Felix is our September 30, 2018 Pup of the Week

I dreamed a dream last night.   We were all young and again. We had just discovered social media.  It was like finding a vast field of fresh snow ready for us to put our paws in it and leave our marks.   And we did, a generation of dogs creating their own world, celebrating walks and treats, suffering when friends became sick or needed operations.  We were dogs We were finally being heard. And we ruled the world.

Some dogs became silent as their parents drifted towards Facebook, and some others expanded on the idea, creating well-read and influential blogs.  The golden age of dog blogging may have passed, as so many of those original writers passed to the Bridge, but the blogs themselves remain as long as the Internet keeps us all connected.

I woke up with Felix, coauthor of the award-winning Kol’s Notes next to me.  We had not knocked paws. It was just a friendly snuggle with a scared, lonely dog who became overwhelmed when he faced the prospect of living in the immortal world and needed a friend.  While we dogs all get the choice to retrieve the parts we lost during our mortal life, including our naughty bits, none of us want those troublesome organs. When you get those things back and start using them, the next thing you know you’re testifying before Congress.

Felix and I became besties ten long years ago.  His mom was studying dog nutrition and became, and still is, our go-to person for all dog digestion questions.  One night I had something strange in my poop.  My parents broke it apart, took pictures of it, and sent it to Momma Jodi.  They studied the poop until it was determined I had eaten a wax earplug. Momma Jodi was there for my parents, as she was for so many others. She also helped my parents find the right food for Pocket’s sensitive stomach.

Momma Jodi would not have been there to help diagnose my poop, find Pocket food, or help so many other pet parents, through Facebook posts and her awesome blog without her two inspirations, Kolchak and Felix.  The love they gave her, their perpetually smiling faces, their exuberance for life, inspired a blog that made all our lives better, with helpful tips, recipes, and answers when we needed them.

I think Momma Jodi knows more about dogs than any other momma I know.  But no momma knows enough to keep her baby with her when his heartbeats began to expire.  Felix’s body did not break down all at once but in increments. Felix tore his ACL. Given his age, Momma Jodi did not want him to have surgery so she researched everything she could about torn ACL and soon Felix, with the aid of some back wheels, was happily living his life as he had before his injury.

No matter what obstacle was placed before Kolchak, Felix and their mom she found a way to adapt to it.  But when Felix ran out of heartbeats, all that is left is saying goodbye.

Felix reluctantly crossed the Bridge.  He was not just an enormous part of his mom’s heart, but also the reason Momma Jodi helped so many others.  Felix was worried about his parents, his brother Kolchack, and his friends. He felt like he had let everyone down.

The good thing about having helped so many dogs is that, when you need help, your friends pay it back tenfold, and Felix’s did.  By the next day, Felix was playing and laughing remembering all the good times, back when we were young, and our lives were ahead of us.  

We all took turns guiding Felix back into his mom’s life, in her dreams, as beautiful flying creatures, and ghosting.  We all wanted to do it to help our friend and to let his mom know how much she meant to us. She would not remember it in her mind but she would in her heart.  
And we wanted her to know that we will take of her special boy, who is now running through the fields and meadows, using all his legs and laughing all the way.
We need to keep inspiring Momma Jodi.  Our parents and the mortal dogs count on her too much.  


I  know nothing can replace Felix in Momma Jodi’s heart, but we hope Felix and hundreds of other angels praying for her and visiting her will help heal her heart.

Dallas the Pit Bull Goes From Death Row to K9 Cop

Humans love two types of stories, one about someone who pulls themselves out of squalor to become successful, and the other about dogs.   This tale, about a dog who rises above a hopeless early life to become a hero, should be a popular one.

Dallas is a pit bull which was born in Canada and taught only one thing:  How to kill.  From puppyhood, he was part of a dog fighting ring.  He doesn't talk about his past, but he must have been quite accomplished at vicious combat because he is still alive.

When Dallas was found, one of 30 dogs seized from a pit bull farm he, and the other dogs, were chained to the ground.  Some were wearing muzzles.    On the site were training sticks, schedules, steroids, and suture kits.  Every dog showed scars from fighting.  Five people were charged with animal cruelty and weapons violations.  

Rob Scheinberg, co-founder of Dog Tails Rescue in Ontario, vowed to save as many of the dogs as he could.  Twenty-one of the dogs were given a behavioral assessment by OSPCA and were determined to be too dangerous for adoption.  They were scheduled to be euthanized. Dallas was among those dogs.

Scheinberg refused to believe that all these dogs needed to be put down.  He hired a lawyer, and for two years they battled OSPCA’s attornies who insisted the dogs were a danger to society.  Scheinberg began a #Savethe21 social media campaign, and celebrities joined the fight.   During the duration of the case, two of the dogs went to the Bridge, and one was determined to be beyond rehabilitation, but 18 more, including Dallas, were turned over to Dog Tails Rescue to be rehomed.  The Rescue vowed to pay all medical and travel expenses for the dogs.

Dallas was sent to jail but not because he was guilty.  He was given to a prisoner to socialize and train so hopefully he could be adopted.  

Nicholas Ramos, the inmate who worked with Dallas, thought the pup would be a fantastic K9 Dog.  But the training was expensive, and no dog before Dallas had gone from an execution sentence to being a police dog.

Carol Skaziak, whose organization, Throw Away Dogs Project, repurposes unique dogs, heard about Dallas’ potential, and contacted a police K-9 trainer her group worked with, Bruce Myers.  Skaziak sent Myers videotapes of Dallas training which peaked his interest enough for him to make a personal visit. 

When Davis saw Dallas, he knew the pittie would make an excellent sniffer dog.  His trainers began working on this specialty, and they were paid by Scheinberg’s organization.  Meanwhile, in Honaker Virginia, the police needed a K9 to sniff out drugs but did not have the budget to purchase one.  Pet Tales had found a police department in need, and Dallas was the perfect match.  

Dallas is now an officer with the Honaker police department and has a forever home with his partner officer Cody Rowe.

How many souls go from a court-ordered death sentence to becoming a police officer?  Dallas has achieved the impossible, thanks to many caring humans who never gave up on him.

We dogs know there are many good people in the world willing to give us a second chance.


We hope they have the heart to give humans a second chance too.

River Wonders Why Humans Need Soul Mates When They Have Dogs

I enjoy having two parents.  With a duo, there is less waiting for a warm lap.  I am not sure why humans need to live with another person.  Sure, they want children, but kids are a bother, and some of them, when they grow older,  move away, burn the bridge from their lives to their parents front door and never cross back.

Pets are a big improvement over children.   There aren’t months of diaper changes, messy cleanups, or walking lessons.  I do understand that, despite their many faults, babies do fill some need in their parents’ lives, which is the only reason that, at birth, they are not sent to a facility in Colorado to be raised until they become productive members of society.  But humans still go to extraordinary lengths to find a person to cohabitate with, even if the result isn’t children. This behavior puzzles me.
What a waste of energy.  Who needs another human when you can have a pet?

A dog never falls out of love with you.  You could leave us on the interstate during a thunderstorm 100 miles away, and we would find our way home to you and give you a lick when we saw you.  Humans seem to fall out of love on the first day they become bored.

Humans often break up because of financial issues.  We would go from sleeping in your bed to sleeping in a cardboard box on the median strip with you without complaint.  We don’t care about money. If there is no food, we will get our wolf on and hunt for you.

We would never leave you for another person or cheat on you by snuggling with someone else without your knowledge.  Sure, we might sniff a stray butt every once in a while but who doesn’t?  And we know our parents give other dogs attention, we can smell it on them, but we forgive them.  We are certain that there will never be another dog for them.

People break up because of trust issues.  Dogs always trust their humans, even when they do the stupid fake throwing the ball trick.  We would like our people to trust us, but sometimes, when we are alone, we do bad things, but only because we are worried about our people.

We never have different aspirations than our parents.  Ours stay constant, food, a walk, a lap, and whatever our parents want to do.   Some humans break up because their spouse is too clingy. We live for clingy. No dog has ever walked away from a human because they needed some me time.  Nor do we ever want to leave because we are not into you.  We are always into you. You are the fascinating creature on the planet.    One of us will never outshine the other.  We are equal in all aspects of life.  We are not concerned about what happens in the bedroom as long as we are allowed inside.

We are the perfect partners for humans, and you are the perfect partners for us.


I just wish we could convince our parents that. Then they would not waste so much time looking for their soulmate and realize they already have one.

For Madi. A blog from September 18, 2018 Called Good Kitties

Today, when Pocket and I went to get the mail, only to find out that
we had none (sigh), we saw a handwritten note taped to the community
board. "Last Cat: If found return to Unit 20."

I thought of Boots and his adventures and wondered if the cat had
jumped on my windowsill and copied my download codes. Then I studied
the note carefully. "Lost Cat." Could they have been any vaguer?
Perhaps: "Missing Mammal" or "Misplaced Carbon Based Unit." Could
they post a picture of the kitty? Or at least a description?

Pocket doesn't scrutinize events the way I do. She just wanted to
find the kitty and reunite it with its Mom. "But Pocket, we don't
know which kitty it is!" I pleaded.

But you can't talk to a dog with a diaper on her butt, and she was
off. A few minutes later she returned with a baby chipmunk.

"That's not a cat," I said folding my paws across my chest.

"Vit vight vee," Pocket said holding the chipmunk in her mouth. The
chipmunk, meanwhile, was professing her innocence, stating that while
she may have moved the squirrels nuts, she did not lick them.

Pocket went running to the woman's door. I followed. Pocket scratched
on it until she answered. "I found your kitty," Pocket said as she
dropped it on the ground.

"That's a chipmunk," the woman said.

"Oh," Pocket said scratching her head. "Sorry, you can go," Pocket
said, nosing the chipmunk-like she does the ball when she wants
someone to throw it.

The chipmunk took several steps away, stopped, and shook her butt at
Pocket. I growled at the brash rodent. Only I get to butt shake
Pocket.

"We'd like to help you find your kitty," I said. "Maybe you can give
us a description, or give us something to smell."

"You two aren't scent dogs," the woman said.

"You have never stood downwind from Pocket," I told her. I asked her
for a picture, and she said she didn't have one. My gosh, was this cat
her pet or was she just renting her a room? I asked for a
description.

"She's white and gray," the woman said. It was like saying she lost
an old white man in Congress. I told the woman I would keep my eyes
open. I then walked away, ready to climb on my blanket and nap
through the day.

But at three years of age, I must admit Pocket has learned. She cut me
off. "You know where the kitty is," Pocket said.

"Leave it alone Pocket, we don't need to get involved," I said.
I watched Pocket heading to the wall on the other side of the street, and I knew she didn't pay attention when she crossed the road. I ran up to her, took her by the paw and helped her across the road.

As many of you have commented Pocket, and I are too tiny to scale a wall. "We could just go around it," Pocket said. We just went around it.

And where did we emerge? Was it on the island with Ben and Hurley? In the Emerald City from the Wizard of Oz? To some, but to us it was just the state mental institution.

Now don't go jumping to conclusions. The kitty hadn't gone crazy. The kitty had gone wild.

At the State Mental Institution, they were called feral cats. These are bad cats. The kind of cats who knock over cigarette trucks and sell the cartons on the cheap. The kind that runs shines out of the back of the old maintenance building. The kind that doesn't get spade. The kind that stays in heat so long the eventually go poof in an orange ball of flame on a hot summer day. The kind that calls themselves "Good Kitties" like " this is Snowball, she's a good kitty." The kind no Yorike goes near.

But Pocket is not just any Yorkie. She's nuts. The maintenance men, long ago, guys with names like Sid and Ike, began leaving food and water for the stray cats on the site, in old maintenance shed. Soon the maintenance men abandoned that shed. But the kitties did not. And although all those old maintenance men were long gone, someone still feeds those kitties. Some told tale of the ghost of Sid filling the kitties' bowls every morning. Then again this is the state mental institution so let's not get carried away.

Pocket saw two kitties, leaning up against the old maintenance shed, smoking Lucky Strikes, and spinning a mouse on a rotisserie over a fire. I shouted at her to wait, but she began to run towards them. Really? What is it with her and all the running? She ran right up to the cats. She asked if she could go inside and look for a friend. "I could be your friend, Buttercup," one of the kitty toughs said.  "But you're not white and gray," Pocket answered.

I walked up to them and said I wanted to go in. They asked me what the password was. "Swordfish," I answered. They stepped aside.

"How did you know that?" Pocket asked.

"The password is always swordfish," I said.

"Well what 's the point of that?" she asked.

"Look Pocket, we're in, stop over analyzing this to death."

We entered the room. There were several playing pools. Some were licking catnip right off the bar. Several others were enjoying their own private parts. I know, we all do it, but in public? Unprofessional. Pocket was ignoring it all; She saw the brown and white kitty being given a big bowl of milk by two rough looking kitties and hurried over to her.

Fearless, or senseless, Pocket ran right up to the kitty and told her that her Mommy missed her and she had to return home.

"Buzz off hairball," one of the older cats said. "This here is our prag, and you are getting in way over your head."

"Yeah," the kitty said. "You go back and tell my Mommy I'm never coming back. I'm sick of her stupid rules. Don't get on the couch. Pee in the litter box. Stay off the bed. I don't like rules."

I sauntered next to Pocket. "Maybe we should leave her alone. Her Mom seems like a bitch." But Pocket insisted that the kitty belonged with its Mom.

A fat cat wandered over and told us it would be best if we leave, but Pocket insisted the kitty come with us. Then I saw one cat who had been eyeballing me. He walked over, spat some hair out at my paws and told me he remembered me. "Five years ago you chased me up a tree, and I got stuck there for a week. The fire department had to come to rescue me. I was humiliated. And now you dare to show your face in here."

"That wasn't me," I said. "I had a sister who looked like me. Bad dog."

"No that was you, Foley," Pocket said. "I remember you telling me about it and laughing."

"I think it's time you have chased up a tree," he said, and the kitties surrounded us.

We were in deep Vick now. I knew we shouldn't have gone over the wall. Then we heard the squawking. The Canadian Geese Police had arrived.

I told Pocket to head for the door, but she grabbed the kitty in her mouth. We ran for the door, got outside with the scrambling cats and pecking police, broke away from them, went around the wall, and returned the kitty home. We brought the kitty into the house and told the woman to let the kitty on the couch, the bed, and to let her pee where she wanted. "But this isn't even my kitty!' she said.

"It sure as shit is now!" I yelled.

Pocket and I ran hard towards our doggy door and hit it hard before we realized we didn't have one. Ouch. We climbed in through the window.

We both sat down on the couch breathing hard. Pocket looked at me. "There's one thing I don 't understand," she said. "Why was the Canadian Geese police?" she asked.

I put my paw on her shoulder. "Because sometimes Pocket you just need to find your way out of your blog."
"No, it's like Boots, we need to save this kitty like Boots was saved.
And you know where the kitty went, she went over the wall."

"Listen to me Pocket, we have this place on the market, we could move
soon, and then we would never have to worry about what's on the other
side of the wall again," I said.

She turned. "I'm going. I'm going over the wall to save the kitty."

"No Pocket, no, not over the wall." But she didn't listen. She
walked towards the wall. I couldn't let her go alone. But I couldn't
go over the wall again either.

I knew what I had to do.

Wordless Wednesday

Beat This Caption

All I ask for when I get home from work is 30 minutes to enjoy a beer and check Instagram.   Is that too much to ask?

Monday Question

I, Pocket, have been recovering from a nasty allergic reaction to ragweed.  This is the first time I have had an allergic reaction.  Are you allergic to anything or ever been diagnosed with an allergy?

River Song:  I have had yeast in my ears twice and a foot infection which I licked raw.  They were all environmental allergies.