Pup of the week December 27

One of the greatest attributes a pup can have is loyalty.

Loyalty makes us do things without thinking: Like charging at larger dogs who threaten our Mom; or barking at huge humans in our doorway who may be entering our home without permission; or staying with our parents when they have broken their leg while reaching the mountain summit even though a blizzard is due (this has happened to me twice.)

But I have never seen loyalty like one of our members has shown this autumn. She had been a valued member of Princess’ castle. But when the politics there began to turn against common dogs like us, she was the first one to be chased out. She was very disrespected by some less trained dogs, her feelings were hurt, and we all lost a fantastic friend.

During our brief stay in our temporary home she joined us again, but a bad dog chased her away. It took a lot of persistent pleading to get her to join the Tanner Brigade, but when she did we became complete as a group.

When she learned her good friend Miss Lucy had taken ill our Pup of the Week marched right back into the castle, telling those who attempted to gain her friendship “Talk to the paw.” She was there for one reason, to nurse her friends during her last days. Although she had to endure slings in arrows each time she entered the castle, nothing kept her from her appointed mission of care giving.

So for that, and for so many other reasons, Hattie Mae is our Pup of the Week.

For her fashion sense that always brings a smile, for her wit and wisdom, for her sparkling comments that make our day, for her honesty, for her integrity, for her beauty, for her daring world travel, for her take no prisoners attitude, and for being the best pup a friend could ask for Hattie Mae is a very deserving Pup of the Week.

So hop in the spotlight and take a bow girl friend. You’re the best.

Our Christmas: Zoe Boe's made the day, and a trip to the Bridge made our night

As some of our Facebook friends are aware two of the gifts that my Mommy gave, to daughter #1, and to Daddy’s Mommy, were pictures drawn by Zoe Boe’s immensely talented Mom with the aid of the able bodied Zoe, and her expertise in coloring and shading.

She had to do them quickly. My parents sent the pictures she did the drawings from to the wrong e-mail address, so if you received pictures of a Shih Tzu and an elderly couple standing on a hill in Wolfeboro New Hampshire please delete. She got them, did a marvelous job getting them ready in time, and put them in the US Mail paying an extra rate so they would get here post haste.

Every day we checked the mailbox, and while there were wonderful things there, cards from the beautiful Lambies, from Tanner’s Mom, from Roland’s Mom, there still wasn’t the anticipated artwork. Mommy and Zoe Boe’s Mom exchanged e-mails and finally she sent Zoe out to track it.

As we all know Zoe is a brilliant tracker, and on Christmas Eve she sent us an e-mail saying she tracked it down. A half hour before Mommy and Daddy were going over daughter number two’s house for mead and grog Zoe contacted me, I told Daddy, and he went outside (without his knickers on) to give one final check of the mail.

The envelope was there. Oh be joyful! The envelope was stained, wet, and tattered.

Now as a pup, may I take a moment, to again, justify our hatred of those blue uniformed bozos that deliver our mail. We chase, we bite, we snarl, we fight, because if they aren’t bringing bad news, they’re delivering good news poorly. So the next time your pup attacks your personal plump Newman do not admonish, reward with a treat and an ear scratch for we truly have your best interests at heart.

When Daddy saw the wet envelope his heart dropped down his knees, which is when he realized he didn’t have knickers, and ran in the house. He ripped the envelope open.

But he shouldn’t have worried. Zoe Boe’s Mom is very clever. She had the package bubble wrapped, and the two drawings were facing one another, so despite the best efforts of Newman Incorporated there drawings were perfect for framing and presenting.

Mommy did a quick wrap job and they gave us kisses and put me on my blanket and Pocket in her crate, and out the door they went for a Christmas Eve family get together.

And what of us you ask? Well I hopped on the bed and watched them pull out of sight, then jumped back down and pulled the laptop from under the bed. I entered the codes, opened Pocket’s crate, then we jumped on the keyboard and hit the download sequence.

We were uploaded to Rainbow Bridge.

Oh, it was the most beautiful sight. Hundreds of trees all outfitted with lights. Wafting from the cooking fires was the scent of turkey, chicken and ham. Tanner was dressed like Santa, his eyes merry and bright, when he laughed his belly shook like a bowl full of jam. Sophie was next to him, a right proper Mrs. Claus overseeing the basting of the roast beef. Teddie Earnest had arranged for a lovely fireworks show, and Pocket and I snuggled on a blanket in the snow to watch the beautiful colors over the reef. Dulce and Sami brought us our drinks in golden bowls, sausage flavored water for Pocket and a Foleytini for me. Fred chased all the young pups, keeping them squealing with glee.

Who was there from the Brigade?

Well we made a pact not to say, you see, so many Mommies worry when their pups are downloaded to infinity. Suffice it to say, if you left them alone on that Eve, it was Rainbow Bridge they went when you did leave.

After our feast Tanner and Sophie lined up the young pups for their gifts.

They handed out Pop guns! And bicycles! Roller skates! Drums! Checkerboards! Tricycles! Popcorn! And plums! Then it was time to eat the great feast. You know it was Moses who carved the roast beast.

After downing our precious holiday meal, we all joined paws under the tree with great zeal. Then we sang Christmas songs loud and clear, so happy that all our dear friends were near.

Then we saw our Mommies and Daddies were heading home, and to the computer we did roam. A few keystrokes, a gentle flick of the mouse, and we were all safely in place when our parents entered the house.

Our parents were none the wiser that we had gone to a party. They told us how Daughter #1’s eyes filled with tears when she saw a picture of her Bailey. We then all snuggled in our bed. Mommy and Daddy thought we would be lively from our time alone but we were fast asleep when the pillow met out head.

On Christmas morning Daddy’s parents arrived, for pancakes, and muffins, and Christmas breakfast pie. Their eyes filled with Christmas Day tears too when they saw their wonderful pictures, drawn with brown, green and blue.

So that’s how Zoe Boe’s Mom made our Christmas Eve and Day, and before we knew it Mommy and Daddy went away. So a huge Christmas feast we had, with all our friends, whose Mommy’s left them, thinking they would be sad. We almost had the mess cleaned when Mommy arrived home, but we were ratted out by one of the Christmas gnomes. But Mommy just hugged us and told us she knew our hearts, and then we shared her lap and a long nap we did start.

So thank you Zoe, to your Mom, to our friends, and to Rainbow Bridge, our buds to the end.

Our Christmas was perfect, we couldn’t have been more happy, I raise a bowl to all the dogs we met, and settle in for another nappy.

The Tanner Brigade 12 Days of Christmas

On the first day of Christmas my true love gave to me a Pocket peeing on the floor

On the second day of Christmas my true love gave to me two vicious poms named Chase and Gucci
And a Pocket peeing on the floor

On the third day of Christmas my true love gave to me three basset hounds named Olivia, Dot and Roxanne
Two vicious poms named Chase and Gucci
And a Pocket peeing on the floor

On the fourth day of Christmas my true love sent to me four Red Raider jerseys for Chelsea and Ashton
Three basset hounds named Olivia, Dot and Roxanne
Two vicious poms named Chase and Gucci
And a Pocket peeing on the floor

On the fifth day of Christmas my true love gave to me five Hattie Maes
Four Red Raider jerseys for Chelsea and Ashton
Three basset hounds named Olivia, Dot and Roxanne
Two vicious poms named Chase and Gucci
And a Pocket peeing on the floor

On the sixth day of Christmas my true love game to me six Hobo Hudson blogs
Five Hattie Maes
Four Red Raider jerseys for Chelsea and Ashton
Three basset hounds named Olivia, Dot and Roxanne
Two vicious poms named Chase and Gucci
And a Pocket peeing on the floor

On the seventh day of Christmas my true love game to me seven copies of Button’s Mom’s book The Healing Art of Pet Parenthood
Six Hobo Hudson blogs
Five Hattie Maes
Four Red Raider jerseys for Chelsea and Ashton
Three basset hounds named Olivia, Dot and Roxanne
Two vicious poms named Chase and Gucci
And a Pocket peeing on the floor

On the eighth day of Christmas my true love game to me eight dirty members of the Pack needing a bath
Seven copies of Button’s Mom’s book The Healing Art of Pet Parenthood
Six Hobo Hudson blogs
Five Hattie Maes
Four Red Raider jerseys for Chelsea and Ashton
Three basset hounds named Olivia, Dot and Roxanne
Two vicious poms named Chase and Gucci
And a Pocket peeing on the floor

On the ninth day of Christmas my true love gave to me nine free books PAWS by Sarah Jane’s Mom
Eight dirty members of the Pack needing a bath
Seven copies of Button’s Mom’s book The Healing Art of Pet Parenthood
Six Hobo Hudson blogs
Five Hattie Maes
Four Red Raider jerseys for Chelsea and Ashton
Three basset hounds named Olivia, Dot and Roxanne
Two vicious poms named Chase and Gucci
And a Pocket peeing on the floor

On the tenth day of Christmas my true love gave to me ten Zoe Boe humpday funnies
Nine free books PAWS by Sarah Jane’s Mom
Eight dirty members of the Pack needing a bath
Seven copies of Button’s Mom’s book The Healing Art of Pet Parenthood
Six Hobo Hudson blogs
Five Hattie Maes
Four Red Raider jerseys for Chelsea and Ashton
Three basset hounds named Olivia, Dot and Roxanne
Two vicious poms named Chase and Gucci
And a Pocket peeing on the floor

On the eleventh day of Christmas my true love gave to me eleven Bauser Bandandas
Ten Zoe Boe humpday funnies
Nine free books PAWS by Sarah Jane’s Mom
Eight dirty members of the Pack needing a bath
Seven copies of Button’s Mom’s book The Healing Art of Pet Parenthood
Six Hobo Hudson blogs
Five Hattie Maes
Four Red Raider jerseys for Chelsea and Ashton
Three basset hounds named Olivia, Dot and Roxanne
Two vicious poms named Chase and Gucci
And a Pocket peeing on the floor

On the twelfth day of Christmas my true love game to me twelve Tanner Bub kisses from the Bridge
Eleven Bauser Bandandas
Ten Zoe Boe humpday funnies
Nine free books PAWS by Sarah Jane’s Mom
Eight dirty members of the Pack needing a bath
Seven copies of Button’s Mom’s book The Healing Art of Pet Parenthood
Six Hobo Hudson blogs
Five Hattie Maes
Four Red Raider jerseys for Chelsea and Ashton
Three basset hounds named Olivia, Dot and Roxanne
Two vicious poms named Chase and Gucci
And a Pocket peeing on the floor

The official Foley Monster and Pocket Christmas Picutre

It is time for the unveiling of the Foley Monster and Pocket official Christmas picture. OK everyone settle down. I know, it’s like the lighting of the Rockerfeller Center Christmas Tree or the erecting of the National Festivus Pole, but let me give you a little background first.

At this point of our posing we had been photographed about 600 times. You cannot tell, because it did not appear in the picture, but there were tiny puffs of steam coming out my ears. I was tired and wanted a lap. When I am in the thralls of lap withdrawal I am six pounds of ferocious hell, my friends.

As for Pocket, never has a dog looked so resigned, so forlorn. She had tried it all, looking left, looking right, pouting, bringing sexy back; nothing pleased our camera obsessed parents. She laid her head on the blanket. The expression on her face was simple defeat.

The antlers had been strapped to her head for more than an hour. They could have attached a ball gag and the humiliation needle wouldn’t have quivered. Even I felt sorry for the poor girl. At the point of the picture’s creation she wouldn’t have aarfed a bark if they hung her by her back legs and shaved her like a hog in the butcher house.

We were lying down in front of the little village under the tree. I don’t know who would build a village under a tree. They must spend all year cleaning giant pinecones. Plus Pocket defiles the river nightly.

Daddy had the camera now. He was lying on the floor, slowly creeping towards us. Somehow the camera and I became on the same wavelength. I knew when it was frozen, not ready to take the picture, and Pocket and I posed perfectly; then, it would signal to me when it was ready. We’d turn away just as the shutter clicked. Daddy would look at the picture, and then the parade of bad words would begin.

But even that had lost it’s fun for us. Now we just wanted them to take the danm picture so we could get on with our lives. But picture after picture he couldn’t get the shot right (which was pathetic, considering the perfect subjects he had.) Finally, as Pocket settled into her manic depression and I grumbled the mumbles of dread, the flash flushed, and Daddy caught a pretty darn good pictures of us sisters from Yorkshire.

Mommy looked at it, smiled, and said “we can do better.”

So we sat for about another 100 pictures over the course of the weekend. But we need did to that one.

Which is this one:




So Merry Christmas to all our Tanner Brigade, Facebook, Twitter and Blogger friends. You make every day better and we treasure you all.

Morgan is the Pup of the week December 20, 2009

'Twas the five days before Christmas, when all through the brigade
Pocket and Foley were picking a puppy to parade
They needed a pup of the week so pretty and fair,
Whose wonderfulness to all was very rare;
The other pups were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of Snasauges danced in their heads;
And Pocket in her neckkerchief, and I in my bandana,
Were munching on Mommy’s antipasto platter,
Our arguments over pup of the week usually raise a clatter,
This week we agreed so nothing was the matter.
We agreed on who to pick in a flash,
Then went through the cupboards looking for suckatash.
We saw the moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
And hoped before we had to wee it would find somewhere to go
Unlike the sky our pick for pup of the week was clear,
It is a Miracle Maltese we all hold dear,
What a little old pup, so lively and quick,
Our pup is holding strong even though he’s been sick.
His name is Morgan, he’s our Miracle Maltese
He’s the first to say thank you, excuse me and please;
He’s handsome, he’s brave, he’s smart, he’s strong
He’s loyal, he’s faithful, he’s heartfelt, he’s warm
From the south of Florida to the Vancouver coast
He’s the Miracle Maltese who has the most
His wild stories make our hearts fly
His friendship makes us as high as the sky
Over the Internet all his love and friendship flew
All you had to do was ask and he’d be your friend too
He was a big aid to this friend Tim Tebow
When he was sick for the championship the Gators hit a new low
We don’t know what will happen when he goes pro
Without a Miracle Maltese he won’t know where to throw
He wears all white from his head to his foot
It’s beautiful and curly with not a speck of soot
He carries all his friends troubles on his back
Which is why he’s the leader of this pack
He’s such a beautiful pup, his eyes so merry
His hair always perfect, his nose like a cherry
His bright red tongue curls out like a bow
We’d be afraid we’d lose him if he got out in the snow
He never bite you despite his sharp teeth
Like most Maltese he has one stick out underneath
He has a cute face and a little round belly
And it shakes when he laughs like a bowl full of jelly
He is sprightly and bright, a right shiny elf
And we all laugh when we see him in spite of ourselves
A wag of his tail, a turn of his head
Smiles on our face he knows how to spread
He speaks not a word but he’s ready to work
Helping us all when we’re acting like jerks
Giving thanks for every small trinket he gets
He is truly one of the world’s best pets
He trained so well he comes when Mom whistles
His feelings can’t be hurt he never bristles
So Pocket and I would like to say to our friend so at his peak
Merry Christmas to all; Morgan’s our Pup of the Week

How we survived the blizzard

This morning when the alarm went off Daddy got up and looked out the window and let out a big groan. Mr. Winter had left a bunch of deep and cold snow outside. While Pocket and I burrowed further down the covers, and Mommy rolled over and pulled them tighter, Daddy put on his clothes, his coat, his gloves, his hat, his booties, (big Kitty, Pocket and I go out in our everyday wear) and then went outside to dig us out a spot to pee and Vick.

We woke up an hour later and silly Daddy had not come back in the house yet. This was so aggravating. We sent Pocket down to see what the delay was. She ran downstairs, looked out the window, then went back to the bed to tell us he was laying in the snow making snow angels. Mommy was so mad. Just like Daddy to be playing when there was work to do.

Mommy put on a robe and a jacket and we all went down stairs in a grumpy huff. I jumped on the back of the couch and said "I don't know if Daddy is making snow angels because he's not moving his arms or legs." Mommy looked out and shook her head and said that not only was he a below adequate shoveler but he was a lousy snow angel maker.

When we went outside Mommy yelled at him, but he's such a clown, he lay there, still not making his angels properly. Mommy told him to get up, but he's such a clown he didn't move, so we went inside for some hot chocolate with cinnamon and I wrote this poem for all of you who survived the blizzard.

I hope you're inside all safe and warm
I hope you're not wet, that you've been dried
We are going to send Pocket out into the storm
To nuzzle Daddy to see if he's died

Update: Daddy is fine. He passed out in the snow. A burly snow plow driver saw him and performed CPR. Outside of a few beard hairs in his throat he's as good as new.

Foley Monster's Christmas List for Santa

Dear: Santa

Hi Santa, it’s me, Foley Monster. How have you been? I’m doing well. I have had an excellent year. We formed the Tanner Brigade, defeated the terrible Princess, and gave dogs the freedom to bark across the land. How about you? Still doing that good child, bad child, passing out the toys crap? Well I guess that’s cool. At least you have steady work. Hope you worked out the health care issue with the elves.

I hope you don’t have too much melting up at the North Pole. I know you like the Artic because no one can get there. If all the ice melts then it will become a tourist trap and you’ll never get anything done. If that happens and you need to move I suggest the Jersey Shore. Nobody wants to go there. Just don’t hire an elf named The Situation.

This year I am going to mix things up a little bit. Instead of a long list of what I want I am going to ask you for some things for my friends. So get your fountain pen and parchment, or blackberry, and get ready to record these requests.

For Baarney and Taabatha their own Bravo show Project Dogway where they can design the latest in dog wear.

For Chelsea and Ashton some Red Raider wins and a National Championship.

For Chase and Gucci lots of time: with their Mom, for her with them and; for us to exchange e-mail gossip with them.

For Matilda, not to get into any big trouble, I would wish her not to get into any little trouble either, but for Matilda there is no little trouble. And for Matilda’s Uncle: Testicular cancer and painful rectal itch.

For Dulce summer nights less than 100 degrees.

For Skye some easy breathing days.

For Mollie her Mom to keep getting healthier and stronger.

For Hobo Hudson more interesting guests on his talk show so he doesn’t fall asleep and for lots of hits for his Mom’s blog.

For Buttons at the Bridge lots and lots of more followers for her Mom because she helps out so many dog owners and everyone who loves a pup should follow her.

For Kolchak less work for their Mom so Kolchak and Felix can spend more time with us.

For the Pack some better treatment from her neighbors and for them to be able to stay together wherever they go.

For Erin the title of Queen of the Internet and for all us to get a whole lot smarter so we don’t keep bothering her.

For Paco a book called “Foley and Pocket: The book of American Pop References,” so Paco can understand our blogs.

For Ike: Plenty of time playing catch, plenty of time getting treats, and plenty of time in bed.

For Luca and Junior plenty of warm weather and time by the pool this summer, and plenty of inspiration for new contests.

For Shiloh may his moon never go retrograde.

For Sydney, Sonic and Buddy to have Jordan home with them next Christmas safe and sound.

For Willow Greyhound happy and safe days and to run free and strong.

For the Malatesta Gang a year without any work because all dogs have found their forever homes.

For Bentley not too much snow or cold so he can spend some time outside.

For Shadow her Mom to get healthier so she can start taking care of him instead of him taking care of her.

For Otis a USA World Cup win and a Dayton Flyers NCAA berth.

For Zoe Boe to have lots of friends as talented and kind as her and her Mom.

For Tanner Bub, that more people join this site and learn the legend of Tanner Bub and to see his Mom in her dreams.

And the same wishes got out to Sophie Bub and her Mom too.

For 12, Chappy and Whiskey some fresh tomatoes and for the video cameras to break.

For Sarah that plenty of people get her book and are helped by it.

For Hattie Mae, that America’s Top Model allows dogs to be contestants so she can get her true title as top model.

To Savannah and Roland a GPS so they will stop getting lost and scaring us all to death.

For Morgan Five hundred twenty five hundred six hundred minutes and a season of love.

For Totti and Foxy lots of reindeer so your stint on Christmas Eve does not last that long.

For Nase the wisdom to follow everything that Sierra does so he will know how to be the perfect dog like her is.

For Gracie and Max, that you can learn all of Teddy’s tricks, and you can keep filling your Mom’s heart with so much love.

For Raider, a left fielder, a big hitting first baseman, and an Al Davis coronary.

For Pokey Lunn lots of long walks, lots of trips to the coasts, of a Senator with the wisdom of Pocket.

For Pintus and Rain to have joy as big as their mother’s heart.

For Macdougal to continue to heal his Mom’s broken heart and for us to be able to help.

For Brody to get lots of pull toys and fun.

For all good doggies in the world to get a Bauser bandanna to wear in proudly.

For Sandy lots of happy days chasing chipmunks and playing games.

For Smoochy a healthy year for her Mom and for that we give him half the laughs from jokes and stories that he gives us.

For Maxamillion and Tupper lots of laughs and stimulation for their brilliant and creative minds.

For Apollo a wonderful, loved filled, beautiful, happy Christmas.

For Daisy Mae a healthy year for her.

For Zoey lots of Yorkie love.

For Lady Bug a big plate of Christmas turkey

For Baron the ability to attack a bone with proper chewing prowess.

For the Valdosta pups enough lap time for everyone.

For Cali and Hurley more time to hang out at the ocean, more time to hang out with Mom, and more time to chat on line with us.

For Ruby Duncan lots of room to run and play.

For Simba to keep getting along with the kitty and lots of Princess things to lie on.

For Jack Jack more time to run and have adventures with Roscoe.

For Cocoa Puff and Ruger to know that they have the best Mom in the world. For Cocoa to keep teaching Ruger how to be a proper Bub and to have a year of happy days.

For Gordo to be able to get out of the snow and into the warm house and to enjoy the comforts of home.

For Chelsea and Junior lots of good times together and to stay close to their wonderful Mom.

For Jeni to stay warm this winter and to have a wonderful January birthday

For Tadertot lots more Popsicles.

To Ruby Rode no more medicated baths. They’re no fun.

For Einstein, Taz and Kameron, lots of agility courses to run and run and run.

For Koda and Josie the continue to teach Bella how to be a pet, along with your Mom, until she’s as well behaved as the two of you.

For Rigley, a quick winter so he can get back to the beaches and enjoying the outdoors.

For Graycee and Hondo lots of wide open places to run and play in.

For Trixie lots of her Mom’s wonderful food to fall on the ground and for Mom to have a happy and healthy year.

For Shiloh have a year without any surgeries and no nights away from home.

And for any of the dogs I haven’t mentioned a very Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year. Sorry I didn’t remember everyone, but my Yorkie Brain can only handle so much.

So if you can get on that Santa, thank you.

Oh, and maybe a new chewy bone for me, if you have time. And Pocket to go to the bathroom outdoors.

You do those two things, and everything else and I’ll be happy

TBTV reporter Hobo Hudson interviews candidate Pocket

Hobo: Good evening: I am Hobo Hudson and welcome to Tanner Brigade Tonight TVTB’s look at the issues of the day. Our guest this evening is Independent candidate for Massachusetts Senate Pocket Q. Rocket. Welcome Ms. Rocket.

Pocket: Thank you for having me this evening Hobo. I am looking forward to your questions.

Hobo: Pocket, you live in the city of Taunton MA. Recently an eight year old boy was sent home from school and not allowed to come back unless he underwent a psychological exam for drawing this picture: The boy claimed it is a picture of Christ on the cross. Do you support the school system’s stance?

Pocket: Absolutely. Just look at this picture.

That’s the worst Christ on the cross I have ever seen. It looks like that girl Cathy from the Funny Papers being water boarded. If you allow outwork that bad to be in the classroom where does it end? You’ve got to figure out why this kid sucks so bad at drawing and make sure it doesn’t happen. Excuse me, I think my lunch is coming back up, oh boy, deep breathing, OK, just please, take that awful picture away.

Hobo: The child wasn’t suspended because of his artistic ability but because when he said it was Christ on the cross they became afraid it was a violent image. Do you agree it’s a violent image?

Pocket: Oh yes, it is very violent. Did you see the Mel Gibson movie? Wow. I hid under the blanket. I did like it when they showed their butts to the British.

Hobo: I think you have the wrong movie.

Pocket: No, that was the movie I was hiding when it was on.

Hobo: Many feel that this was an assault on religion, that the teacher and principal suspended the boy because he introduced Jesus in the classroom. What is your opinion of religion in the classroom?

Pocket: Well, when my Mommy is working in the classroom I’m praying to the Bridge Gods that she come home and let me out of the crate. My Mom has a lot of kids from the Projects in her classroom, and lots of times she introduced Jesus. They pronounce it Heyzeus like a sneeze and their Dad isn’t home much either.

Hobo: Some blame this on the Massachusetts liberals. Do you see this a symptomatic of an overly liberal culture?

Pocket: Well, people say it’s the liberals, but the ACLU is suing on behalf of the family, so you have liberals suing liberals, and that’s like the Mets playing the Yankees, we don’t care who wins, we just hope someone suffers a season ending injury.

Hobo: Well I think you have given us a lot to think about.

Pocket: Oh I am sorry, I was hoping to give you a lot to nap about.

Foley and Pocket worry the the Dog Whisperer turned their parents into zombies

Despite my using all the tools at my disposal, calling in all favors owed to me, and promising more than I will be able to repay, my parents still made it into Boston Sunday night to her the Dog Whisperer.

While Mommy and Daddy were preparing to go I hacked on to the security system for the Agganis Arena at Boston University. I sent out the following e-mail: “To all parking staff: Only admit one car at a time on to the lot. Only allow cars who have pre-paid with their credit card and have a printed out ticket park in the lot. Do not check to see if they have the ticket until they’re in the lot, and if they don’t have a ticket hold up the line as the car does a six point turn to get out of the lot and back on the street. Please take up to five minutes arguing/explaining the situation while others wait. Thank you.”

Then I looked at the weather report: Chance of showers. Well this would not do. I downloaded myself to Rainbow Bridge and convinced Tanner to meet with the weather Gods to cause a torrential rain to fall between 4:00 and 6:00 PM as Mommy and Daddy were driving to Boston. Tanner had to call in some major favors but just as my parents were leaving the rain began to fall.

I know my Mommy like I know the back of my paw. She doesn’t like traveling in the rain, and she doesn’t like traffic. Well, thanks to my e-mail the security at the Agganis Arena caused an hour traffic jam on Commonwealth Avenue, which caused Mommy and Daddy to creep along in the pouring rain. But I forgot the most important thing. If Mommy had bought a ticket on the Titanic, she would have gone down with the ship, ‘cause gosh darnit she paid for a boat ride and she was getting a boat ride.

They got there after the show started, so I take that as a small victory because DW says the really harmful stuff at the top of the show. My plan backfired when they were almost killed driving home in the pouring rain and the fog. Tanner made me promise to let him know when to tell the rain Gods to stop making it downpour, but I fell asleep and forgot. It wasn’t my fault. Scheming takes a lot out of a Yorkie.

There were no visible signs of change when they got home, except for the trembling from almost dying. I listened to see if they were showing signs of brainwashing. They talked about how good DW was in doing dog impressions. I was doing my human impression, tapping my paw impatiently waiting for them to get to the good stuff. They droned on about how he talked about his wife being his pack leader; about the funny reactions dogs have when people do things; how he made them laugh.

I wasn’t interested in how he made them laugh, I was interested in how he made them zombies.

Then they talked about the second half of the show where he worked with dogs; a stubborn German Shepard who kept snapping at a passing dog no matter how much the DW tried (yay!); a boarder collie who was supposedly afraid of vacuums but acted like the vacuum was his best friend (double yay); and a couple with two lap dogs who he introduced as a mother and son when it was really husband and wife. The wife was not amused. (Triple freaking yay.)

When I went to sleep Sunday night I was sure that we had escaped them turning into DW zombies.

The next morning Pocket and I were playing kill the Yorkie with the tail in the bathroom, barking up a storm when we heard “Shust.” Mommy thought it had worked because we were quiet. Actually we were on the ground laughing a Yorkie laugh, which is not very loud.

Later that day I saw that white kitty who pisses me off and started barking and Mommy stepped between me and the back door where I was kitty stalking and spread her arms out and told me she was owning the door.

I walked away. She can own the door. I own the danm house.

So it could have been worse, a little shusting here, a little door owning there. I guess I have it coming from almost killing them and all.

I am more disturbed by Daddy, who usually isn’t one for training, preferring just to hang with us. He thinks the Shust thing is weird so when we’re doing something he doesn’t like he looks at us and goes “Boo-La-La.”

Actually, I like that. Now, whenever my Mommy goes “Shust” I go “Boo-La-La,” so our house is “Shust” “Boo-La-La” “Shust,” “Boo-La-La,” and we’ve got a bunch of teenagers outside thinking a hip-hop band lives with us.

Apollo is Pup of the week December 13th

There are several customs that humans observe that make little sense to me. One of them is to wait until a loved one passes to Rainbow Bridge before they tell pay tribute to them.

We dogs prefer to let our feelings known before the bus to the bridge comew calling. So that is why we have chosen the wonderful, smart, powerful and loyal Apollo Shultz as our Pup of the Week.

Poor Apollo got some very bad news this week: Pancreatic cancer. It’s a one-way ticket to the Bridge, and we can hope, and pray, but there’s not much we can do about it.

As always Apollo took the news bravely and stoically. His concern was with his Mom and family. He knows he will be fine. Our friends at the Bridge at waiting for him, ready to run free, to play, and to live without interference from any mean humans.

Apollo’s main concern is, of course, his family. He hasn’t asked for us to worry about him, but only to take care of his Mom, Shakira and Ace.

This summer, when his crazy neighbors tried to poison him, Apollo managed to fight back, to surprise the doctors and his family and rally to good health again. Cruel that cancer now strikes him down, but our Apollo takes it all in stride. He is our rock, our
King of the mountain.

So here it to you, Apollo Schultz, friend, companion, bodyguard, confidant, love bug, snuggle baby, big brother, little boy, role model, brave, strong, indomitable of spirit, and pack leader. Long may you run my friend, long may you run.

Foley is concerned her Mommy and Daddy will be brainwashed by the Dog Whisperer

I, Foley, have received some news that has Pocket and I very concerned. It came up shortly after another photo session. Pocket and I were talking while they scrolled through the pictures about how our parents couldn’t be more annoying: And then came the news, which will drive their annoying tenancies to unimaginable levels.

Tomorrow night my Mommy and Daddy have tickets to go to the Agganis Center at Boston University to listen to the propaganda of the man known to humans as the Dog Whisperer and known to dogs as He Who Shall Not be Whispered.

I have worked nine years of my life to train my parents to understand that I am the Pack Leader, that the couch and the chairs are mine, that when we walk I lead, that I do not come when called; I prefer to screen my calls and come when it is only necessary; and if I bark they are to be summoned immediately.

Now this illegal immigrant is going to ruin it for everyone. I know, he’s legal now, as much of a citizen as you and I, but I still remember the night Lou Dobbs and I were on boarder patrol, and I had a man sneaking across the boarder in my sites, ready to pull the trigger, when I saw a squirrel and became distracted then missed him. As he was running to the safety of America he turned to me and whispered “sucker.”

Lou hasn’t spoken to me since.

So now I pay for the transgression. (Danm squirrels have always been my downfall.) Mommy and Daddy will leave the house Sunday the nice, beautiful people I have always known and loved, and return under the influence of the Whisperer. They will be shushing, and trying to show they own the couch, and insisting we don’t go up until we’re “invited,” wanting us to walk next to them instead of running ahead. It is going to take weeks for Pocket and I to break them out of this trance.

If anyone knows how the deprogram Mommies and Daddies who have come under the influence of this evil Whisperer please let us know. We are going to need all the help we can get.

The text of Foley Monster accepting the Nobel Pup Prize

Puppies and Lollipops thank you for awarding me the prestigious Nobel Pup Prize. I would like to thank all of those who supported me in winning this award, and for those of you who thought I have not accomplished enough to earn this award well they can stroke my hairy tail.

As I stand here, where so many other prestigious winners have stood, it makes me feel connected to them, like former Vice President Al Gore, who helped me spread the word by inventing the Internet, and taught me to be more tolerant of my sister, who, like Al Gore claiming to invent the Internet, is so full of Vick it’s spilling out on the floor.

Many of you ask how a dog, that uses the alias the General, could win a prize that is associated with peace, after sending several dogs on a raid into an armed castle. But we did it to give all dogs freedom to bark, and some times you need to fight to be free.

I have so many to thank for this award. My Mommy and Daddy, who, if you met them, you would realize they are social pariahs, but if you only know them through helping me post my random thoughts, and some twisted ones of their own, have become popular.

There are so many puppy friends I need to thank. First and foremost, my brother from another mother, the Mayor of Rainbow Bridge, my best friend forever, the Buzz to his Woody, Tanner Bub. I accept this award on behalf of him, his Mom, and his wonderful family.

I apologize in advance for those who I may forget. I need to get all these names in before the Nobel Peace Prize Band begins to play me off. And while I’m on the subject, does Gandhi rock on the sitar or what?

There is my escort for the evening, the beautiful Hattie Mae. You cannot possibly make a better entrance then when you’re on the paw of Hattie; my painter, who captures my spirit, and a dog’s beauty better than any other, Zoe Boe; and my fellow dreamers, our wonderful contest creators, Fred, Junior and Luca.

There are so many more dogs that are more deserving than I: Sarah Jane, who wrote a book for parents who are having trouble paying for doggie expenses in this tough Economy and then held her own bailout and is giving it away for free; Cocoa Puff and Ruger, who helped heal Tanner’s Mom’s heart when he went to the bridge; Macdougal, who healed his Mom’s heart when his Daddy went to the bridge; Shadow, who helped his Mom through a very painful time; The Malatesta Gang, who do unbelievable work in helping abused and homeless dogs everywhere; Sydney, Sonic and Buddy, who have sent their human brother off to war to fight for our freedom, Merry Christmas Jordan; Erin, who helps us all through this confusing series of tubes that is the Internet and allows us to stay together; Buttons at the Bridge, whose Mom does more for dogs through her tweets and blogs then anyone we know; Gracie Mae, who makes the world better just by being so darn cute; Moses, who shines down from the Bridge with love; and the Lambies, who fight for dogs, and against cancer every day.

Why did I get this award and not any of these worthy candidates? The answer, my friends, is simple. Their PR people suck.

So my final thanks go to my PR people, Murray and Joel Fienstein of Fienstein PR in Manhatten, thanks boys and I’m bringing this home for you.

Pocket and the picture she doesn't want you to see

Hi, Pocket here. Ssshhh! I don’t want my Mommy and Daddy to know where I am. No, I didn’t do anything silly like my sweet friends Roland and Savannah and go on the lam, I don’t even know any lambs, except for Lamb Chop, and I always found her to have a hand up her butt.

No, I’m hiding because I thought I saw Mommy with the camera. I don’t want to have my picture taken anymore. I’m like Suri Cruise. But cute.

I know you heard Foley’s version of our earlier tries at picture taking. We don’t agree often, but when Mommy’s and Daddy’s are picture happy even the most cantankerous of sisters need to stand together and squint at the bright light that keeps FLASHING! FLASHING! FLASHING!

Look, I’m a good dog. I have my faults: Confusing the bathroom and living room, barking at the wind, accepting PAC money during my campaign, but I try to do the right thing.

But I do not want to be wearing what I am wearing in the picture anymore. Now I am going to show you the picture but you must swear you are not going to laugh at me.

OK here it is.



You’re laughing. I can hear you. I can hear you Cali and Hurley and I’m way over here on the other coast. Man. You guys promised.

I hate those ears. First of all they aren’t the type of thing a serious dog about town who is going to become a famous politician should wear. Second of all they pinch my wiggly ears. I don’t like having my wiggly ears pinched.

But even without the antlers of doom I am just tired of sitting and posing and looking. I just want to be left alone.

Mommy and Daddy said they were done taking pictures. They were viewing them on this picture frame thing they have. Picture after picture of me in antlers. It was like Tiger Woods lying in the road seeing his entire life flash before his eyes if he was born Thanksgiving morning.

Hopefully by the weekend we will have the actual card pictures up for you to see, and maybe some outtakes too. But if they bring out their camera again we are downloading ourselves to Chelsea’s and Ashton’s house because their Mom is smart enough not to send Christmas cards to anyone.

Saffron is the Tanner Brigade Pup of the Week for December 6

Well Pocket and I firmly entrenched ourselves in opposite camps when deciding this week’s Pup of the Week. But, as always in disagreements within in the Brigade, I sought out, and received, the sage advice of Tanner Bub at the bridge and he solved our problems in his usual reasoned and fair manner.

I do understand that Pocket had several excellent reasons to dispute my candidate. First of all, he is not a member of the Brigade, although his family is, and the way I see it, if you have a family member in the Brigade, then you’re in the Brigade. Secondly, this pup is at the Bridge, and while you can certainly be the Pup of the Week at the Bridge, Pocket argued there was a more qualified member.

Well, I must admit, that I got myself into both a huff and a snit. I huffed and snitted around the house all day. That night I decided to seek out the sage advice of my friend Tanner. I downloaded myself up to the Bridge and the pups were so happy to see me: There was Teddy, and Sophie, and my old friends Blake, Copper and Jax, plus so many more. After a wild time of chasing Bridge bunnies made of rawhide, drinking ice cold water, and feasting on the Snausage trees, we sat down to talk.

I told Tanner about the pup at the Bridge who was my candidate and Tanner put a paw on my shoulder and told me he knew exactly whom I was talking about. He then gave a special howl and that black furred pup came bouncing over the hills. I introduced myself and he said he knew who I was, that his Mommy had told him about Pocket and I in her dreams. I then showed Tanner and this pup the wonderful tribute his Mom wrote about him. This dog cried and made me promise to tell his Mom how much he missed her and loved her and how sometimes during the day he sits in the sun and thinks about her.

I told Tanner how I wanted to make this dog my pup of the week but Pocket had another dog in mind. Tanner said that he had the perfect solution. He had recently been elected Mayor of the Bridge and he was using his power to make this dog “Rainbow Bridge Pup of the week.” So congratulations to Cali and Hurley’s big brother Sami, as he is the first “Rainbow Bridge Pup of the Week.”

Then I downloaded myself back home and woke up Pocket to tell her she was right. She had no idea what I meant and it took me several hours to explain the concept.

So, I admit, Pocket was right, and our Pup of the Week is very deserving. She had to go to the vet this week and have an operation, which is one of the worse possible things. First there’s the no eating, then the Mommy leaving us at the hospital, then the going asleep and waking up feeling all groggy with no Mommy in sight.

Then Mommy picks you up, and she’s happy to see you, but all worried, and you need to take care of her, even when you don’t feel well. Plus we all get worried and we spend two days praying for the Doctor to call up and say B-9.

And then guess what, the Doctor called up and said B-9 and we all yelled Bingo and danced and sang and had a huge party.

So, for being a brave pup in going to the Doctors; for putting up with all those humans at the hospital poking and prodding her; for being brave when she woke up without her Mommy there; for going home and taking good care of her Mom when she was so worried about her; and most of all for being our Bingo Dog and being B-9! Saffron is our Pup of the Week.

Congrats Saffron for being the Tanner Brigade Pup of the Week and for Sami for being the Rainbow Bridge Pup of the Week. You’re both fantastic! Long may you run.

The horrific terror of our yearly Chistmas Card photo shoot

Well my loving slope-nosed parents annual exercise in futility occurred exactly on schedule this year as they tried to pose my squiggly sister and I in our yearly Christmas card photo. It would have been personally more enjoyable to me, and reached the same conclusion, if they had joined hands and banged their heads against the wall.

This year their artistic vision led them to place us on the bed. Our bed! Where we sleep! Where our children come and play with their toys! Now I am very used to having my photo taken, being absolutely precious and everything. But Pocket, she’s not so much a fan of having her picture taken. She trembled so much on the bed I thought someone slipped a quarter in her butt to make it vibrate.

Now personally I think we rocked those pictures. We laid down on command, we looked right in the camera, we were beautiful. But then Mom-“Annie Leibovitz”-my announced she did not like the headboard as a background. Didn’t like the headboard? She’s been sleeping with her head on that board for years. She just realized it wasn’t Christmas card worthy? Plus: I am pretty sure in one of them you can see Pocket’s nipple.

So we moved downstairs to the landing. The landing on the stairs is a great picture spot. The photographer stands up, and they’re on eye level with us. It’s very hard to not obtain your goal: unless you’re my Mommy or Daddy, or a Red Sox GM who insists on signing middle aged Venezuelan shortstops with limited range (wow, where’d that come from? I must be channeling a frustrated Red Sox fan at the bridge again.)

Then, get this, Daddy says to me, “well you two are certainly no Hattie Maes.” Well that stuck in my paw. First of all, no one is Hattie Mae, she is our diva, and no dog takes a better picture than her, so the comparison is unfair. Secondly, I am happy they were taking pictures of pups and not their daughters. I would hate for Daddy to say to his daughter: “Well, you’re certainly no Taylor Swift. Your nose is too big, your hair has no body, and your eyes are too close together. Guess we’ll have to buy cards at Wal-Mart with the parents of other ugly children.”

So then we moved to the recliner, and this part I really enjoyed, because by now Mommy and Daddy were frustrated and tired, and they do what they always do when they are frustrated and tired. They humiliated Pocket.

In a state of extreme panic they got the antlers with the bell hanging on it and slipped it on her head. (They know better than to pull that shiz-nit on me. Zoe’s caption on this week’s funny was totally accurate: I’m a dog dammit.) Pocket began shaking so much the chair was rocking back and forth, or it was rocking back and forth because I was lying on my back laughing. Daddy then got a couple of stuffed Pooh Bears (calm down lollipops, Winnie the Pooh Bears dressed in Christmas costumes, not Pocket’s Vicks stuffed with fluff and sold on line) and put them in front of us then began taking pictures again.

I was having so much fun. Mommy’s was kneeling, and Mommy, with her two bad knees, and other strict rules, does not kneel for anyone. She was taking the pictures, and Daddy stood behind us trying to keep our attention focused on the camera, by acting like a complete ass.

Here’s the thing: When Mommy and Daddy are taking your picture, look away, and out of the corner of your eye watch the one who is supposed to be keeping your attention, in this case Daddy, dance, squeak things, cluck like a chicken, and otherwise humiliate himself more than a Yorkie forced to wear antlers.

Tonight they went through the pictures. They finally decided to go with….none of them. Again, they are unhappy with the backdrop. I looked up at them and said “Well, you two are certainly no Hattie Mae’s Mom. I guess we’ll go to Wal-Mart and buy our Christmas cards with the rest of the dogs who have parents who don’t know a good picture background from a hole in the ground.

So we’re going to try again: Hopefully with a better backdrop. I know you’d love to see the pictures, but since Mommy and Daddy haven’t ruled out which picture they will be using, they don’t want to post them yet. But once a decision has been reached we’ll be posting all of them.

I have to get a good night’s sleep tonight, I’m going to be up posing tomorrow next to a trembling Yorkie and I need my beauty rest. Wish me luck.

Guess who caused Tiger Woods’ Accident? Hint: Initials - FM

Late Thursday night I had Turkey belly and couldn’t sleep. I wasn’t supposed to go on the Internet after the whole sneaking into the White House State Dinner thing, but Mommy was sleeping off the wine and Daddy was sleeping off the beating Mommy gave him so I decided to see my friends online.

The first message I got was from my friend Tiger in Florida. He asked me if I wanted to go with him to a Best Buy near his home, buy the new version of Mario Brothers for Nintendo Wii, and play all day. A Friday hanging out with Tiger and playing Wii! Cool! I hopped on the computer and downloaded myself to his big, fancy house.

I jumped out his computer while he was putting golf balls into a champagne flute. “Foley my main dog!” he said smiling at me, “you ready to get a Wii and play some Mario?”

“You bet,” I said as I ran out the door into the warm Florida air and jumped on to the passenger’s seat of his SUV. Tiger hopped in, we strapped ourselves in like Batman and Robin, and Tiger backed out the driveway.

As he put the car in drive I saw Steve the Squirrel, the one who stole my balloon after Pocket’s big adventure. I had been looking for him everywhere. I wanted my danm balloon back. Without thinking I jumped out of the SUV and ran right in front of the car. Tiger saw me going after the squirrel and swerved to save me and he hit a hydrant and a tree.

“Oh my God!” I cried. I turned and saw Steve run up a tree. “Squirrel,” I said clenching my paw.

I hurried over to the SUV and was relieved to see that Tiger climbed out without a scratch. “Thank god you’re all right,” I said. Tiger’s pretty wife came running out and asked what happened.

He told her he was going to Best Buy to get Mario Brothers for Wii and she asked who he was going to play with and he motioned to me and said “this little,” and in my mind I begged “say lollipop, say lollipop,” but unfortunately he said “bitch here.”

Her eyes grew into huge red sauces. A siren sounded and smoke came out of her ears. She reached into the back of the SUV and grabbed a driver. She looked down at me. “Are you the little bitch?” she asked. “I prefer lollipop!” I said as she swung and I turned tail and ran into the house.

I looked back and she was swinging at Tiger, hitting him in the head and chest as he cried out “No, no honey, not the driver, you’re bending the shafts! You’re bending the shafts!”

I jumped on the computer and hit the codes and downloaded myself through the tubes back home. I waited outside the bedroom door for Daddy to get up to pee, then jumped up on the bed, put a paw to my lips to signal my sister to keep her mouth shut, and snuggled up with Mama to sleep.

As I drifted off to sleep I wasn’t too worried. It was a fender bender in a gated, rich community in Florida. Who would care?

Erin is the Pup of the week November 30, 2009

Some weeks Foley and I have to debate about who will be our Pup of the Week but this week it was simple.

This pup spent her Thanksgiving working on our site. Her initial efforts were stymied by the Ning elves but she would not be denied. She used her big, beautiful brain, and now, we have smiles everywhere, on our comments, on our replies, in our personal messages, everywhere.

We like to think that the Tanner Brigade is the best dog social network site on the Internet made up of the best dogs. One of the things that make it so special is all the smiles and there is one pup we have to thank for that.

So for giving us our smiles back, and for always being there whenever we become confused about the series of tubes that is the Internet, Erin is our pup of the week.

Congratulations Erin on a job well done.

Pocket tells the tale of how she and Foley Monster crashed the White House State Dinner

Of all the embarrassing situations my sister has got me into last weekend was the worst.

I should have known, given the problems Foley caused when she nipped the kitty, and the current administration’s pressuring me to abandon my independent run for Massachusetts Senate since I will not support a universal health care bill that does not include dogs, that we were not invited to a State Dinner.

But Foley insisted we were. Since she is an administer of a web site she has been given the codes to travel through the series of tubes which is the Internet and can pop up anywhere that has an Internet hook up. Because there are many such computers at the White House she insisted our access to the dinner would be a snap.

The actual invitation though, that proved to be a problem.

We went to the Groomer and Foley told her about the State Dinner and she laughed and scratched her head and told her she had the best stories. Foley huffed and spent the rest of her grooming in a snit. As for me, I sat very still, let them work their magic, rolled my little brown eyes at Foley’s impatient sighs, and eagerly snapped up her portion of the treats.

That night Foley arranged for our Mommy and Daddy to have their own special dinner in exchange for free advertisement on her Twitter page, and, once they were gone, Foley furiously began to pound her paws on the keyboard. She then barked at me to hop on the laptop. I did, and the next thing I knew we were being sucked through a series of tubes and popped out in a circular office with a blue rug and a beautiful American flag.

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” I asked Foley as we hopped down on the floor.

“You want to mark the carpet?” Foley said.

I nodded and together we sprinkled that blue carpet, and, who ever uses that round office, and whoever may use it in the future, needs to know, we marked it and it’s ours.

We went through the door and Foley told me that we had to run to the front doors so we would go in with the crowd. I wondered why, if we were invited, we needed to go through the line, but Foley, that old girl, is quite fast, and it was everything I could do to keep up with her.

We weaved through the people, who were too busy making sure their noses were held appropriately high to notice two little, well-groomed Yorkies, and took our spot at the back of the line. When we reached the front Foley said: “Foley Monster, accompanied by her sister Pocket Rocket Dog.’

The man in the suit flipped through the pages and said we were not on the list. Foley stood on her back legs and began to bark that this was discrimination, that the administration was anit-dogites, and what happened to the change we could believe in? Fearing a scene with so many media in line behind us, the man in the suit called in his supervisor who bent down, smelled us both, stated that we smelled like the rug, and let us in.

Do you know what we found out are alike? A State Dinner and a doggy park filled with six month old male puppies who have not been spade because they both have lots of humps.

I think Foley and I were the two prettiest Lollipops there because everyone wanted to have their picture taken with us: The Chief of Staff; the Vice-President (who is all hands, my tail got stroked more than it did at the groomers) and even the President himself who said Foley looked familiar, but my sister hurried us away before the jet lagged President could remember.

Then they announced it was time for dinner and I panicked because we did not have place cards. But Foley said our place was under the table where the good food always ends up. Made sense to me. We hunkered under the table and were getting great bits of fumbled portions. I told Foley the Indian Prime Minister ate like a pig and she laughed and told me that was ironic but I didn’t know what none of that meant.

Everything was going great and then little Malia came walking in and she started looking under the table. Foley and I were trying to hide under whatever the Indian guy was wearing when Malia looked under the table and said “Look it’s Foley Monster.”

The President stood up and said “Foley Monster, we did not invite Foley Monster.” I turned and looked at my sister and I swear there was steam coming out of my little ears. Foley didn’t let the steam bother her, she just grabbed me by the paw and said “run.”

We ran from under the table, and all these big guys, with ties, sun glasses and radios began running after us while the President yelled that he can’t even put on a State Dinner without it getting screwed up. As we ran down a long hall the men were getting closer and then we saw Bo the Presidential dog at the end of a hallway.

Bo ushered us into his office and locked the door. (No, I don’t know why the President’s dog would have an office but you’ve stuck with me this far, so why start asking questions now?) He asked how we got there and Foley told her about the computer codes. Bo asked for them. Foley refused. The bad men were banging on the door. I begged Foley. She told me she didn’t know if she could trust Bo. I nipped her. Bo said he was First Dog and if he couldn’t be trusted who could? The men said they were going to shoot off the knob. Reluctantly, Foley surrendered the codes, Bo typed them in, we jumped on the keyboard and were transported just as the bad men came through the door.

We got home and Foley put me in my crate and lay in her blanket just as Mommy and Daddy came home. We had to act like we had been sleeping all night and jump and bark when we really were just exhausted. Luckily, we thought, we had got away with our adventure.

Until the next morning when the newspaper arrived, and on the front page was a story about the couple who crashed the White House dinner with a picture of us with that grabby Vice-President.

Well, Mommy and Daddy were not happy at all, and Foley has been banned from the computer until further notice, which is why I am telling you this.

Foley is on her blanket. She’s ordered her own Blackberry so she’ll be back on line soon. She always has a way to find her way back online, and into trouble.

Some good did come of our escapades. Bo is now traveling around the world. While humans in different countries continue to fight, dogs live to love and to all be part of the same pack, and, since we have such control over our owners, this may be the best chance of ever having peace on earth for the holidays.

And you can bet Foley and I will be traveling again. So if you feel little paws under the table, or a little bit of warmth in your bed at night, just drop a bit of food, or enjoy the snuggle because it’s just Foley and Pocket having traveled through the series of tubes to your house.

We were invaded

On Monday we had a good day because Mommy couldn’t go to work because her blood sugar was high and she had to go to the doctor, so for most of the day we spent snuggled with her on the couch, until she had to go to the doctor, who told her the rise in blood sugar was due to stress. You know how to cure stress? Sit with two Yorkies in a recliner.

Then Daddy came home, and he was sitting on the couch, and Mommy was telling her about her day, when a door slammed outside, and Pocket went nuts, jumping up and down, barking and crying. Daddy looked over his shoulder and said, “we’re being invaded.”

I jumped on the back of the couch, and there was daughter #2 and granddaughters #3 and #5. Now I love all the grandchildren, I do, but I prefer #1 because we’ve grown up together, and #2, because she’s a sweetheart, and they know how to stroke and pet a puppy.

But #3 and #5, well one of them is fairly new, and one of them is almost brand new, she’s walking new, but new, and they tend to treat Pocket and I like we’re stuffed toys.

But I still have those dog tendencies I can’t control, like that creepy vampire dude who is in love with but still wants to kill the boring Goth chick, and I jumped off the recliner with my tail wagging and my tongue all curled up sniffing, jumping and barking just as bad as Pocket, who, as we have discussed, is unprofessional.

I was jumping, sniffing, crying, wagging, and then I realized I was acting the fool. Pocket meanwhile was caught up in her puppy enthusiasm getting under foot and licking everyone like she was an over caffeinated Adam Lambert. I retreated to Daddy, because, to Granddaughters #3 and #5 Daddy is grandparent #2, and for awhile he would be safe ground.

Pocket did everything she could to get #3 and #5 attention, but after they assaulted Grammy with the high blood sugar, they moved over to the Barbies. I don't have much use for the Barbies, and neither does Pocket really, but she has a secret shoe fetish, and Barbie boots often become Pocket play things, usually found between her teeth, and, when #3 and #5 discovered it, they did not take things well at all, yelling and screaming up a storm.

This scared Pocket off and she joined me on top of Daddy. Of course, with Barbie's unable to properly strut down the runway #3 and #5 found a new play thing, Daddy and his two stuffed Yorkies. But Daddy saved us and allowed us to slip back over to Mommy by doing what he does best, acting like a complete ass and entertaining the small minds of #3 and #5.

Then #5 found Pocket's green ball, and she tried to throw it, but she throws like a Browns quarterback. Pocket, who would chase the green ball into a burning building, took off after the ball, which dropped behind #5, causing her even more confusion. A confused Pocket is a barking Pocket, and then she starts being told to be quiet, and like any politician she hates being told to be quiet, and she argues, and I further sneak behind Mommy in the recliner.

Finally it was time to leave and #3 and #5 gave us kisses. #3 is a pretty good kisser but #5 puts her whole little mouth on us and just drools. It isn't much, but it is love. Then they are all gathered in their car seats and leave and Pocket and I curl up next to one another shaking and reviewing all the horrors we had just seen.

On Thanksgiving Mommy and Daddy are going to Daughter #2 house. Pocket and I can't go because daughter #2 is not much of a dog person. As much as they make me nervous I am going to miss playing with #3 and #5 tomorrow, and most of all #1 who I don't get to see as much as I like.

So Pocket and I will be sleeping most of the afternoon, maybe coming to see some of you in our dreams. You all have a wonderful Thanksgiving, and you humans, if you feel little Yorkie paws at your feet, it's just Pocket and I having popped out of your computer in search of a little turkey.

Have a merry and a bright

Shadow is Pup of the Week for November 22, 2009

First, some business to take care of: There have been some Internet problems on all sites lately, I know those who use Facebook are having a terrible times with gifts and other applications. I know many of you have experienced problems here on Tanner Brigade and we are doing what we can. If your blog posts twice, you can delete one of the posts without deleting the others. I deleted some double posts last night, but left the ones that had been modified, like Hobo’s blog where a photo was added, or duplicate blogs that each had a comment. Foley is going into cyberspace for a mass meeting of social network groups to figure out a solution. If she pops out of your computer please put a stamp on her forehead and send her to us.

Now, for this week’s Pup of the Week: This is one of our sweetest little dogs. He knows how to take care of his Mom. When Mom had a bad back, this pup knows the best medicine: to sit with her and give her sweet loving.

Despite giving his Mom round the clock care, this dog has been able, not only to keep us posted on her health, but to take time to thank those of us who wished her well. Such thoughtfulness at times of personal sorrow is the sign of a special dog for sure.

Finally,this poor pup has been disrespected by Doggyspace, as so many of us have, and, this pup has come to realize that the place where happy pups come to play is here. So, while those on DS may not realize how wonderful he is, here he is our pup of the week.

For taking good care of his Mom, for taking time out for us, and for being one of the most special dogs we know, Shadow is out pup of the week.

An excerpt from Pocket's new autobiography "Going Rougff"

This is an excerpt from Pocket’s soon to be released best selling book “Going Rougff.”

When I announced my candidacy for the Senate people who were tired of “the same old political games” came to visit me to help with my candidacy. First they began to shuffle through my outwear. I was told my buffs, bandanas and jackets were not stylish enough (even my Tanner Brigade bandanna) for a candidate to wear. They wanted to go to a stuffy English dog store and buy me expensive, designer clothes.

I called Hattie Mae and she told me that my clothing was beautiful, and to snarl at, and bite them. But I can’t snarl and bite anyone, so Foley did it.

Then they sent in another consultant who recommended a tail extension, contact lenses to make my eyes blue, and a weave to wear so, instead of going out in public sporting my usual puppy cut, I would go out in a show cut with all my “hair” sweeping the floor. I talked with my groomer, Jen, from Groomingdales in Lakeville MA, and she said these extensions could ruin my already perfect hair. I had to tell the consultants I would not heed their wishes, and they stormed out of the house to meet with a Shar-Pei in Chelsea.

And then, get this, they had this man come in and say that they had done research and that I had a high approval rating with men because they liked my tail. They liked the way it swayed back and forth while I walked. What a bunch of sickos.

Then it came time to take my picture for some publications, and the photographers kept asking me to turn and I realized they were trying to capture the curve of my tail. I am a serious political candidate, not some sex symbol, and I stormed out of session asking Foley to have the room cleared. When I returned they were taking pictures of the curve in Foley’s tail. Old age makes you do some odd things.
.
So my backers were furious with me, and it was that point that I decided to go rougff. I would, win or lose, do things my way.

Next excerpt: Pocket’s Katie Couric interview.

Josie is our November 15, 2009 pup of the week

Well this was a tough week to pick our Pup of the Week. Pocket and I spent most of the day discussing the candidates.

We are very worried about our friends Pepsi and Ladybug. We are praying they are going to be fine. Also our hearts are breaking for Roland and Savannah who lost their beloved kitty Oreo.

Pocket kept coming back to one of her favorite candidate, a Yorkie with a bad tummy who is running for Senator. I had to keep saying “Pocket that’s you.” She kept saying “Who is you?” I said “I’m Foley,” and then we’d go around again in a big mess like the Cowboys offense.

But we finally settled on a pup for several reasons. (1) Her Mom did a wonderful thing; (2) while she may not have realized what a wonderful gift she has received I’m sure she will soon; (3) We chose the older of the two pups because she has had lots of change in her life recently.

So, our pup of the week is Josie the Grouch. (This also dovetails nicely with the 40th anniversary of Sesame Street.)



First, kudos to her Mom: While in her local police station she saw a poor, unloved, starving pup, and brought it home, to give her love, and a life. Now Josie and her brother Koda did not react well when this pup, beautifully named Bella, was introduced to them, but there are many reasons humans don’t understand that trigger this behavior.

Dogs carry so many smells, of other dogs, of fear, of pain, that sometimes when we’re introduced to that smell we react poorly. I am sure the more Josie is around Bella, and the cleaner and more pleasant smelling she becomes, she will fully welcome her as a sibling, and teach Koda to do the same.

And, as an added inducement, may I say that Pocket and I have awarded the second Pup of the Week to Josie, and if she doesn’t accept Bella as a sibling, we could end up looking really bad. So, if you can, think of your two sexy little Yorkie friends and remember our sterling reputations.

But I know you won’t have to do that. You may be grouchy, but you are a beautiful and smart dog, and you are our Pup of the Week.

Pocket Update: Bland rice diet and firming up the Vick

I would like to take this opportunity to thank all my wonderful friends who have sent me the warmest get-well wishes over the last week. Each one has made me feel a little bit better.

I am still on my bland mostly rice diet, and I do not like it at all, but Mommy gets so concerned when I don’t eat that I scoff it down. Plus it is supposed to firm up my Vicks. Daddy says rice is the main staple of many culture. I seriously doubt that’s true. I checked Wikipedia and no country has a gross national product of excellent poo.

I so miss regular food. Friday night I was in position on the couch, and began to bark when the pizza guy arrived, but, when Daddy went outside, the pizza guy told Daddy it was the wrong order and had to go back to the pizza store. Then I had to get back on the couch and stare out the window, do the barking thing all over again, and I did not even get a taste! Man! You telling me they couldn’t order rice pizza?

I haven’t had the rumbly tumblies since I began eating the rice. I don’t like the rumbly tumblies at all. When I get them, I curl into a little ball, and don’t want to be touched, which makes Mommy and Daddy want to touch me. I just want to tell me to leave them alone. Then I start leaking. It’s just so embarrassing, and it takes a lot to make me embarrassed.

I have also been forced fed this ugly pink stuff called pupto barkmo. Mommy cradles me like a baby, which I love, but then puts this tubey thing in my mouth and squirts the barkmo into me and I hate it! But I kind of like licking it off my fur afterwards.

I am hoping to get back on normal food soon. I think my vicks have been better. I wanted to take pictures of them and put them on line but Foley said no. She’s less fun every day.

I will keep you posted on my health but I think I’m getting better and should be back making my public appearances for my Senate campaign soon. I think I can stay in the race with the wonderful help of all my friends. I hope to see you at my events.

Pocket's Stomach Illness May Cause Her To Withdraw From Senate Race

AP (Affenpinscher Press) TAUNTON MA: Massachusetts Senatorial candidate Pocket Gay may have to abandon her independent candidacy after a bout of stomach unrest has made her and her family question if the stress of the campaign is too much for her delicate intestinal system.

Pocket first become stricken on Sunday night after spending a typical Sabbath of chasing balls, eating bacon, laying on laps, and strategizing with her campaign manager Foley Monster. Ms. Monster said that they were all enjoying a meal of hamburgers and soup when Pocket left Liquid Vick on the rug behind her Mommy’s chair. It was at that time that Mommy put her on a chicken and rice diet.

Steve Pagliuca, Democratic candidate for Senator, and managing partner of the Boston Celtics, questioned exactly why a candidate for a major office would live with, and take direction from, someone called Mommy insinuating that Pocket was not experienced enough to gain the seat. Ms Monster countered that Pagliuca signed Stephon Marbury, who subsequently produced Internet videos of himself eating Vaseline, to be back up point guard, contributing to the Celtics early exit from last year’s NBA playoffs, and insinuating that Paglicua did not have the acumen to be a successful candidate. Pagliuca could not be reached for a retort because he was curled under his bed crying for his Mommy.

By Monday morning Pocket insisted she was over her unrest and hit the campaign trail hard, going from one end of the flexi leash all the way to the other. She continued on this vigorous pace Tuesday, and had resumed her normal diet, but by Wednesday morning the Liquid Vicks had returned.

But despite her internal distress Pocket insisted on going to an assisted living center in Norton MA to put a smile on all the faces of the Seniors who had gathered there, and in turn they promised their vote. Democratic candidate Martha Coakley was unimpressed with Pocket’s Senior Center endorsement saying she doubted if any of the Seniors could either understand the ballot or had the strength to push the little pin through the card.

Her busy day got the best of Candidate Pocket last night as the Liquid Vicks returned, and then this morning she would not take food. Her Daddy lives by one rule, if a dog is eating, a dog is fine, if a dog is not eating, its time to panic, which Daddy does so well. He made Mommy call the vet and even came home at lunchtime, where he took Pocket out, and she formed a slightly better Vick, ate some food and even played ball for a short bit.

Candidate Michael Capuano tried to take advantage of Pocket’s illness bringing into question who this Daddy character was and insinuating that he was the elusive Big Papa who is involved with the wicked weave wearing Kim on Real Housewives of Atlanta. But Pocket’s Mommy scoffed at Capuano’s suggestion saying that no one would ever describe Pocket’s Daddy as “big.”

Republican candidate for Senate Jeff Beatty also weighed in on the subject, but this being Massachusetts, and he being a Republican, no one is interested and no one cares.

Pocket is going to be falling the three R’s for the next several days: Rest, relaxation, and rice. She will then discuss with her family her political future. Since in recent polls Pocket has emerged as the front runner in the race all the candidates are waiting for this important decision.

Our Visit with Auntie Bev

Guess what Pocket and I did today? We went to the assisted living center to visit Auntie Bev!

We haven’t seen her since she had her stroke and went to live in the nursing home. We knew she was sick and each night when we said our prayers at the foot of the bed we prayed for her to get better and guess what? She has gotten better.

She now has her own nice big room with a private bathroom. She has some pictures from home on her bureau, a nice painting her daughter did on her wall, some books, a TV, everything you could want. And she is very happy, of course she was even happier to see the two of us.

Daddy carried Pocket in while I went with Mommy. Daddy’s Daddy was there. It was nice to see him. Mommy doesn’t get along sometimes with Daddy’s parents. I don’t know why all I know is they’re wrong. But I wanted to thank him because he is a veteran and it is veteran’s day. He spent time in a prison in Italy. It was during the Korean War. He was a really bad solider and invaded the wrong country. No, I’m joking, about the Italian prison. He did serve in Korea. His Daddy served in World War I. In fact Daddy’s family has fought in every major war going back to the Civil War and the Revolutionary War. We are very proud of all of them, except no one could ask them their last name and they couldn’t tell.*

Pocket and I were so happy to see her. Auntie Bev’s eyesight isn’t very good anymore so she didn’t realize that Daddy was carrying a dog until Daddy held Pocket out to her and when Pocket began to squirm she let out a little shout of surprise because she didn’t realize Pocket was real. Sometimes it’s tough for us to accept too.

Pocket was a bit of a bother all day. From the time we got leashed, through the car ride, and even with Auntie Bev Pocket kept whining. It sounded like Mariah Carey with her foot caught in a wood chipper. It gets very trying after awhile.

I, of course, was perfect. I did struggle with Mommy because I wanted to get down and mark the floor because that is what I do whenever I go to a new place but Mommy wouldn’t let me. It’s an assisted living home. I’m sure they are used to cleaning up things like that.

So I sat on Mommy’s lap and did a lot of panting, with my tongue out of my mouth and curled upwards. I was panting harder than Rush Limbaugh after trying to tie his shoes. But I know I delighted Aunt Bev by going to see her. She stroked me and scratched me while I smiled my widest smile. I think she was happy to see Pocket too, but that’s what happens when you get older, you mistake annoyance for cuteness.

We began to talk about one of my favorite subjects: squirrels. There was one on my deck this morning, just sitting there chewing his nut and looking at me and I barked and squeaked but it just sat there until Daddy turned the door knob and scared it off so I was eager to hear a good squirrel story.

Uncle Bob was a master engineer, and he wanted to keep the squirrels away from his feeder, so he created a small electrical charge that would be activated if something tried to cross the wire leading to the feeder. When he got up the next morning he found a little pile of squirrel genocide. After that Uncle Bob left the squirrels alone.

Much too soon we had to leave, and on the way out we went to the dining room where she eats and we got fussed over and scratched by some of the other guests. I know I will be going back soon but Pocket could not get herself settled and a couple of times let out noises of stubbornness that put the nursing staff on high alert so if Pocket goes back Mommy and Daddy said they would have to try and exhaust her first.

I want to thank all my Tanner Brigade friends and Mommy’s Facebook friends who have taken such a interest in Auntie Bev’s well being. We will keep you posted on how she is doing. Thank you so much for caring.

Auntie Bev still owns her house so Pocket and I are going to break in there tomorrow. When we find Uncle Bob’s design for the electrical squirrel charger we will post it online and then we can get moving towards ridding the world of those pesky critters forever!

And the next time I see her I will give Auntie Bev a lick for you.

*My Mommy’s and Daddy’s last name is Gay. Not that there is anything wrong with that.

Nase is out Tanner Brigade Pup of the Week for November 8

Pocket and I have decided that it would be really cool if each week we awarded one of our dogs the title “Pup of the Week.”

We are going to be looking for a pup who did something special that week, or had something bad happen to them, illness or accident, and either the pup or their family need a little pick me up.

There isn’t going to be any set rules about what you can do to win, and can’t do, to win. Pocket and I are going to go through the blogs and comments during the week and pick a winner. We will try to spread the wealth a little, we don’t want the same dog winning six times a year, unless they’re a very special dog, but we can’t promise everyone will win either. As always we will do our Yorkie best.

Unfortunately there is no prize for being Pup of the Week except the love and respect of your fellow dogs, and the recognition of your achievements, which, I am sure, is prize enough for our friends.

So for this week, the inaugural winner of the Tanner Brigade Pup of the Week for the week of November 8, 2009 is…….Nase.

For the wonderful work he has shown in obedience school, for at five months learning how to sit, stay and come, for doing it the best of anyone in his class, and for implementing that knowledge by coming when his Mom called him even though he was far away and it was dark, Nase is our Pup of the Week.

To go from nothing but a Blob to the valedictorian of five month old obedience school is an achievement well worth celebrating, so congratulations to Nase.

Beauties and the Geeks

For the past two weeks the laptop I use to run the Brigade and do my blogs has been acting erratically because of a frayed power cord. I sent Mommy and Daddy to Best Buy two weeks ago. I had purchased the protection plan with the computer so all I needed them to do was get a new cord.

Well, sometimes I think I need to talk to Hobo about hiring some cats because they didn’t come home with a cord, they came home with a slip, saying they would send a cord in five to ten business days. I didn’t get angry. It was my fault. You can’t send a human to do a dog’s job.

On Thursday my laptop just stopped working, but Daddy said it would be fine, that the new cord had come in. I ripped open the box, pulled out the cord, and it was the wrong one!

I dropped the improper cord at his feet, and stormed into the fuzzy condo where I spent half the night. On Friday Daddy dressed me in a business suit and took me to work with him, saying I was an exchange student from Guam, and allowed me to sit on his lap and get some work done but wouldn’t work every day.

So today the Monster Brigade invaded Best Buy to make some Geeks squirm.

When we entered the store the door Geek stopped us with his totally racist opinion that dogs cannot enter Best Buy. My Mom was carrying me so I stood in her palm and told the Geek to turn around and look at his clientele: Two glasses wearing, white shirt sporting, teenagers play Doom II on the Play Station model; a fat guy watching the Notre Dame game on the wide screen while his wife slipper shopped at Macy’s; two small chested, thong exhibiting, tramp stamped, pimply, high school girls who struck out with the boys at The Limited and were slumming for Geeks; and two Haitians arguing with a Geek about a steam cleaner. The Geek allowed us access.

My Mommy said that she would handle this. Of course if she had been able to handle this from jump street Pocket and I wouldn’t have to be here. She explained to the Geek that they got the wrong cord, and the Geek told her that there had been an adapter in the box, that we must have thrown it away, and they would order us a new one.

“Will we have to wait two weeks to get it?” she asked.

“No only five to ten business days,” the Geek said.

I stood on the counter and glared at him with my brown eyes. “Hey Stephen Hawking!” I said. “Ten working days is two weeks. What’s the square root of Duh?”

The Geek told Mommy there was nothing he could do and she asked to talk to a manager. When the Geek left to get the Geek in Chief I nodded to Pocket and we each jumped down. Pocket ran to the video games section and I heard a Geek yell: “Oh, this dog just went pee next to the Wii!” Meanwhile, I began to hump the Season Three Box Set of “The Office,” (I would not hump Season Two, it’s not hump worthy); Pocket moved over to the digital camera section, leaving more water, and causing the high school audio visual teacher to have a slip and fall accident while I chased a Geek with Yorkieaphobia through the cell phone area.

The Chief Geek came running towards Mommy and Daddy, his pocket protector bouncing like Pam Anderson’s chest used to bounce on Baywatch, and he asked Mommy what was going on and Mommy said that this would continue until she got her cord. “I’ll do it, just tell that dog to stop peeing!” he said.

I had returned, looked at Pocket, and said, “That is not her peeing position,” and then the Geeks ran out of the store like the High School football team had just arrived.

Suddenly, they had a cord, and an adaptor, and let us keep the cord they sent us too, then ushered us happy group of Monsters out the store before we could cause any more damage.

So I am back, up and running, as you can see and read, ready to manage and blog. Meanwhile, if you go to our local Best Buy, beware of trembling geeks, and don’t step there, there, or most importantly, there.

A Blake Bear Tale About The Kitty With The Plastic Poo Tail

When I was a pup and first came to live with Mommy and Daddy there was already a dog here, the much beloved Blake Bear. Blake was a Shih Tzu who could have been Gracie’s Mom. Every time I see that pretty baby she reminds me so much of Sister Blake.

She taught me so much. Everything I know about being a dog I learned from Blakesie. She only stayed with Mommy and Daddy a little over five years, a much too short time, but there were mountains of stories she accumulated over that time, and, with no puppy sites to blog them on, she just barked them down to me.

This is one of my favorites:

You may not believe this, but the first pet that Mommy and Daddy had was a Siamese cat named Gizmo. Now don’t think too poorly of them. They were young and in love and susceptible to making grievous errors, thankfully none of them involved breeding.

Gizmo was a good kitty, but as he got older, he got meaner. He would hide behind furniture and jump out clawing at anyone who had the poor sense to pass by, attack naked ankles, hide in the linen closet and pounce out when the door opened, and snarl and hiss at everything that invaded his space.

And he had one fatal flaw that would eventually lead to his early exit to the bridge (and his parents longing to get Blake a playmate who would turn out to be…you guessed it, a Mini Monster.) Gizmo liked to eat plastic.

And not just sandwich bags. Gizmo once ate an entire trash bag. This didn’t buy him a ticket to the bridge, just to the vet where Mommy and Daddy left lots of money. It also made them hide the plastic, but Gizmo was good at opening drawers and ripping open boxes, in his thirst for plastic.

It is from here I will let Blake take over

“Gizmo used to Vick in this sandy box upstairs, which was great. It was like getting extra crispy chicken from the Colonel. Mommy and Daddy really tried hard to keep me away from it but I still found ways of sneaking in, like the morning I woke Daddy up early to pee, then snuck away from him while he was getting a treat, snacked on a little Gizmo Vick, then climbed back into bed with him and snuggled up, and a half hour later that Vick came back in the most disgusting thing you ever saw.

“Now this one morning, Mommy and Daddy and my human sister Kellie were all rushing about getting ready for their job when we heard a screech and then saw a blur, which was Gizmo tearing down the stairs with a long piece of trash bag attached to his butt. He had eaten a trash bag the night before, and had spent several minutes trying to push it out, but it had gotten stuck when she ran out of push, and now she was trying to out run it with little luck.

“Now for me, this was the greatest gift of all, a running kitty trailing a bright piece of plastic covered in poo. Mommy, Daddy, Kellie and I all looked at one another and shared the same thought. ‘Get that kitty.’ All four of us then took off after him. Mommy tried to coax him to her, but if you’ve ever been trailing two feet of plastic that you just pushed through your intestines you know, you have no interest in being coaxed; Kellie, who did not have much experience with kitties trailing two feet of poo covered plastic, was trying to grab hiscollar, but Gizmo had more moves than Adrian Peterson, without two feet of poo covered plastic coming out of his butt; Daddy tried to stomp on the plastic but kept missing; while I tried to grab it in my teeth, but it was flipping around like Eyeore’s tacked on tail on a blustery day.

“I must give credit to Gizmo, who kept darting, dashing, jumping and swirling while the four of us tripped over one another like a game of Twister if Twister involved a cat with a tail of plastic poo.

“Finally Daddy and I worked together. I ran beside him and nudged him towards Daddy and he stomped down his foot, and it landed on the plastic, and Gizmo kept running and another foot of plastic slipped right out of him as he let out a yell like Bernie Madoff spending his first night with the Aryans.

“Gizmo ran up stairs and the four of us stood around this truly magnificent piece of trash bag trying to decide who would pick it up when I decided on the obvious choice. Me! I got my mouth on it before Daddy ripped it out of my mouth and put it the trash, which was kind of silly because that’s how all this began in the first place.

“Then Mommy and Daddy went upstairs with the kitty travel bag and I heard an ferocious fight as Gizmo clawed and hissed and spit and bit until they corralled him in the bag and took him to the vet who gave them a wonderful piece of advice: Stop letting him eat plastic.

”Well they were never able to stop him. He started figuring out how to get in the closed trash bin, and then snuck down to Chad’s room and ate another bag, which did him in. It was sad, but really, the cat was mean, plastic eating mean. And anyway, when he went to the bridge to eat the plastic trees, I got to meet my bestest friend, Foley Monster.

And I got to meet my best friend too, Blake, even if I didn’t get to know her for long, so all my friends at the bridge, keep you eyes and ears open for Blake and give her a big kiss, and for the kitty trailing the long plastic stand covered in poo.

Who laid the Vick?

Foley: Well, as our loyal followers know, I have free run of our bedroom while Pocket is confined to her crate during the day. Well today Pocket took this big Vick right in front of the TV in the bedroom and let me tell you, it smelled very nasty and I was disgusted.

Pocket: Excuse me. If you know our history, and read the above paragraph you’ll know that I was, and usually am, in the crate when Mommy is away, so I could not possibly have left the unidentified Vick in the house.

Mom: I got home from a miserable day at work where I didn’t even get a lunch break and I walk in the front door and said “Oh Mama” then hurried up the stairs to see what Pocket had done in her crate.

Pocket: Really? That’s what your first thought was? What Pocket had done in her crate? Really.

Mom: I opened the door and sweet fancy Moses there was the Vick lying on the floor and I looked down at my precious Monster and said “Foley, what did you do?”

Foley: I looked up with my deep brown eyes, pointed at Pocket and said “Jah accuse!

Pocket: I’m not sure what Foley said because I was saying “Oh my God, you’re home, let me out, let me out, let me out, let me out, I think I peed a little, let me out, let me out, let me out.”

Mom: I told Foley it was impossible for Pocket to Vick on the floor when she was locked in the crate.

Foley: Oh, I told my Mommy, Oh, that Pocket, she’s a magician, a real Einstein, as soon as you leave she’s using those little paws to open that crate door and then she’s all over the place, on the bed, pooping here, pooping there, I follow her around with the steam cleaner, then, just before you get home, she hops back in the crate. Today I followed her around so much I fell asleep and woke up and there was the Vick.

Mom: I told Foley I needed to get something to clean the Vick.

Pocket: I’m not sure what happened next. I think I blacked out. All I now is Mommy left and I was still in the crate and I was barking “Hey, I’m still here, I’m here, I’m here, I’m here, I’m here.”

Foley: I went out to the crate, looked Pocket in her glazed brown eyes, and said: “Look here, see, this is how it’s gonna go, you’re gonna take the heat on the poop you understand, or it’s gonna be big trouble for you understand, big trouble!”

Pocket: “Hey, hey, hey, I’m here, here, hey, hey, hey, hey I’m here.”

Mom: I came back in the room and let Pocket out and she jumped into my arms. I brought them downstairs and took them outside and told Foley we would not talk about this until her Daddy got home.

Foley: Ah hah! No problem. I got that slope nosed in my back pock….uh, back…pack.

Dad: I got home and Marsha told me that Foley had laid a big Vick by the bedroom television.

Foley: I said “Honest to god she’s been drinking all day.”

Pocket: I was jumping up and down at his feet saying “You’re home, you’re home, you’re home, throw the ball, throw the ball, throw the ball, I think I peed a little, throw the ball, throw the ball, yup that’s pee, throw the ball, throw the ball, throw the ball.”

Dad: I told Foley she should have gone in the morning when I was walking her but she was too busy sniffing the leaves.

Foley: It’s the whole standard time/day light savings time thing, it throws off my whole schedule.

Mom: I told Ted that Foley tried to blame the whole thing on her little sister.

Pocket: I told Daddy and Mommy that I didn’t Vick on the floor and they could trust me because I’m a politician.

Mom and Dad: Hmmmmmm.

Foley: I might beat this yet.

Pocket: Oh for the love of god throw the ball!