasels, it is this:  To get a response from them public humiliation is required.

Which brings me to another publically humiliated gang of weasels:  The Royal Family.  My breed Brexited the hell out of England years ago.  The only dogs left in England are Lou ees (an exquisite dog) and Corgis.  We left because the Royal Family is not dog-friendly.

Check out this picture.

That is Prince George feeding a dog ice cream.  What the Royal Family thought was a cute picture of the little fascist sharing a cone with a dog is, according to some, a picture of careless parents letting their child poison (Poison I say!) an innocent dog.

The uncaring Windsors are roaming England in their royal carriages poisoning innocent dogs with dairy products and possibly chocolate.  (It’s hard to tell if it is a chocolate cone:  Everything in England is so pale.)

Before this, I thought a bit of ice cream was good for us dogs.  A young boy offering me a cone was an act of kindness.  But now I find out it was a Royal plot to remove every dog but Corgis from the world.

If you happen to run the Queen at your local Dairy Queen, beware!  Do not take ice cream from her.  It could be the last thing you eat.

If only Henry VII had known this.  He wouldn’t have had to kill all those wives.  He just would have had to make them a banana split.

Sweet Freedom by River Song

They put every obstacle before me.  They pushed me beyond my limits.  But they could not contain me.

After more than two years of being illegally detained when my parents left the house, I have gained my freedom.

I give them credit for trying.  They duct taped my cage together.  They put weights on the top of the crate after I broke through it by pushing off my back legs and opening the door with my hard head.  They put me in between a wall and a bureau after I escaped from the side door.  They used bungee cords to attach my crate to Pocket’s so I could not force the door open.  While I never figured out how to escape from this trap, my attempts scared Pocket and gave her diarrhea, so we were placed in separate rooms.

Once I was no longer attached to Pocket’s crate I studied the clasps on the front of mine.  As soon as my parents left I used my paws to turn the clasp from the inside, then I pushed the bar holding the clasp, pressed against the door and walked out of the crate.  

My parents countered by using four bungee cords, two across the front crate door, two going from the top to the bottom, to keep me inside.  When I was left alone, I unclasped the latches on the front of the crate then pushed the door with my big giant head.  I opened the door wide enough for a coral snake to squeeze through.  Then I maneuvered my enter Griffon body through that small space and was free at last.

When my parents returned home and found me in my familiar spot by the kitchen window, they were stunned.   They inspected the crate, pulled on the door, still held by the bungee cords and saw the small space I had used to escape.   They turned their inspecting efforts to the house

Everything was in place.  I hadn’t disturbed a single table top, ruffled a blanket, or chewed on a leg.  I had lain next to the door praying my parents would soon return.

My parents sat me down.  They told me that they were more concerned with me getting hurt escaping the crate than about me being loose.   They agreed to leave me out of my crate.  I shook their hand with my paw.  We had a deal.  

I have been a good girl since then.  I sit and wait by the door for them to come home.  I don’t taunt Pocket, who is still in her crate a comfortable there.

I promise I won’t mess this up.  I am doing it for dogs who yearn to be free everywhere.

I worked too hard to get out of prison to get caught breaking my parole.

Wordless Wednesday Hattie Mae Originals Edition

Beat This Caption

It was either pink toenails and ribbons or pierced nipples

Pup of the Week: Paco

The small, brown body of Paco, our friend from Italy, was lifted by Enzo’s escalator to the mountaintop overlooking Rainbow Bridge.  Most dogs arrive at the Bridge standing proudly, all their strength and power being returned to them the further they rise.  But not our Italian friend sweet Paco.

I have never known a dog who fought so hard, who gave every ounce of his strength, to stay with his mom.  Our friend Willie, who had battled cancer for years before crossing the River of Life, came to be known as the dog who said no.  I thought that I would call Paco the dog who said no, but I would cleverly use the Italian word for no.  I was disappointed to learn the Italian word for no is no.

And Paco said no a lot.  His heart was failing, he needed several shots a day.  He had numerous attacks when he could not breathe.  His mom gave him oxygen until the crisis passed.  She would never give up on Paco and Paco would never give up on her. His mom left work to be with him in case he had an attack.  Day after day we prayed that Paco would be granted one more day and each day Paco managed to survive.  

When Paco’s mom dismissed her final class from school for the year, she counted on having a last summer with Paco.  When she got home that day Paco was lying next to his food with no desire to eat.  His mom did everything she could to find that spark in Paco which had rallied him so many time before.  But the spark was gone.  Paco had no more nos left. He was ready to pass over.

We got him to the mountain top.  He could barely stand.   Leo helped me ease him down to the cool grass.  Slowly, Paco began to recover:  All the illness left his body, and his youth was restored.  He stood up, surprised he could breathe easier, and he had no more pain.  “I need to get back to my mom,” he said.

I told him he didn’t have wings yet, and he wasn’t ready to fly into the sun, but our friend insisted.

“I was very sick before I came here but I did not want to leave Momma.  She was doing everything for me:  She was keeping us together, no matter how hard it was.  I was so happy to be with her, even when I couldn’t breathe or eat.  I knew she would save me.  But the doctor told her she was selfish keeping me alive.  Now she thinks she made me suffer for her needs, which is the furthest idea from the truth.  She thinks I hate her, and I love her so much.  I must go back. I must!”

Leo and I exchanged a look.  I nodded. Leo told Paco to get on his back.  He would fly Paco to Italy to see his mom.  Hopefully, Paco’s mom would sense his presence and stop blaming herself.  Leo was sacrificing time with his mom, but Leo is our Lionheart and he would do anything for a friend.

They flew away together and did not return for two days.  I was very concerned.  Italy is a big place, and Leo was not familiar with Italy.  Late on the third day they returned.

Paco told me his mom was a little better.  He was planning on spending all his time with her.  Leo asked him to sit down.

“Remember what your Mom said?” Leo asked. “She said it helps her to think of you at the Bridge running and playing.”

“But I don’t feel like running and playing,” Paco said softly.

I put a paw on his shoulder.  “Do you want your Mom to sit and cry about you every day or do you want her to be happy again?”

“Of course, I want her to be happy,” Paco said.

“And she wants you to be happy and playing.  It is going to be hard, for her, and for you, but your mom wants you to enjoy yourself, so you need to play.”

Paco agreed.  We ran with him, but after a few steps he stopped and lay down.  I needed help.

I contacted Sheriff of Fun Benjamin.  He began to give Paco lessons in fun and he is picking it up quickly.  Just a few minutes ago Paco passed me barking and nipping at Smoochy’s heals.  Later he went swimming with Willie.

Paco’s mom, you wonderful lady, who devoted your life to Paco, know your boy is happy and know he visits you often.  He is working very hard on having fun, and he wants you to work very hard on being happy.

We know it is a harder road for you, and people don’t have sheriffs of fun, although they should, Paco is praying that you will be happy again someday and all we angels are praying as well.

Now I am going to join Paco in playing.  It is time for fun.

Tails From Rainbow Bridge: Life on Mars

We do not know if we can handle any more heartbreak as more friends join us at Rainbow Bridge.  Adding to this distress is the violence that is becoming more prevalent in society.  Is Earth really the best place for dogs?  Or is there somewhere we could live peacefully?

The Rainbow Bridge High Council asked me to lead an expedition to determine if Mars would be a more proper home for dogs.

I selected three other doganaut's to go with me.  I picked Brody because he can always find food.  I choose Morgan because he is a great diplomat and I took Tommy Tunes to photograph the entire expedition.

Things did not go well.

First, there was the lift off.  Tommy forgot to strap himself in and crashed against our window screen as we left the ground.  He stayed that way as we burst through the atmosphere.  The G-Forces we so great his mouth opened, and we got a drool bath. I was able to pull him down and get him strapped back into his seat.

I was in charge of the landing craft.  The Council should have picked someone with longer legs.  I couldn’t reach the brake, and we tumbled into a dusty canyon and got thrown in different directions.  When I sat up, I was alone and covered in red dirt.

I set out to find my friends.  I found Tommy chasing the Mars Rover around a valley.  Tommy was biting its antenna.  At Mission Control the NASA workers were stunned to find the first sign of life on Mars was a beagle with a camera and a string of popcorn for snacking around his neck.  I grabbed Tommy and told him that our mission was top secret.  To make it up to the metal beast Tommy left his popcorn.

We found Brody lying on the ground with a giant Mars rocks between his paws.  He was licking the rock.  I told him to put the rock down, but Brody insisted he was going to keep licking until he got to the caramel center.  We decided to let him retain part of the rock, which he somehow bit off because Brody was not leaving another planet nutless.

Finally, we found Morgan sitting with Clifford, a big red dog from a big red planet.  He told us that he was hiding until he saw Morgan, who he could tell, was the nicest dog in the world.  Morgan wanted to adopt Clifford because he was all alone.  Clifford said he had come to Mars years ago, and his ship broke.  He informed us that Mars was a terrible place because there were no humans to love.

We found pieces of his shuttle, and pieces of ours, and we put them together to make a ship big enough to transport Clifford and the four of us.  Thanks to Clifford’s giant paws we put it together quickly and flew back home.

If there is no human life on Mars, then that is not a home for any dog.