Foley's Tails From Rainbow Bridge: Maggie's Two Moms

 

There are heartwarming stories—perhaps just fictional tales—about a dog caught in a dilemma between two loving owners. Imagine a situation where both owners, standing an equal distance apart, call the dog's name with hopeful voices. The anticipation builds; whichever owner the dog chooses could become its true master. If you find yourself in a similar circumstance, keep in mind that a pocket full of bacon might just tip the scales in your favor.

But what happens when you love two people equally, one of whom is waiting on the other side of the Rainbow Bridge?

Maggie knows she is blessed, having two moms who loved her equally. 

She and her brothers, Toby and Pokey, lived happily with their mom, Laura, in Massachusetts.  But, when Laura suddenly passed the pups didn’t know where they would be living or if they would be together. 

Enter Kate, who met Maggie during a cross-country visit to Laura’s. Kate was prepared to take all three dogs to keep them together, just as Laura would have wanted. A new adventure awaited as the pack travelled southwest to Arizona, where a loving new chapter was about to begin.

While the three dogs were older, there was uncertainty about their future with Kate—and yet, the new family was determined to make every moment count. Kate cherished her time with thems she must cherish time with Kate, the woman who has given them so much love. 

But the horizon holds change. In Maggie’s eyes, staying is the least she can do for her new mom.

In this new life, Maggie prepares for the attention she has longed for. She envisions days filled with new experiences, adventures at work, and a different kind of love that blossoms each day. Most dogs may not have the chance for a second act, but Maggie is ready to seize hers.

As Laura visits her in dreams, excitement and concern swirl together. Laura knows Maggie is facing a struggle, and there’s a sense that a call home is on the horizon. But Maggie is hesitant, wishing to create more memories with Kate, who has already faced so much in her quest to give love to senior dogs.

Parents have a sense about their pets, and Kate feels the approach of change. As she watches Maggie carefully, the moment of truth feels palpable, everything leading toward a significant reunion. Kate senses that the time might come when she must make the hardest decision, one that echoes with anticipation of future joy beyond the p

When the moment arrives, and Maggie’s battle comes to a head, Kate knows instinctively that the time has come to reunite Maggie with her family.

As Kate prepares to say goodbye, she braces herself for the emptiness that will follow, 

At that very moment, Maggie races across the Bridge, leaping into Laura’s open arms, where Toby and Pokey wait with joyful howls.

While Kate navigates the remnants of Maggie's life—dishes and toys—Maggie is discovering her forever home, showering Laura with kisses 

And as Kate drifts to sleep without Maggie’s soft breath beside her, Maggie is curled up with Laura and her brothers.

Before sleep claims her, Maggie sneaks into Kate’s dreams to leave a farewell kiss and say thank you. Her thankfulness is, a promise of an enduring bond, even as time marches forward—embracing the bittersweet of endings and the joyful beginnings that await.

The Ruby Rose Report: Accidentally Growing Up

As the seasons shift and the days grow shorter, I’ve found myself adjusting my walks to embrace the warmth of the midday sun. It’s become a welcome change, though there are moments when I pause, turn back, and long for the comfort of home. My dad, my loyal walking companion, gently tugs at my leash, urging me onward. Yet, when I choose to turn back, it can feel like trying to move a 16-pound boulder with just a rope! In those instances, he sweeps in to lift me, carrying me a short distance before setting me down softly. While he holds me, the stubbornness vanishes, and I find joy in our continued stroll. It’s a delicate dance of small compromises that weave our bond even tighter. 

I often reflect on the day I first arrived at my new home, just shy of my first birthday, brimming with energy and mischief—something my parents find endearing. Back then, I thrived in two states: sleeping and playing, both pursued with unrestrained enthusiasm.

Now, as I approach two and a half years, my spirited antics have softened. I’ve become a more tranquil dog, content to relax and lounge peacefully—unless, of course, the faintest sound catches my attention, sending me racing to the window to bark at whatever elusive presence intrigues me. While I still indulge in my long naps, my playful side has waned.

During supper preparations, my devoted mom in the kitchen, my dad and I cozy up in the front room—a repurposed bedroom that has transformed into a pantry—where a box of my toys awaits along with the only rug in the house. This space fills me with joy as it’s where I love to play.

One of our cherished games involves Dad teasing me with a stuffed squirrel, making it hop across the floor while squeaking. I pretend to be uninterested, only to suddenly pounce, caught up in the thrill of the chase.

Yet now, at two and a half, I find the soft squirrel less engaging than before. As Dad places it on the floor and moves it around, I can't help but think, “This again?”

I suppose my thoughts must have shown on my face, as Dad glanced at me and asked, “You want to play with something else?” I could see the flicker of disappointment behind his eyes, the silent question lingering there: “Is she outgrowing this?”

I hadn’t realized that my playtime was about more than just my fun—it was also for my parents’ joy. I want to hold onto the spirit of my two-year-old self for as long as I can.

If not for my 

 sake, then for theirs.

The last thing I ever want to witness again is the look of disappointment in their eyes. 

Poetry Thursday

 

Once again, Angel Sammys and Teddys Pawetaton have provided us with a photo for Poetry Thursday

I want to live where the people are fewer

I want to live like Old Jim Brewer

I want to live high in the sky

I want to give humans a final goodbye

Lord give me isolation

I wanna live in my own nation

In solitude I find salvation

I want to live like Howard Hughes

And not have to talk to none of youze

I want to live like Bardot

And hide in the shadow

I want isolation

And never have to see no one

High up so I can touch the sun

I found my home high up on a rock

Far from the gridlock

No way to go up no way to get down

High above my stupid town

I was happy living high off the hog

When tragedy struck, the toilet did clog

Now I yearn for a ladder

Or at least a way to relieve my bladder

Splendid isolation 

Turns it is pretty dumb

If you try it I am sure you will concur

Isolation is fun and games until you need a plumber

Wordless Wednesday

 

Beat this caption

 

Walter Had been taught since he was a young pup that it was rude not to leave a little something under a Christmas tree

Monday Question

 Do you snore? 

I snore like a trucker on a three day bender with a respiratory infection and  a broken nose. Pound for pound, round for round, I am the finest snorer around. 

Foley's Taies From Rainbow Bridge: Talkin' Turkey

 

I lost the dog who taught me how to be a pet and a family member at just over a year old. Blake always had a spot in my heart, and now, as an angel, she has a spot on my couch living that Shih Tzu life and being a lollipop of leisure.

I became the lead dog at a young age, at first, to two dogs who passed too young, and too unexpectedly, and possibly because of healthcare malfeasance

Then came Pocket: My sister for most of my days. Pocket was scrawny and scared, only happy chasing her ball or sitting in a lap, so when a dog needed to step up to protect the family, it was always me, and then River. I was Sonny, River was Michael and Pocket was Fredo.

Now Ruby has the very important role of head dog with no backup. She is very good at cuddling and playing, but when it comes time to be family her bark is her only weapon, and when it doesn’t fool her enemy, she hides.

She barked at the turkey who had made a home in our backyard, but the turkey ignored her, and the backyard became the top of the list of things of which she was scared.

It was up to me to deal with the turkey.

I flew over it a couple of times. She was a mean-looking mother. Finally, I settled next to her in cardinal form and asked what was wrong.

“I am hunted,” she said.

I asked by whom.

“It’s Thanksgiving. People eat turkey. If you hadn’t noticed, I'm a turkey.”

I hate BWA (birds with attitude).

I assured the turkey it was quite safe. “You're a wild turkey, no one wants to eat you.”:

“Why?” the turkey snapped. “What is wrong with me that I am not good enough to be eaten.”

“Humans raise turkeys just to be eaten, and you’re lean, tough, and gamy.”

“But one of these people, unable to pay grocery prices, might eat me. I jump every time I hear a door shut.”

“The average age here is 76. In the morning people need four cups of coffee just to cut the cheese.” 

The turkey was still concerned. “I wish I was my cousin Ike. The President pardoned him.”

“I can pardon you,” I said, struck by t solution.

“You’re not the President.”

“Even better, I am a cardinal, and I can pardon you.” Then I did. The turkey was so happy she pecked my little head.

I watched her excitedly walk back towards her nest.

It was a shame.

She would have made a helluva sandwich.