Sunday, October 18, 2020

The Brightest Star by Foley Monster

 

It's is time that I told you another secret about the Bridge. I know you have been brainwashed by big astronomy to believe that those bright lights in the sky are suns millions of miles away. How silly!  Big astronomy developed this theory to explain something they didn't understand. The truth is when you look to the sky and see stars; they are just angel shadows.

Shadows work differently at the Bridge. Being here is like living in the upside-down. Our shadows cast towards the sky. When the sun is out, no one can see them.  But as soon as night falls, they twinkle in the dark sky.  And we always shine the brightest for those we love.

This week we are fortunate enough to get a very bright star in the sky. Coincidentally the angel shining that light is named Star.  She belonged to aunt Gail's pack.  She had been in a lot of pain before her mother helped her pass over. Her spine was making it too painful to walk.  Then the dementors gave her a seizure to signal her time as a mortal being had expired.  Her mom helped her take the last steps towards Rainbow Bridge.

When Star passed over, it was comforting to see how all the maladies that had affected her just minutes before dropped away like shedding fur.  In a minute, she was running.up the steps to Hobo’s landing and then did several spins around, celebrating being pain-free for the first time in a crow’s age.

 I wish Aunt Gail could have seen the way that Star and Abby played together. It was as if they were reliving their puphood.  As with every crossing, the laughter became sorrow when Star remembered about the pack she left behind. Most of all, she missed her mom Gail who had loved her with every bit of her heart.  Gail got that love reciprocated by her dogs.  It was more than she had ever received from any human.

The grieving process is much easier for us than it is for humans.  We have various ways to visit our parents after we cross the Bridge.  Also, we know we will see our parents again someday.  Most humans believe very strongly that they will see their beloved pups in the future. But no matter how much you believe in something unless you know it for sure, doubt lingers.  Our job as angels is to erase doubt.

Their creators have presented many gifts to humans.  But humans had to give up gifts too. One of those was the ability to understand what was happening in the next life.  It's a hefty price to pay for opposable thumbs.

I have explained the many ways angels try to contact their parents. But, after giving up that sense, it is difficult for people to see angels. Babies can, but once they learn how to use that thumb, they lose it.  I think that is why angel shadows go up.  If you need to know, your angels are looking out for you; look to the night sky and see them twinkle.

I hope Aunt Gail realizes the brightest of those stars belongs to her Star, trying to break the laws of physics as she attempts to shine so brightly it turns night into day.

It's the least we can do for those who did so much for us when we were mortal.  It is not their fault that they are all thumbs.

Friday, October 16, 2020

Dasiy Mae: Newly and Forever Young

 

You humans are lucky.   You age slowly.  When you see a person every day, you don’t notice the other is getting older, probably because of dual eyesight failure.  Most people don’t change remarkably over 15 years, but a dog’s appearance gets overhauled over the same time.  In the time frame, when humans need a touch more makeup or something to mask the grey hair that suddenly appears, we go from puppy to adult to old dog.  When when we become seniors, our parents are shocked because it seemed like yesterday when we were babies.  

    For we dogs, the change comes just as quickly. Unlike humans, we are not obsessed with our appearance.  People spend a quarter of their lifetime in front of the mirror.  They fret over their reflection, making sure every little hair is in place, their clothes fit properly, and nothing sticks to their teeth. Their behavior is hugely problematic because that is the time they could spend playing with us.  We are a lot less forgiving than a mirror.  We don’t care what you look like.  We love you, no matter your appearance, and always see you at your best.  We never preen in front of a mirror.  We see our reflection so infrequently that when we see ourselves, we bark because who’s in the mirror.

.   But, we still know we age. One day we feel a twinge in the back, or a leg, which we ignore, figuring that it is just a slight injury.  But the spasm becomes pain, and then it pops up in other parts of our bodies, like bindweed, attaching deep to the bone.  We can no longer jump on furniture or run like we used to do; walks become a chore; we tell ourselves the squirrels are getting faster, but deep down, we know the truth.  Then our breaths become shorter, our eyes fail, as do our ears, and in no time, we are a senior dog.  Some, like me, hold off the aging process to the end, while others, like our Aunt Judy’s beloved Daisy Mae, who went to the Bridge on Wednesday.

    I remember Daisy Mae as a puppy.  I have been her friend for at least five computers (soon to be a measure of time, I am just giving you a preview.)  We played together in virtual Doggyspace, with all our friends, and we felt like we were never going to get old.  When I passed to the Bridge, and the corporate stooges closed online Doggyspace, I saw less of Daisy Mae.  When I did see her, she was still beautiful, but one by one, the Bridge was claiming her, taking her golden fur and replacing it with distinguished grey, her eyesight, and finally her remaining heartbeats.  She had become a senior dog in the wink of an eye, and while Aunt Judy knew it, when she looked at Daisy Mae, she saw her as a playful puppy.  

    It is sad that the people who love us the most, watch us suffer during our final days, and see our last breath, don’t get to see all the pain, the suffering, and the old age, be wiped away as we cross the Bridge.  I think it is set up that way for a reason.  If people saw how much better it is for their pups now, and for the other people they have lost, they might fall to the temptation to end their duties on the mortal side.  It is best left a mystery.  If it weren’t, there wouldn’t be enough souls left on the mortal side to field a ball team. 

    I know that the pain Aunt Judy feels would be gone if she could see Daisy Mae as the young pup she loved, who no longer is in pain and isn’t suffering.  Maybe, if the fates align, she will see Daisy Mae, as she is now, in a dream, and be able to remember it.  It would help rebuild her heart and quell the tears.  But, unless the rules change, all we can offer as angels are these few meager words.  May they be more powerful than the pain.

Thursday, October 15, 2020

River Recounts Her Past Life as Christopher Columbus' Dog

 

 

Most dogs live their lives, use up their heartbeats, go to the Bridge, wait for their parents, then ascend to Happily Ever After, where they will spend eternity with their mom and dad.  My problem is, I have never, until now, had a parent I wanted to be with forever.  Because of that, I have made good use after I reached the Bridge of the reincarnation clause, which allows a soul to go back with a new body and try to find their match for eternity again.  I have been doing this for centuries.  I usually don’t talk about my past lives, but this week it was Columbus Day, which caused me to remember my time as Christopher Columbus’ dog.  

    Daddy Chrissie adopted me in Italy, weeks before he went to Spain, to convince Ferdinand and Isabella to finance his journey to find a shorter way to the far east by traveling west.  “Chrissie’s directionally challenged,” his brother Kenny told me.  Columbus finally convinced the Spanish sovereign to pay for his travel expenses by promising to bring back Chinese food, specifically General Gao’s chicken, because Ferdinand likes his chicken spicy.  Among the firsts that would occur during this time was initiating the practice of “You buy, I’ll fly.”

    Daddy Chrissie took me to see his ships.  “Aren’t they beautiful?  They are called the Taint, the Jock Strap, and Rectal Itch.”  I suggested he change the names because if he were lucky enough to find the new world, children would be asked, for centuries, to memorize the Taint, Jock Strap, and Rectal Itch.  Daddy Chrissie was reluctant, but when I told him his legacy could be affected, he agreed.   

    Getting the crew to agree on the perilous journey was difficult. They thought they were going past Africa, but when told they were going west, they rebelled because they wouldn’t be going by the Cape of Good Hope Barbeque, where everyone loved to stop for brisket.  Daddy Chrissie tried to tell them of fame and riches they would surely achieve, but the crew was adamant.  Finally, he reminded them that, as short Italians, they always got their butts kicked when they played intramural basketball with the natives.  He had heard whispers of a team in the west, called the Knicks, who always lost.  Inspired by hoop dreams, they agreed.

    When we hit the high seas, I realized why I was on board.  Daddy Chrissie said he was counting on me to point them in the right direction.  I tried to explain I wasn’t a pointer dog, but you know dads don’t listen.  It wasn’t hard work.  Every morning I got up, looked where the sun was rising, and pointed in the opposite direction.

    It must have worked because one morning, I caught a strange scent in the air, which smelled like a buffet. I ran to the bow and barked in joy.  “Casino ho!”  In front of us was one of the biggest casinos we had ever seen.  The men began sailing towards it.  We soon docked and were anxiously met by our hosts, who referred to us by a word in their strange tongue.  “Pigeons.”  The tired, hungry, thirsty seamen attacked the buffet, blackjack tables, and whores.”  

    Daddy Chrissie did not go with the men.  He stood triumphantly at the bow and declared:  “I claim this land for Italy, and I call it My Balls!”  I told him I was not sure if that was a good idea.  He questioned why and I said he wouldn’t want people to remember that he went across the Atlantic to find his balls.  He considered the idea and agreed, saying he would call it Hisponala instead.  He told me that meant “My Balls” in Spanish.  He wanted to call the natives “My Ball Lickers,” but I told him it might be better to call them Indians since we were supposed to be in India, and they did own casinos.  He agreed, and we both said the name wouldn’t last forever!  Little did we know.  

We met with the newly named Indians, and Daddy Chrissie said that he was thrilled to be the first white man to find this new land.  “Not the first one,” an Indian said and pointed to a dilapidated casino with Trump on it.  “He is from Germany.  He came here, bought out the casinos, put his name on them, went bankrupt, and left.”  We agreed not to mention him.  It’s not like he would keep coming back to do it over and over again.  The men all lost their shirts at the gambling tables.  Daddy Chrissie said that was okay.  The shirts were all infected with smallpox anyway.

When we got back, I was exhausted.  I passed on soon after that.  But don’t be sad.  My adventures were just beginning.