River Song Goes on a Diet

One of the worst things that can ever befall a dog happened to me this past week. I was put on a diet!

My parents have been commenting about my weight a lot recently. I considered this behavior to be rather gauche.  You do not comment on a lady's weight. Thankfully, I am a forgiving sort.

Last week I went to my trusted groomer.  She is the one who traveled to Florida and brought me to Massachusetts to live with my forever family.  She is the mom to my paramour, a studly young Griffon who I was once bred with which we an ill-fated attempt to pass my beauty onto a further generation.

While one groomer carried Pocket to the waiting area, my groomer came out, especially to see me.  "Hi there, chunky," she said with a smile.  

I looked around to see who she was addressing, but no one else was there.  When she picked me up, she made and overly exaggerated grunting noise as if my burden was too much to bear.

I was crushed. I also understood why this woman groomed dogs; she probably started in a hair salon. One day a customer came in, and my groomer asked:  "Hey, lard ass! You want a washout and a perm?" After that, she had to work in the dog world where the customers are more forgiving. 

My parents, trying to seem capable, said they were considering putting me on a diet.  Hah! Me on a diet? The thought was absurd
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After a few hours of pampering, I had forgotten the entire sordid incident.  When I got home, my parents showed me the green beans and carrots that would now be staples of my meals.  I blanched.  

I took a nap and dreamed of a visit with Foley.  She told me she had never submitted to a diet in her life. "Don't eat whatever they put in front of you," she stressed.  "After a couple of days of not eating, they will become concerned that you are going to starve to death, they will break and begin feeding you whatever you want.  It's foolproof."

Encouraged, I was inspired to boycott my dinner.  At supper time, slimy green beans and smelly carrots took up half my plate.  I was surely not eating that. I remembered what Foley had said. But then I questioned it. Did Foley mean all the food or just the new food?  She must have meant don't eat the vegetables. She didn't want me to starve. I began to eat the kibble. I must have lost concentration because 32 seconds later, my plate was spotless. 

That night Foley visited me in my dreams. She was angry. She told me I could not eat anything. I had to stand up for chubby for dogs everywhere.  The next morning I was determined to begin my fast. Upon seeing the plate, I turned up my nose. 

Unfortunately, my tongue went down. My plate was clean in 10 seconds. On my next dream visit, Foley told me I would no longer be the chubby dog representative.

That was fine with me.   I didn't like that title anyhow.

The truth is, I love food glorious food.  Food that's good for me, food that's bad for me, food to make me lose weight, food to make me gain weight, it's all good.   I'm not like Pocket, who has to have the exact food arranged the same way on her plate before she can eat. What you plop down, I'm chowing down. 

I am glad I am not a role model for chubby dogs. I want to be that for dieting chowhounds.  If you have a dog, who could stand to drop a pound or two and eats anything put in front of them, then break out the dog-safe fruits and vegetables.  Soon the pounds will shed away. 

Soon I will post another picture of myself.  I hope I look thinner. I am missing my turkey.

No Tricks, Just Treats for Shelters

Our Daddy picked up two bags of food to deliver to the shelter.  We don't have a lot of toys, and Mommy doesn't keep much more than what she uses.  If we do get more toys we will donate some old ones. 

Beat This Caption

Excuse Ewe

Monday Question

In honor of Tony Soprano, we have a question about waste disposal.
What happens to your poo after you go.
Is it bagged right away?
Is it cleaned up every day or week?
Do your parents let God take care of it? 
If you go on walks is there a place where you can go freely?
Or is there something else

Tess Arrives at Rainbow Bridge

There are many reasons to have a pack full of young dogs.  A parent has the privilege of witnessing them growing up together and watching them form an unbreakable bond that only souls who experience life stages together can do.  When they are young and delighting their parents by romping across the green grass together, it is easy for humans to convince themselves that this is how it will be forever.

It is a thrill to see pups age, learn things, and become adults as a pack.  Sadly, they become seniors together, too, and that inevitably leads to massive heartache for their parents. 
The Portuguese Water Dog blog has been delighting readers for years.  We love getting updates about this awesome pack. As they age, we experienced them growing old together and tried to ignore the signs of diminishing heartbeats. 

In February, Fudge was the first to make that final trip to the Bridge.  In June, Sebastian and Noah joined him. Then, this week, Tess tragically became the fourth member of the Portuguese Water Dogs to cross over in a year.  The devastation of losing numerous dogs in a matter of months is unimaginable, and now their resilient parents will try to find their way through the twisted path of grief again.  They have walked it to often recently, but each time they start down the road, it gets longer. 

Tess' troubles began on October 1, when she collapsed.  Her mom hurried to her side. Tess' eyes darted back and forth, and she was holding her head at a strange angle.  Her mom called the vet, but he could not see her until the next day. Tess struggled through the night vomiting and unable to stand.  When she got to the vet, she was diagnosed with vestibular disease, a disturbance of balance.  
Her parents did everything they could to make Tess comfortable.  

The vet hoped that she would regain her balance and be able to walk after a short recovery.  Until then, her parents gladly doted on their girl. They lay with her and massaged her legs, shampooed her, kept her bedding clean, fed her by hand, and pulled her across the lawn on a sled so she could enjoy the beautiful fall weather. While on the sled, she grew agitated and wanted off. She stood, but when she walked, she fell.  Being able to stand was a great sign, but she would have to walk to keep the Bridge at bay.

The next day she was standing on her own and even peed on the grass.  It doesn't seem like much to most of us, but elder humans and dogs know to pee with dignity is a fantastic gift. 

There was good and bad over the course of the next week.  Tess was behind schedule when it came to walking. On the positive side, she was eating on her own; she let her parents know when it was time to go outside, and once there, she was able to stand, take a few steps and do her business, but she could not stand inside. 

From that point, Tess' progress plateaued.  Her parents knew for the fourth time this year;  they would have to make the world's hardest decision and take her pain away by sending her to the immortal side. 

With three angel siblings, whom she had visited in their dreams, Tess was well aware of how to be a perfect angel. She took to visiting her parents while they slept, to assuming the bodies of small flying creatures for trips to the mortal side,  to acing ghost visits, in no time. She also showed a unique ability to answer prayers quickly and responsibly. She moved into a room at the Portuguese Water Dog mansion, the home that was awarded to the pack for all the good they did on the mortal side. It is on the river so they can go swimming every day. 

At night they lead their parents, leading through grief's dark road.  They will stay with them until they are on the other side, where they can heal. 


Our angels always lead us out of the darkness.

Foley and the Dog Who Returned Home After Eleven Years

Within the first month of being at Rainbow Bridge, an angel has to go to the Prayer Clearing House.  This is where all unanswered prayers are stored. A new angel enters the database and clears out all their prayers, so another angel assigned to cold case prayers (those that have not been answered for five years) does not work on a current angel's prayers.  Working on cold case prayers is monotonous and unfulfilling. But, occasionally, it is gratifying for the one saying the prayers and the angels hearing them.   

When I was recently assigned to the cold prayers unit, I found some from 2007.  A woman was praying for a dog who had snuck out of her house when her oldest son was leaving for school.  The pup did not come home. She prayed for him constantly every day for a year and kept him in her nightly prayers since then.  I figured the dog was here at the Bridge, but there was no record of him. I opened the prayers from the dog's database and began to search.  I didn’t expect to find anything. Usually, in these instances, the dogs found a new home and stopped praying. I was about to abandon my search when I saw the prayers of a dog in Pittsburgh who was out in the cold, pleading to go back at his Florida home. 

I planned to check this little dog out.  The other angels told me I was foolish. It had been eleven years.  But I am an optimist. I found her in a parking lot in Pittsburgh 1,200 miles from her home. I showed her the picture that accompanied the woman's prayers.  “That’s her, that’s my mom!” she said excitedly. This was unprecedented! I immediately made sure that the little dog was found by rescuers and brought her to animal control. 

That is when I got lucky.  Not only was this little dog microchipped, but her mom had been paying to keep the chip active, refusing to lose hope.  No one was more surprised than she was to learn her little missing dog was alive in the northeast and was waiting to be picked up.  Her mom got the first flight she out and brought back home the dog she had named Duchess 11 years ago. 

That night I went into Duchess’ dreams and found out where she had been for the last eleven years.   She told me she was recruited from her home to work as director of the Florida campaign headquarters for Mitt Romney.  From there, she finished third on the Apprentice and was asked to join Seal Team Six, where she served as a scout for the team that took out Osama Bin Laden.  She retired from the military and used her training to make sure the Corgis did not act out of line during the Queen’s jubilee. 

After that, she reentered the army at considerable risk to herself to get information on Korea’s nuclear program.  She was the original Lafayette in Hamilton and won a Tony. She returned to England to steer the country through Brexit but grew frustrated dealing with Boris Johnson, so she returned to the States. At that point, she yearned to return home and get back together with her family.  She said a prayer and counted on a miracle. 

Luckily for her, there are miracles aplenty, none bigger than her mom still paying to keep her chip active for eleven years, clinging to the slimmest of hopes that The Duchess could be found. 



It goes to prove the longer you hold on to hope; the more likely a miracle is to occur.

Pocket's Ode to A Groomer

On Wednesday, River and I undertook our favorite endeavor, going to the groomers. My parents have been taking their dogs to the same groomer for 23 years since that magical moment occurred in May 1996, when Mommy finally relented and agreed to get a dog.

Daddy's Aunt Bev was the catalyst for my parents getting a dog. Mommy had mentioned offhand that she wouldn't mind a small fluffy dog. Daddy remembered Aunt Bev recently had a Lasha. He rushed mommy to her house, and Aunt Bev convinced mom to get a dog. Fortuitously, there were Shih Tzu puppies listed in the Globe the next morning. Mommy was skeptical about going to see them, but when they did, Blake ran up, put her paws on Mommy, and looked at her with deep brown eyes. Mommy was in love.  That love for dogs continued for a quarter of a century.

Once they had Blake, they had to figure out how to care for her.  Mommy had a lot of dog questions, including where to go for grooming.  Aunt Bev suggested a business, in Middleboro, half an hour away. Thankfully, my parents did not look for a closer alternative. Aunt Bev had never steered them wrong, and they were confident her grooming recommendation would not be the piece of advice that would break that streak.

If not for Aunt Bev, I could be getting groomed at a big box store. I shudder to think about it. I don't have an issue with how they groom, but, because the groomers do their work behind windows, and everyone can see what is happening, we don't get the perks we do in private salons.

If you go to a private shop groomer, you will get your haircut and shampooed, your nails done, and a nice bath.  It is beautiful, but no frills. A private groomer offers is so much more.

At our groomer, there is an exclusive backroom where our parents can't see.  We spread out on fainting couches and sip wine or Foleytinis. Then we receive a  mani-pedi as the sound of dogs sweetly howling in unison adds to the ambiance. Next comes bath oils made from green tea and shampoos made from watermelon and peppermint.  Then a full hot rock massage which eases our tension. We lay back and have cucumber slices placed on our eyes until we get hungry and eat them. That is followed by rejuvenating steam.  By the time our parents pick us up, we are ready to deal with all their problems and give them the support they need. 

During Foley's first year with my parents, the groomer opened her own business. It was run out of a small building on her property. Her mom worked the desk, her father cleaned up, and they kept the same groomers working for them for years.  People loved knowing the person who did their last grooming would do the next. 

Earlier this year, we were shocked to see a for sale sign outside their shop.  Our groomer's mother, Pat, who owned the building and the adjoining property, wanted to travel the country with her husband.  We wanted her to be happy but wished she would not sell.
  
Sadly in what may be a case of being careful what you want to for Pat suddenly went to the Bridge last month. She was always so sweet to us.  She had gentle hands and a kind disposition. We looked forward to our spa days so we could see her. I know she is petting Foley and many other dogs right now.  I am sure she has about a thousand of them at the Bridge
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There Is still a for sale sign in front of their establishment, but no one in the family knows if they're going to sell.  They're going to have to travel the road through grief first. I would gladly go to a big box store groomer if Pat could be home with her children and pups again.

For our parents, it isn't just how the grooming looks on us but who does the grooming. A good groomer is every bit as valuable as a good vet.

We have been blessed with the best.