Gracie is the March 31 2019 Pup of the Week

I wanted to make the welcoming of my good friend Gracie special. I strive not to favor one breed over another, but when they are Yorkies like me, it is hard not to show some favoritism.

Gracie looks like me.  She was the same age as I was when I passed. Like me, she was taken too soon from the same terrible disease.  She could have been my sister, and I would swear to treat her like one.

I had advanced notice that Gracie would be arriving. Seven months ago it was discovered that she had a mass.  The doctors operated and removed it. There was a bit of hope. The bloodwork came back good. Then Momma Rene got the call she was dreading.  Gracie had adenocarcinoma. It was aggressive cancer that had spread. Surgery was an alternative, but she would lose part of her colon. Her quality of life would be poor after surgery, and it would only buy a little time.  Momma Rene and Papa Robert loved this baby like a child. They promised to keep her happy and comfortable for as long as they could. But there would be no more extraordinary efforts. Like all songs, Gracie’s was ending. Her parents vowed to treasure every note.

That night Gracie floated out a prayer, not for herself, but her parents. We dogs accept our short lives. We know that humans lives are long complex operas with dark twists and turns that can take nearly a century to complete. Amid that opera is our lives which are one short, stunning aria that holds the entire opera together and is often the best part of the production.

Gracie had heard her parents crying after they got her diagnosis. They were cursing themselves for putting her through an operation that had proven to be meaningless.  But Gracie did not agree. She wanted them to know that at least according to the book of Gracie the operation was proof of how much her parents loved her and the lengths they would go to protect her. And it did buy her more days with her parents. She would have endured dozens of operations to have one day more.

Gracie wanted me to convey that to her parents so they wouldn't be upset.  I told her a single sweet look from her would express that more than a thousand dream dates.
From that day forward Gracie sang her song with a little less energy until the time came when all her notes were gone.

As I was making sure everything looked spectacular for Gracie's arrival, that the flowers were freshly cut, that the steak, chicken, and lamb I had bought for her and her guests were tastefully arranged, and the boxer angel band who would play triumphantly when she Arrived were floating above me.   Then I saw her brother Hagen wearing a new black tie walking towards me.

Hagan had arrived several years earlier. I had been shocked by his appearance. I was the one moderating prayer requests from his family. I thought he was doing better than wham he was here. No one has an easy time when their pup passes, but for Momma Renee and Papa Robert, it was especially cruel.

Hagan had visited his parents dreams the night before and knew they were heartbroken. He did not know if he could heal them. I told him he had before. “But I had Gracie’s help.” He said nervously. I assured him he would again.

Then I heard the familiar sound of little Yorkie paws scampering on wood and saw Gracie running, and barking bigger then herself, all the pain that had hurt her just hours ago was swept away.  She ran up the stairs with her tail wagging. She gave Hagan a big hug, and kiss then gave them to me too. She said she appreciated the effort I put into making the entrance to the Rainbow Bridge look perfect. I gave her the oath.
Gracie ate some chicken and salmon and then she told Hagan they had to get to work.  Their parents needed a tremendous amount of help to get used to those now Gracie- less new normal.  


Their parents should be comforted by knowing that now they had two guardian angels who are working day and night to spark good memories that will make Momma Renee and Papa Robert smile and feel better.

A Dream Visit From Foley Changes the Outcome of the Iditarod

You may have read how the leading dogs on the last day of the Iditarod steered, by musher Nicholas Petit, quit leaving the sled and it's occupant stuck miles from the finish.

Many people who read about this wondered what had happened to cause the dogs to quit.  Readers of this blog asked themselves “hmm, I wonder if Foley had anything to do with this?”  Of course, I did.

I am not against the Iditarod race.  Some dogs love to run in the snow. I like sitting in the sun and licking myself. If someone turned it into a competition, I would be an Olympic athlete.  But humans prefer to watch running and not licking.

I know Huskies love to run in the snow.  They don't even mind dragging a human behind them.  Many an adorable winter photo have been made by a happy dog pulling a gleeful child on a small sled.  Dogs like running in the snow and making people happy. The Iditarod combines them both.
Mushers need to keep in mind that they are not the athletes any more than the coxswains who sit at the head of a rowboat and barks orders are.  This endeavor is so unathletic it is what aunt Becky chose to lie about her daughter doing to help her get in college.

I hear Iditarod dogs complaining because In a horse race the animal is declared the winner.  The jockey is recognized as the Robin to the horse’s Batman. In the Iditarod, a bunch of Batmans is pulling the sled, and Robin is getting the glory.

Still, I kept my opinions to myself until I got a prayer request from a huskie named Joey who was part of Petits’ team. They were in first place with a day to go.  They had an insurmountable lead. Joey and his mates were exhausted after running hard. At camp, Joey and another dog began to fight for reasons Joey couldn't remember.  It was a brief skirmish. No dogs were physically hurt, but Petit screamed at Joey and hurt his feelings.

“I want this stupid race to be over” Joey prayed.

That night I snuck into Joey's dreams.  I told him if he no longer wanted to race he shouldn't.  He was an athlete. While I couldn’t condone two teammates fighting one another unless they were In the 
NBA, Joey shouldn't have been yelled at.  The competition was in his and his teammates’ paws.

The next morning over breakfast Joey talked about the competition with his teammates.  When the race started Petit in sat in the sled and ordered his chargers forward. None of the dogs moved.  Petit ordered them again and again to no avail.

Petit got out and first yelled,  then begged his team to move. None did.  Some sat in the snow. Joey looked at petit from the corner of his eye and snickere
d.
Desperately Petit tried to think of a way to get his sled moving.  He went behind the lead dog and attempted to crank his tail like he was an old Model-t. The offended dog almost took his hand off.  He looked through his bag for something he could use to jumpstart the team. But he came up empty.
Soon, the other teams passed him has as Petit sat shivering on his sled.

Well, Joey and his teammates may not have won that day, but They did strike a blow for dog athletes everywhere.  Maybe next year the Iditarod will spend more time celebrating the dogs that won than the human that rode.


Even though they did not finish first, Joey knows he is a true champion.

Pocket and River Song Meet the Candy Man

River and I, as usual, were left alone on Saturday as my parents shopped and dined.   We both fell into an uneasy sleep.
We were awoken by tapping on the entry door.  River jumped up and ran towards the sound. Suddenly, a yellow lab, wearing a top hat and a smock walked right through the closed door.  He dragged what looked like an ice cream cart behind him. He let go of the cart and began to sing.

"Who can take some chicken?
Grind it up fine
Mix it up with other foods and a touch of equine
The kibble man can!
The kibble man can!
Who can take that mixture?
Dry and extrude it until its all merged
Cook on high until it looks like a rat turd
The kibble man can
The kibble man can
Because he mixes it with probiotics
To make your poop look good.”

He glided over to me and opened my crate door.  I walked out and sat on the floor next to River.  We were fascinated by this singing dog.
"Are your parents feeding you the same old tired kibble?” he asked. “ Isn't it time you got to taste exotic proteins that will make your mouth explode Iinflavor?"  He walked to the ice cream cart and lifted the lid.

"Come with me, and you'll find
Flavors beyond your imagination
Come with me, and you'll be free
Of boring kibble caused starvation."

"Now what kibble are you currently eating?"  he asked. I told him Blue Buffalo Basics. He made a face.  "Such bland food." He reached into the cart and brought out two kibbles.  'This is what you are currently eating,' he said handing them to us. We ate both.   "How did that taste?' he asked.

"Like crap, as usual," River said.

The Lab shook his head sagely and reached into the cart.  He held up two kibbles. "Would you believe that this small kibble comprises a mixture of free range of turkeys, chickens who have spent their entire life living in a penthouse suite at Trump towers, prize-winning pigs who have only been fed filet mignon, salmon who lived in a dentist's fish tank in Sydney Australia, virgin picked fruit, vegetables are grown by an 80-year-old farmer in Kansas with a germ phobia which makes him wash his hands every five minutes, and pumpkins picked from the patch where Linus awaited the great pumpkin?"

We shook our heads.”What would you say if I told you that by eating this kibble you would never feel any aches or pains, your poop would slip out of you like a snake gliding through a log on a hot summer's day, No flea or tick would ever bother you, you would never go to the vet again, And you would pass to the Bridge happily in your mother's arms at the age of 31.”

We remained skeptical.  ‘Maybe my friends can persuade you,’ he said.
Four Oompa Loompas walked through the door.

“Oompa Loompa doopity Doo
We've got another kibble for you
Oompa Loompa dupity Dee
If your Wise you will listen to me

How about bison mixed with kangaroo
No more kibble from things that go moo
How about from the horn of a unicorn
Don't worry {wink} {wink} no soy or corn
At this point, your parents will buy anything!”

The kibble man handed each of us a perfectly round kibble.  ‘Please to enjoy” he said.

We bit into and let it sit our tongue then swallowed.  Still tasted like crap we agreed

“Of course it does,” the kibble man said.  “Dogs have one-sixth the number of taste buds as humans.  It is hard for us to distinguish subtle flavors especially when they are all crammed together in one tiny bite.  It is the smell that stimulates our appetites. And the stinkier, the better. Humans still buy our food based on the flavors on the front of the bag, most of which we can’t taste.  Now a five-pound bag of unicorn food costs $42.00. Give me your mom’s credit card number, and I will send you a bag.”

This sounded good to me, but River interrupted, and said that our mother would be upset if we spent her money on unicorn food and in the most polite manner River could muster asked him to leave.  

“Let me give you my card," he said dropping it on the floor.  “You will come around sooner or later.’” He gathered the Oompa Loompas, took his cart by the hand and disappeared through the door.

They were all exhausting. I went back in my crate and River got on the couch.  We fell asleep again. We awoke when our parents got home.

Neither River or I could decide if we both shared a dream or what had happened was real.  We agreed it was better to accept it was a dream.

That night, while my parents were watching TV and I was sitting with Mommy in the recliner, I saw an Oompa Loompa behind the TV.  I looked out the window in the other direction and barked. Mommy searched outside to see what I was barking at. This gave the Oompa Loompa a chance to sneak out the door.

River Song and I are convinced the kibble Man is out there with his cart of overpriced exotic kibble aimed at human tastes and not dogs needs.
  

Tell your parents to beware the Kibble Man.

Wordless Wednesday

Beat This Caption

How many times do I have to tell you not to bother your mother and me in bed?

Monday Question

Not counting the people you live with who are you closest to?



That would be mommy's brother Tom and his wife Charlotte.  They come over once a month to play with us.  Our parents insist on having dinner first, which cuts down on our playtime.  I know they would prefer just playing with us.  They can eat anytime.  Playtime with us is limited.

Sgt Rambo is the March 24, 2019 Pup of the Week

I was awoken earlier this week by my phone barking.  I checked my messages. The Governor Of Dogs had texted me:  “A military dog is passing over today. Be prepared.”

When military or police dogs become immortal all the dogs of their ilk, who had arrived before them, form a line, from the Bridge, then up the stairway, and for several more feet on the cliff overlooking the River, until they reach me at the swearing-in altar. Every year more service dogs pass, and more dogs stand in respect.  I will not be surprised, in ten years, if the line is so long I will be standing in the town square
.
I heard the church bell toll.  It was the most effective way of spreading information in my communities of Doggyspace and Blogville.  Us dogs have refined hearing. We can tell the difference between individual peels. This one summoned the dogs of war.
They were already lined up when I arrived in my black judge's robe.  Usually, while waiting for a new dog, there is a hum of excitement emitted by the crowd. Today there was only respectful silence.

His name is Sgt Rambo.  After more than a thousand hours of training, Rambo did his service in the Marines.  His charge was to sniff out explosive devices to keep his comrades at arm's safe. He served both stateside and overseas in 2011 and 2012.  He became ill and lost a limb and then he was retired out of the military.

He shared a home with army veteran Lisa Phillips.  Phillips started a non-profit called Gizmo's Gift. It raised money to pay for medical care for retired military dogs.  Sergeant Rambo became the charity’s mascot.

The organization also finds forever homes for retired police and military dogs.  Sgt Rambo and Phillips visited educational events, schools and businesses to raise awareness about service dogs.  In 2015 Rambo was awarded military dog of the year at the American humane association hero dog awards.

And now the bell was tolling for him.  I saw Rambo slowly walking on his three legs as he crossed the Bridge.  Despite the loss of limb he still carried himself with dignity. As he reached the stairs, a dog stepped out of line and handed him his missing leg.  It slipped into place quickly. Rambo smiled in relief then climbed the stairs.

We could tell he wanted to test that leg on a good run.  But, he still kept his military bearing as he climbed the steps.  When he reached the top, the boxer band played God bless America. When the trumpeter blew the final notes, I administered the oath, and every dog cheered.

After Rambo got his wings, he was given a large feast.  I was invited, had a bit of food and promptly left. I was the dog who had given the oath, like a preacher at a wedding.  No one minded me being there, but they hoped I would quickly eat the fish and go.

A few days after Rambo's passed he invited me to attend his funeral as a ghost.  I thought it would be a typical backyard affair with close friends and dogs. But Rambo was given a full military funeral with a 21 gun salute.  Phillips received the folded flag. There were hundreds of ghosts and even more military personnel who attended. It was a lovely salute to a hero.


All dogs deserve such tributes, and our parents would like to give them to us.  Maybe someday they will. For now, we will leave it to just the brave.