Beat This Caption Monty Python Edition

I am the dog of the knights that go ni

Monday Question

MONDAY QUESTION

 

How many vets have you had in your life?

 

Pocket: I began with the one in Raynham, but he retired, and we didn't like his replacement. Then I went to the one in Dighton, who was nice, but only saw patients four mornings a week. I am now at one in Taunton and so far I very pleased with her. River has been to Raynham and Taunton

Foley Meets a Dog Named Miracle

When there is a natural disaster like a hurricane, we angels get overwhelmed with prayers.  Sadly, we can't help everyone. The prayers arrive as relentlessly as the rain thundering down from the sky  We lose contact with the soul desperately seeking assistance, and a few minutes later, they are standing behind us newly arrived at the Bridge.   No one is upset about our failure. There isn't time. Now that they are angels, they try to answer another soul's prayers as we did theirs. 

Every angel worked around the clock during Hurricane Dorian.  I received the prayers of a dog who desperately needed saving.  He had hidden under an air conditioner in his living room when the storm hit.  The shabbily built structure could not stand up to the terrible winds. The house collapsed around the poor dog.  He was barking that he had survived. The air conditioner stopped the debris from landing on him. Sadly, there was an entire house on top of him.  He was impossible to see or hear. He would not be found until the fallen structure was removed, which would take weeks. He did not have weeks.  

The storm passed, and the search for fatalities had begun. I kept the prayer line open while frantically trying to enter the overtaxed rescuers’ thoughts and tell them to search the collapsed structure for a dog.  I flew over the house as a ghost. It certainly looked like nothing could have survived in the rubble of what had once been the dog's domicile. I could not blame the rescuers for not listening.

He barked less every day.  Sadly, I believed I would be seeing him at the Bridge soon.  He had no food or water and was suffering. It would be for the best. 

After a couple of days, I stopped getting his prayers.  I flew down to the wreckage but could not sense him. I returned to the Bridge and asked the other judges if a dog fitting his description had arrived.  No one could remember seeing him. 

 He was not among the mortals, nor was he on the immortal side.  I pictured him wasting away too weak to pray as he waited for the Bridge to call. One day I would encounter him, we would have bacon pie with Foleytinis, and he would share his story. 

One day this week, to my great surprise, I heard from him again.  The new prayers were not requesting help but giving thanks. I flew down and saw him at a vet's office. He was malnourished and dehydrated, but alive.  

He told me he had survived for weeks living on rainwater that had run down from an opening in the debris.  Meanwhile, Big Dog Rescue was flying a drone over the destroyed buildings that were unsafe for humans to search.   One of the operators saw something in that small opening. The drone practically flew into the space. The operator saw a dog slightly lift his head. The operator alerted the rescue team, and after four weeks under the debris, he was rescued.  

I told him it was remarkable that he survived without any assistance from the Angels.  “But you did help, Foley,” he said. “You put the thought of rescuing me in everyone’s head, and I was found.”  I wish I could take credit, but this dog survived on his own. I am very impressed with him.  

The humans gave him the fitting name of Miracle.   They are searching for his parents, but the country has been shattered, with people fleeing to other parts of the island or different countries.  They already have a list of people wanting to adopt him. 



Who doesn’t want a little Miracle in their lives?

Foley and the Dog Who Shot a Human

Sadly, I have received hundreds of prayer requests from dogs because they, either accidentally, or on purpose, have been shot.  This week I got a request I never expected. 

"Please help me!" The short prayer began. "I shot a human!"

Often, especially if the soul sending the prayers is in distress, the prayer is garbled.  I thought that must be the case with this strange request.  

Before I departed to check on the desperate dog, I got a human request originating not far from the original prayer: "Please help me, a dog has shot me!" My curiosity piqued, I put on my long-distance wings and flew down to End Oklahoma. 

I found a woman being attended to by EMTs.  She had a bullet hole in her side. Inside the truck, where she had just been a passenger, was a 78-year-old man and a yellow lab.  Both looked very concerned. I made myself appear to the dog. The human couldn't see me because their cynicism has long closed them off to magic. 

I was able to communicate with him telepathically.  I could have done so by barking. His owner would not have heard me but would listen to his pup's yapping adding to the dad's distress. 

I asked him how the accident occurred.

"I was sitting in the back.  My Daddy was driving his SUV.  His caretaker was in the passenger's seat.  Daddy was forced to stop for a passing train.  Well, you know what we dogs are like. I thought we had arrived, so I jumped into the front seat, landing in the console.  I had no idea a locked and loaded .22 was under the console. When I landed, the gun fired, striking the woman. She screamed.  I told my 81-year-old dad to call 911. He dialed 922, 119, 999, then leaned out of the car and shouted for help. I grabbed the phone from Dad and dialed the police. The woman's hysterical screams were enough for them to fly into action.  Now we’re just sitting here waiting for me to be arrested."

The dog was anxious that he would be taken away.  I assured the dog that he was not going to be arrested. After all, he was a yellow lab, and it was an accident.  I asked him why his dad was riding around with a weapon under the console without the safety locked.  “Dad doesn’t like the safety; it takes him a long time to click it off with his arthritic fingers. He could be shot before he could fire his weapon.  He is anxious about being shot by some punk.” 

I told him that his dad was much more likely to shoot someone than to be shot accidentally.  "In fact,' I assured him "perhaps you shooting this woman will be a sign to your dad that he shouldn't be riding around town with a loaded gun because someone is bound to be hurt."

We looked at one another then shared a long laugh. This is America.  It takes a lot more than a man's dog shooting his caretaker to give up his gun.

More likely to give up his dog.