Monday Question

Do your parents have any pet names for you?

Pocket:  Mine is Monkey, or Pocket Monkey Baby

River:  Mine is by Bug or Bugsy

Thor Arrives at Rainbow Bridge

The longer I am at Rainbow Bridge, the more friends join me. I wonder if it will ever stop. I see families tragically grow from one dog to two, then three, and now, when Thor joined Brutus, Hans, and Bailey, four.

Every dog, before coming to the Bridge, learns the reason why they will pass, so they can, if possible, extend their time on the mortal side. For Thor it was lymphoma, He stayed with them for every second he could, and then he gave his parents the signal that it was time. Having lost three boxers in the last few years, his parents knew how to read the signals.

When a dog is well past their Rainbow Bridge due date, the repo angels come for them. If the dog still refuses the repo angels add to their burden. They struck Thor with colitis which caused him to produce bright red stools. His parents gave him medication, but the illness was another brick in a rapidly growing wall.

The repo angels then took his appetite. This is usually their last move. Without sustenance, Thor could not fight off the illness. The combination finally caused him to signal his parents that his ride was here and it was time to join the Boxers Rainbow Bridge and make the trio a quartet.

The kindly vet came to the house to aid Thor on his journey. His little sister Lola did not want him to go. She paced the house, and, when it was over gave her brother a final.kiss as he was brought to the car.

Thor left his house full of magical memories. His wet kisses after drinking a bowl of water, his trying to steal his sister's food, his white feet which inspired the name sugar toes, his gentle breath as he slept in the big bed next to his parents, and his protectiveness. He left behind broken-hearted parents who realized they are blessed to know him.

It is an advantage for a new angel to have been preceded to the Bridge by three siblings. Thor had so many dream visits he knew more about the Bridge than I did. He did not show emotion nor confusion when he crossed over. He waited patiently to get the oath and be fitted with his detachable wings.

Thor walked over to Hans, Bailey, and Brutus. He dropped his head, and then they ran, laughing and barking with each step. I have seldom seen four boxers so happy.

Thor has already been back to visit his mom, and Lola, in their dreams. Lola is lucky. Unlike humans, she can remember these dreams dates. She still misses her brother, but knowing she can see him in her dreams does make it easier.

While there is no guarantee that their mom will remember their visits having four rambunctious boxers in her dreams is enough to give anyone restless nights.

Brutus, Thor, Bailey, and Brutus are the first quartet of friends to come to the Bridge. I know there will be more. The boxes have set an excellent example for those who will follow.

Foley and the Dog on the Cliff

"Urgent urgent urgent." The prayer request flew across my desk. Most requests can be studied, processed, then flown up the mountain to one of the Gods so they can decide what action should be taken.   But occasionally there a prayer request so dire they need to be acted upon immediately by the angel receiving them.  

I had two such requests cross my desk last week. The first was from a man begging that his dog be saved. The second was from a dog named Oreo praying that someone would help him. I decided on the spot, even if there would be ramifications and penalties for which I would suffer for acting without permission, that I would be that someone. 

I flew to Colorado Springs where I found Oreo on a cliff. There was a hundred-foot rock wall above him and a 100-foot straight drop below.  Oriole was stuck between a rock and a no place.

I asked Oriole how he got into this predicament. He said he had been on a run with his dad who, as we spoke was frantically looking over the edge and repeating the prayer I had intercepted. When they got done running his dad let him go off-leash. "I was quite foolish" Oreo explained  'I smelled something on the breeze, ran, and the next thing I knew I was like Wile E Coyote. I had nothing below my feet. I began to fall fearing I had taken my last sniff."

"Then I landed. It was quite a shock to my legs and spine but I was okay. I opened my eyes to see which way to go when I realized there was nowhere to go.  I was stuck. I began to pray." 

I told Oreo it was imperative he didn't move. I flew up the sheer rock and entered his dad's ear.  I told him to call 911. It popped into his head like it was his own idea. He dismissed it because he believed the rescuers would not respond to a trapped dog.  If you find yourself arguing with your own thoughts know they aren't yours. It's an angel trying to guide you into doing the right thing. You need to listen to your angels, just as Oreo's dad did when he relented and called the rescuers.

Oreo's dad had forgotten that all people love dogs. The fire department responded in full. They had become accustomed to people slipping off the cliff and needing rescue. This would be the first dog.

The experienced firefighters were able to repel down the ledge and get a reluctant Oreo into the necessary ropes that would lift him to his grateful Dad.  

I stayed in my ghost form until I was sure Oreo was all right.  Outside of a mouth injury, he suffered upon landing he was fine.  He gave me a nod of gratitude before he headed home with his dad. 

I even got a commendation from the gods. I didn't ask for it but it is always nice to know you're appreciated at work.  

Most of the credit belongs to humans.  I don't know if 20 years ago he would be so anxious to save a dog on a cliff. They are recognizing our importance in the daily life of humans.

Oreo, his dad, the dogs and the people who love them appreciate that very much.

Pocket and the Case of the Missing Ball

Earlier this week, I declared a state of emergency because my red ball had gone missing.

I have never shown much interest in stuffies.  I don’t chew bones. I am a ball girl. 

It started when I was a pup.  Papa sat on the floor with me.  He tried to get me interested in the dozen dog toys in the box. I didn’t react.  Then he selected a ball and threw it across the floor. I chased after it, picked it up, ran back, and dropped it by his hand.  He threw it again, and I retrieved it and brought it back. I had found my leisure activity.

When I was young, I could chase the ball for hours.  Papa would throw it from the living room into the dining room, and I would give chase.  I played until the ball was soaked with spittle then would hop up on the couch to sleep.  Papa sat down and rested. A few minutes later I was rejuvenated. I got down, nosed my ball towards Papa, and barked until he began playing with me again.

As I grew older, my ball time decreased.  Now, in my twelfth year, I only play for a short time before breakfast, and a bit later in the day.  I still love chasing the ball, but I love resting more.

I am a quirky dog.  One of my biggest oddities is that I will only chase one ball.  First, it was a blue ball; then it was an orange one. When a ball is lost or has been punctured, the available balls are lined up, and I pick one.  The last time I lost a ball, five years ago I selected the red one. Now, it is more bald than red, but I love it. The red ball is the best ball ever. 

My red ball loves to hide. It slips under the refrigerator and chairs, in between the stove and the cabinets, and behind the hutch.  No matter where it hides, I can sniff it out. 

Yesterday morning I did my important business.  After Papa showered, I went in search of my ball.  I could not locate it. But that was alright. Papa always finds it.
He got on his hands and knees and looked under everything.  He moved furniture and looked behind it. The ball was nowhere to be found. Momma assured me that she would find the ball when she cleaned while Papa is at work. 

Mommy cleaned every inch of the house, and my ball was not found.  I paced nervously behind her. “Red ball, oh ball, where could you be?" I pleaded.  Momma began to check places where the ball could not possibly have rolled: In the closets, in other rooms, on the porch, but the red ball was nowhere to be found. 

It was a deep mystery.  The ball could not have left the house, but it was nowhere to be found.  I couldn’t pick up its scent. All I could think was the ball rolled away.  I hoped not. Despite it only having a patch of red fur left on his round, black body, and covered in slobber, he was loved. 

Daddy lined up his balls for me to peruse and pick a new one, but I refused.  I was had not given up hope.

By the afternoon, I was slowly accepting that the ball was gone.  Every square inch of the house had been searched. Somehow my little red ball had disappeared.

We were having company the next day.  One of the guests has to use the lift recliner.  Mommy turned it in on to make sure the chair worked.  When she set the setting for “up,” my ball popped out from between the cushions.  When it hit the floor, I ran to it and gave it a big lick. 

We have no idea how my ball ended up wedged in the lift chair. No one has sat there since the ball disappeared.  It is too high for me to jump. River Song can, but she wouldn’t hide my ball. Would she?  

I am just happy my heroic mom rescued my ball.  It was a terrible two days.

Come on the little ball; we need to rest.

Wordless Wednesday

Beat This Caption

I may be about to drown, but I am going to look awesome doing it.

Monday Question

Are you a trip hazard?  Have your parents ever tripped over you?  How often?  Did anyone get injured