Foley's Tails From Rainbow Bridge: Pocket and the Frog Prince

I love picnics. I didn’t partake on the mortal side. My  Mom is not one to sit outside, having an aversion to dirt. But, my first week here, to cheer me up, Tommy Tunes took me for a picnic, on the banks of the River of Life. It was the first time I had felt at peace as I rested on the green grass. I finally understood what rest in peace meant.

I have gone on picnics with many of my angel friends but today it would be just Pocket and I. Sometimes you have to be kind to your smallest sibling (and she has a tiny appetite and there are more Watercress and Bacon sandwiches for me.)

We found a lovely spot and put our blanket down. We sat, and I opened the basket, handed Pocket a sandwich, put my one on the grass while I struggled to open up my cherry preserves, and, when I finally unscrewed the top I noticed my sandwich was gone. I was going to blame Pocket but then I saw a frog near the river bank eating my sandwich.

“Hey!” I yelled and tossed a bully stick stub toward him. (If you know what a bully stick is you will understand what an insult that was.) “Give me back my sandwich,” I barked.

“Pardon me,” the frog said with a well-practiced French accent. “I have been starving since an evil witch changed me from my princely form into a frog body. If you could give me a kiss I will be returned to my original human figure, and I will make you into my princess.”

The old prince in a frog suit who will make you into a princess trick was the number one cause of dogs being separated from sandwiches with the crust cut off. I was going to tell him to give me back my sandwich or I would make a snack out of his legs when Pocket excitedly stood and announced that she would be a princess.

Then she kissed the little green freak square on the lips.

And nothing happened. 

I was about to tell my sister that she had been fooled when a hundred frogs appeared on lily pads and announced that their king was back. Then the frogs carried the prince and the Pocket to a giant lily pad where she was about to be crowned as the Frog Queen.

I yelled at Pocket to stop but she was in her glory, being recognized as royalty. I had to get in line to greet Princess Pocket and the Frog Prince. When I came to her I whispered that she didn’t want to live the rest of her life on a lily pad but she was caught up in being a princess and not thinking about eating fly stew every day.

\\\\\

When the ceremony ended I was prepared to go home when Pocket joined me. I asked her why she wasn’t staying and she explained that she was one of 1,000 frog princesses and the queen was immortal so she would probably never have to rule of the frogs. “I think you should address me as Princess Pocket,” she said.

I told her I would do it for the rest of the night.

Then she told me I also had to pay a dowry of 10,000 bugs to the Prince’s family.

Damn frogs.

They are always working an angle. 

Poetry Thursday

 

This week's inspiration from the Two Spoiled Cats

Mr. Black had a plan

To steal everything he can

But he made a mistake, to drive the getaway van

He hired the Stay-Puff Marshmallow Man.

“He is too recognizable” complained Mr. Blue 

When he saw Stay-Puft as part of the villainous crew

But Mr. Black said there was no reason for a big tadoo

He was sure when they pulled the job Stay-Puft would meet

at the rendezvous. 

The day of the robbery the men stole a million dollar from the bank

And trustworthy Stay-Puft pulled up on the building’s flank

And the crew got in assured the van had a full gas tank

And as they drove away a young boy said to his mom: “The robbery

is a prank.”

His mother was happy of the robbery she and her son

were both a survivor

She asked him what he saw, knowing the boy was a real s

Which was unusual because the boy got good grades, a real striver.

And of the truth he would never deprive her

So he told her the Stay-Puft Marshmallow man was the driver.

She dragged him to the station to see the lead detective.

And the boy gave the cops his perspective

And the detective sent out a directive

And he hoped the boy’s information would be effective.

Law enforcement knew where Stay-Puff’s house was

It was made of marshmallows  which inspired guffaws

Melting in the summer was just one of its flaws

Easy to find, police surrounded the house filled with outlaws

Stay-Puff said they would die before giving up the score

The police hit the house with flame throwers and blew off the doors

And they were able to arrest this criminal game of four

By bombing the house with graham crackers and chocolate

making the house a giant smores

Wordless Wednesday

 

Beat this caption

 

I'm a good boy. please take me home with you. I'll be good. the woman in the black dress and black hills is mean to me

Monday Question

 How do your parents find names for their pets? Do they make a list of names and decide which one is best, or do they take a look at a pet and know the name instantly or do they stay with the name you had before you became part of their pack?

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Ruby's Answer:  My parents take a look at a picture of their future dog and then sit down and make a list that they slowly whittle down until they come to the right name.

Foley's Tails From Rainbow Bridge: Foley Monster's All Star Angel Band

As I was walking along the River of Life, I saw a notice nailed to a tree announcing a big band contest with a prize of 100 pounds of bacon for the winner.

I could use 100 pounds of bacon treats and I am a great conductor. I can swish a baton with the best of them. Now I just needed to find my band.

First, I went to Tommy Tune's mansion. He said he could play the drums, but he needed to practice. Freddie buried her head in the pillows and said: “Not the drums again.”  Tommy said Freddie could accompany him on the triangle. Reluctantly Freddie began to ding the little instrument. I couldn’t hear it over Tommy’s drumming.

Next, I checked with Hobo, who thought it was a great idea and said he would play the drums. I mentioned that Tommy was going to play the drums, but Hobo insisted that you couldn’t have too many drums.

I saw my friend Geordie leaving the art museum and asked him if he could play anything but the drums. He said he had always been a good singer, but then began howling out of tune.

If Geordie was going to sing, we would need more drums.

I saw Odie the Great Dane and my sister Pocket the Yorkie practicing their dancing, and I asked if they wanted to perform at the competition, and they both jumped at the opportunity. Odie jumped much further than Pocket. The Great Dane and little Yorkie began to dance perfectly. They could save the show.

I checked with other friends like Max, Easy, AJ, and Toby, who all wanted to play the drums. “It’s the only thing we can play without opposable thumbs,”  Max told me. He had a point.

We were practicing loudly, sounding like a deaf marching band, none on the neat, when Hattie and Lily came in and insisted they sing back up. I told them we had Geordie and he couldn’t be heard over the drumming. They looked at me impatiently. I introduced them as the new singers.

The day of the competition came and Foley’s All Drums orchestra hit the stage. I held up my baton and told them to play. It sounded beautiful. Pocket and Odie danced perfectly and the singers were pitch-perfect. When they were done I turned to the audience, who sat confused, with only one polite dog clapping. I had heard the love for my friends in their playing, but everyone heard a bunch of banging and howling.

We didn’t win, but the band had heard what I did, and we were all happy. Because love has its language and tune. 

I am glad my mind interpreted the song differently than was heard because the Bridge Gazette stated that four angels had seizures caused by our singing, and others still have ringing in their ears.

As always, when I am with my friends, I am the lucky one. 

The Ruby Rose Report: A kitty story

 

I spend a lot of time during the day snuggled on Mommy’s lap. So when nighttime comes and the house lights go out, sometimes I am filled with energy. I slip out of bed and walk around the house until I tire.

Occasionally, I hear our crawl space cat, Dora, listening to music and smoking a late-night catnip cigarette. I have just decided to tolerate her presence since my efforts to remove her have failed. During my late-night romp, we swapped stories.

I barked at her to say hello, then asked if she had any good stories. She did, about her grandmother born in that long-ago time called 2021. She was a house cat who was a bit finicky. The only food she would eat is Friskies seafood melody with shrimp. One day, a tragedy occurred. The cupboard was bare.

Her mother knew how the cat, Olympia, acted when she didn’t get fed the correct food, and she did not want to go through that hell again. The mom came back with groceries two hours later. She emptied the bags Olympia jumped on the table and waited until she had finished. There was no Friskies seafood melody with shrimp anywhere to be seen.

Olympia wailed in sorrow.

“I am sorry Olympia,” the mom said, “but they were out of your food.” Olympia stared at her. “And yes,” the mom continued, "I went to other stores, Hannaford’s, Big Y, Piggly Wiggly, and Menard's, none of them have it so you are going to have to settle for what I give you.”

Olympia rolled over and stretched.

“I can’t go to stores out of town, I have work to do, I need to make the kid’s and John’s dinner, and I am tired. I will check the other stores in the morning.”

Olympia whined.

“I don’t know what to do,” Olympia’s mom pleaded with her. Olympia sat up and then looked upstairs at the bedroom

“You wouldn’t,” the mom said. “John’s brother and I were in our bedroom when he was at work because there was a sticky window.” Olympia purred but it sounded like a chuckle.

Olympia’s mom turned on the cat. “You aren’t telling John anything. You open your mouth and I will kick you out to, I swear.” Olympia licked her paw and cleaned her whiskers. “All right!” his mom yelled. “Fine!” she scribbled a note to her husband. “I’ll find your damn food, even if I have to drive three states over, I can’t stand your damn mind games any longer.”

She returned three hours late having found the required food at a Bodega deep in the city. She opened the can, put the food in a disk, and served it to Olympia, who took one sniff, and walked away, leaving her mom sobbing on her knees in the kitchen,”\ I had to admit, that was a good story. I was ready to sleep now.

Don’t be hasty in getting rid of a freeloading feral on your property.

They have great stories.