Candidate Pocket discuss the issues

This week the Democratic candidates running for the Senate seat that I am seeking as a Dogpendent held a debate. As the only Dogpendent I was not invited to debate, and neither was the only Republican candidate, Guy Uzgotnochance, but I still would like to give my views on the questions asked.

The Public Option: A great deal of the debate centered about this subject. Now I don’t clearly understand this whole public option thing. I know it has something to do with health. I don’t think people should make any decisions about their health. They always seem to make the wrong ones: eating too much, exercising too little and taking dangerous risks. No, I am for the puppy option. Let us manage our Mommy’s health and Daddy’s, we’d do a much better job. We need them to be healthy to take care of us, so let’s get rid of the public option and change it to the puppy option.

Afghanistan: I am against sending troops to Afghanistan because my friend Jordan has had to go there and it’s a scary place. I don’t think anyone should have to go to another country to fight a war. But I also understand there are bad humans there. I think we should send Cesar Milan there to whisper to everyone until they become calm and submissive.

Immigration: Speaking of Mr. Milan I would ease up on the immigration issues. I have so many friends from other countries like Paco, Rain, Luca, and Benji. They are dogs just like me, and while I know humans are more set in their ways then dogs, I think down below they are more or less the same.

Green Jobs: The others talked about their green energy jobs, but I am the only one who does a green energy job. When I do my Vicks it goes into the ground and makes the grass green. Some of these candidates don’t put their money where their mouth is but I put my mouth where my butt is.

No Child Left Behind: I am not for the No Child Left Behind law. Don’t get me wrong. I love children. But I prefer them one at a time. When there is more than that I tend to get overwhelmed, so please, leave at least one behind. I am much better dealing with children one on one.

I have studied this debate and must tell you I am not worried. After watching this debate I know two things, I am not the only dog in this race, but I am the smartest dog in this race.

The ballad of Foley Madoff

I was studying the gift application tab that mysteriously appeared on all our pages a couple of weeks ago. When I first saw it I did not like it at all. I thought the gift purchasing brought a great deal of unrest to Doggyspace, and I do not want unrest here. I have a great deal of faith in my fellow pups here on TB, and you confirmed what I believed, that none of you welcomed the gift app on your pages either. So today, I went to delete if from our pagers when I saw: “Virtual Gift Incentive Program.”

I excitedly clicked this and it explained how Pocket and I, as administrators of our site, if we encouraged the lot of you to buy gifts, then we would get half the profits. HOWL! Suckers! Who has a birthday coming up? Ruby? OK everyone, you need to send Ruby a very expensive gift to how much YOU love Ruby.

And then when we find out one of the members sent her one of those freaking free gifts (I mean thanks, instead of getting half of 75 I get half of nothing) we have to send a message to Ruby stating that those members, just don’t love her like the other members.

In a few brief days resentment, animosity, and jealousy should take route. A great debate will rage about if we need the gifts, feelings will be hurt, and some members will leave. Then one of our “nosy” friends will uncover that we have been profiting from all this friction and write an inflammatory blog, which we will respond to in a brief, curt, misspelled post, including with the words, “Thread closed.”

But then great suspicion will be cast on Pocket and me, and she will roll over like a dog starving for Hemee like reality show fame submits to Cesar Milan, telling everyone that I have been making money off of this, and the entire Brigade will turn on me.

Then everyone will rise up and say: “We want our money back!” and I’ll say “Well guess what? I ain’t got it! I spent it all on fancy kibble and revisions to the kitty condo.” Then Morgan will come for me, and I’ll be led off with little handcuffs on my paws, and I’ll be brought into the courthouse with a Tanner Brigade bandana covering my face. I’ll get sentenced by Zoe Boe to do community service and my afternoons, which should be spent in the sunny spot on the landing, will be spent being touched and prodded and pet and kissed by old people at the retirement community and over medicated children at the county day care. Meanwhile Pocket won’t be able to manage the Brigade. She can’t manage anything. So the Brigade will fold, but Zoe Boe will still say that I need to pay the money back. So I’ll have to go to the White House, again, and have kibble with the President, again, and hopefully get a bailout so I can pay everyone back. Then, after getting my bailout and paying everyone back I clearly deserve a bonus and I give myself one and then the whole hoopla starts all over again.

So I’m deleting the gifts, so we don’t turn friend against friends, so there is no jealously, so our friends don’t leave, so I don’t mislead you, so I don’t collect the money then spend it, so Pocket doesn’t blow the whistle on me, so I don’t go to prison and get turned out as someone’s bitch, so I don’t get my bonus, and because Mommy is making me.

Because the best gift any on us can give one another is simply our friendship. And that, as always, will be free.

And don’t forget, on Ruby’s birthday, to send her the gift of friendship.

Foley's Book Review: The Story of Edgar Sawtelle

I had been planning for the last few days to blog about the wonderful book I have been reading.

Yes, humans, I read. What, did you just think I wrote? Does that make a lick of sense? I don’t mean to beat a dead horse (why would someone do that, cruel and senseless, just a waste of time) but I am here to do what I best, complain about how humans screw up a good thing.

The book I was reading is called The Story of Edgar Sawtelle and it is a wonderful story about a mute boy who lives on a farm where they raise a special breed of dog. The boy can only communicate by signing, and he can sign to the dogs. Plus there is one pup, Almondine, who is the best fictional creation of a dog ever. After 463 pages I was going to order all of you to read it.

Then came the end, and the author, David Wroblewski, like most humans, completely ruined the book, and I can only recommend that you read the first 463 pages and my improved ending, which is this:

Edgar came back to the barn. Almondine ran to him. With Essay at their side they chased after Claude and evicted him from the home with a sharp bite on the butt. Then they moved back in the house with his Mom and they lived happily ever after.

There. A much better ending: and I saved you about 100 pages of reading.

But the author, he based the whole book on Hamlet. And if you know Shakespeare you know what happens at the end of Hamlet. (Pocket and I often put on Shakespeare’s plays while Mommy is at work. We wear our fancy dress. For you dogs from New Jersey we wear our queeah clothes. I play one mean Lady Macbeth. Pocket usually plays someone who gets off’d in the first act.)

Here is my much better ending for Hamlet: Hamlet comes back with a bunch of Great Danes and chases the bad man from the castle and they all lived happily ever after.

Now I don’t know if you’re a creationist and believe that man has been screwing things up for 2,000 years or a Darwinist and believe man has been screwing thing up for tens of thousands of years (did you ever think monkeys evolved from you?) all I know is you screwed up a really good story for me.

So, in closing, let me say this about The Story of Edgar Sawtelle. Buy it, read it, it is funny, it is heartbreakingly sad, it is pitch perfect in depicting the relationship between dogs and their people, and then, after page 460, take the book back to the store and demand your money back.

Yours truly,
FM
(No Static at all)

Pocket gets to work on correcting her problem

I would like to give a big shout out to all my friends both here and on Mommy’s Facebook page that suggested that I may not be a persistent peeing puppy but might have a medical problem. Not that I’m crazy about having a medical problem but it’s better than being a potty school drop out.

I think we can safely rule out a bladder infection. If I had a bladder infection I would have to pee all the time. I only have to pee when I move. Like the Sundance Kid: He was a better shooter when he was moving and I am a faster pisser when I move. (I apologize to those who find the term pisser inappropriate but peeer is not a word and if I am unable go to the bathroom correctly at least I can use proper grammar.

Zoe Boe’s Mom and Hattie both suggested that my shut off valve isn’t working as a result of my being spade. I swear, they can put a monkey on the moon but you can’t do a simple spading without a steam cleaner on layaway.

Daddy was very excited about this news, given the fact that my peeing has become his cause for the winter. To think his salvation comes in a little pill, and those same pharmaceutical folks could help me with my bladder.

Now Daddy, he wants to take me to the vets right away, but Mommy says our check up is a few weeks away and doesn’t want to pay for an extra office visit. Mommy feels that if I had something wrong that I would pee in bed at night or in my crate. But Daddy says all that running around could be loosening things up down there. I don’t know how long it is going to take for me to get to the vet, that’s between Mommy, Daddy, and the egg timer.

But while I am waiting I am going to act on the advice of two very wise friends: Buttons’ Mom, on Facebook, and MacDougal, and do Kegel exercises. Now, I looked this up on the Internet, and, it seemed easy enough. Foley called a cab and we went to Wal-Mart and found the Kegel devices strategically located between the rutabagas and the snow tires.

We got home and while Foley dickered with the cab driver about how many kibbles to tip I ripped open the Kegel package. I found I had quite a problem with, um, insertion. So I waited for Foley to come back inside, had her hold it between her two paws, and I jumped off the couch right on to it.

I tell you, it was very refreshing. I think this is something all lollipops could use (in fact it even looks like a lollipop). So all of you go to Wal-Mart, look at one of those smiling old people, say “Kegel me,” go home, get it in, and lets get it on.

OK everyone, ready, one…two….three

Oompa Loompa doompadee doo
Let’s work the Kegel in and out of you
Oompa Loompa doompadah dee
This will help you when you have to pee

Happy exercising everyone

Pocket's persistent peeing problem perplexes Papa

Sigh.

I don’t know if you noticed, but at the top of our page we have been tracking how many days I have gone without an accident and how many times I went out to pee the day before. On Thursday it said “Pocket has gone three days without peeing and yesterday peed nine times.”

Friday I was doing so well. Then, just before bed, I jumped off my perch of pillows on the couch, and before I hit the floor I was already peeing. I don’t know how it happened. Sometimes I have no idea what is going on down there.

“Oh Pocket,” Daddy said. He has made, after two years, my housebreaking a priority in his life. We are in this together, him and I (although if we were really in this together he would be peeing on the floor along with me.)

I pee a lot: More than the average bear. It’s not that I have to pee all the time. When I’m crated I don’t pee. I can stay in our warm bed on weekends for ten hours without having to pee. I know where the no pee zones are. Not on the couch, the recliners, the blankets. But if I’m anywhere else I tend to let the pee hit the fan.

When I’m playing, tugging on a rope, or chewing a bone, and especially when I’m pursuing my little green ball, I leak, like an old pipe. I don’t even realize what I’m doing. Just bammo! Wetto!

Daddy developed a plan late last year. He got an egg time (who times an egg? What are they doing? Where are they going?) and set it for 20 minutes. When the bell went off, he took me outside to pee. It was like Pavlov’s dog, except instead of panting I pee.

And it worked super. I went a whole seven days without an accident. But then Daddy, thinking he’s some sort of Teddy Earnest, decided to experiment and extend the time. But I had become like the seven-minute abs guy. I was a twenty-minute pee-er. Not 25, not 30, 20, that’s the ticket.

Then the winter came, the snow, and the ice, and the cold. I wanted no part of the outside. I slipped into some very bad patterns. Mommy and Daddy tried pee pads, but if they had put them over 99% of the house I’d find that one percent.

In the spring Mommy and Daddy did everything the experts said. They took me out the same time every day, to the same spot, gave me a treat right away, gave me praise, and I’d come inside and pee ten minutes later.

After trying everything, and with the Red Sox season over, Daddy needed something else to obsess over and has gone back to the egg timer, which worked for three straight days until Friday. Then Saturday morning the buzzer went off, Daddy took me out, kept me on the grass telling me to “do my business,” which is the phrase that is supposed to make me pee, then decided to go back inside, and five minutes later, I peed. And today it snowed…..

I am trying to meet my Daddy half way. I am going to concentrate real hard to do good. But I need all my friends to send me the best puppy thoughts so please, help me out, send out good thoughts and help me treat the whole house like I do the bed.

I am going to learn to pee outside with your help.

Yes we can.

Ms. Pocket's Wild Balloon Ride

Foley: As you well know, I have several experiments going on in my backyard, many of which I discovered when I was bequeathed “Teddie Earnest’s Big Book of Ideas” when he went to the Bridge. Among these experiments was a hot air balloon for safe travel to and from the homes of my Brigade friends. When I was not working on it, I kept it under a canvas in our backyard. Most of all, I made sure I only worked on it while Pocket was sleeping.

Pocket: I woke up from my nap on the back of the couch today, stretched, and walked to the double doors that lead to our deck, looked in the back yard, and Foley was working on a flying saucer. It was the coolest thing ever! I so had to go for a ride in it!

Foley: Yes, I must admit, I am a genius, a dog who can build a helium balloon, must be considered a genius, but I am also a dog, so, after I fired up the helium to check on the lift, and made sure the balloon was well tethered, I saw a squirrel and my instinct took over, and I chased that squirrel with a vengeance.

Pocket: This was my chance. I hurried out the back door to the ropes. I chewed them until they were ready to fray. I then jumped in the basket. There was a switch, and I pawed it up. Suddenly the balloon began to fill with helium, started to lift, and I became Air Pocket.

Foley: The squirrel and I were going at it; the squirrel darted left, I darted right, back and forth, when suddenly the squirrel stood up and said, “BALOOOOON!” I turned and saw my balloon floating into the air, and then Pocket, hanging over the side, waving a paw.

Pocket: “I’m going for a balloon ride!” I told Foley. She put her paws to her head and groaned. She barked something at me. I couldn’t hear her. I was so high I could see the entire State Mental Institution. The patients ran to tell their doctors there was a flying Yorkie in a balloon overhead. They all received immediate electroshock therapy.

Foley: Luckily, because I’m not an idiot, I put a radio in the balloon and ran in the house and down to my laboratory, followed by the squirrel. He helped me remove the tarp on the radio, and I cranked it up and called out for Pocket.

Pocket: I heard Foley’s voice, and I picked up the thing you talked into and said hello. Several times Foley said: “paw the button,” until I finally figured what he meant, and I pushed the button and said, “Hi Foley!”

Foley: I told Pocket to bring my balloon back right now. She told me that she wanted to visit her friends. Then a man’s voice came over the air.

Man’s Voice: Please identify for air traffic control.

Pocket: I’m Pocket.

Man: Please give your flight numbers.

Pocket: I don’t know!

The Squirrel: S42697.

Man: Thank you. Have a safe flight.

Foley: How did you know?

The Squirrel: I’m a flying squirrel. I’m named Steve, nice to meet you.

Foley: I shook paws with him and told him it was nice to meet him. I then turned my attention back to Pocket and said to her that there were two strings above her. If she pulled the one to the right, she would fly home, but to the left, you’ll go away.

Pocket: I’m pulling left.

Foley: No, don’t. You’ll go away.

Pocket: But I’m having so much fun. Hey, look, I can see Hattie Mae’s house. Hi Hattie.

Hattie Mae: I looked up from my back yard sipping tea, lifted my hat, looked up, and saw Pocket floating above me in a balloon. I waved. He waved. Then I called Hobo to tell him Pocket was floating away in a balloon.

Hobo: Nothing surprises me with those two.

Pocket: I knew Hattie lived by the castle and so I began looking for it.

Foley: I kept yelling into the radio for Pocket to come home. We were going to be in such trouble.

Steve the Squirrel: This was great entertainment. I sat back on a comfy chair, arranged my nuts, and watched everything unfold.

Pocket: I looked down, and there it was the castle. I told Foley I was above it. I then climbed up on the side of the basket, stuck my butt over, and let a bomb fly from my butt.

Steve the Squirrel: I looked at the coordinates. “Excuse me, Foley,” I said, “but that’s the Pentagon.”

Secretary of Defense Robert Gates: I got pooped up by a lap dog in a balloon walking into work today. Rumsfeld never had to put up with this shit.

Foley: I don’t know why all G-men feel the need to work blue.

Pocket: Oops. Good thing I’m not an Afghan Hound, or the terror alert level would go crazy.

Foley: I was now screaming at her to come home; we were in so much trouble.

Steve the Squirrel: One of my nuts just rolled under the dryer. I hate appliances.

Pocket: I looked down again and saw I was over Reba and Dodger’s house.

Foley: I asked her how she knew it was Reba and Dodger’s house.

Pocket: I told her I was on the Internet. Everyone on the Internet knows what Reba and Dodger’s house looks like from the sky.

Steve the Squirrel: By my calculations, Pocket was running out of helium. I would have mentioned this, but I had a backscratcher in my mouth trying to get my nut from under the dryer.

Pocket: I started to slow down and lose altitude, and I told Foley.

Foley: I told Pocket she had to be very careful where she landed and then make sure she knew where she was.

Pocket: I saw a railroad track and decided to land there.

Steve the Squirrel: Why, when animals become domesticated, their survival sense flies right out the window?

Foley: I told Pocket not to land on the tracks.

Pocket: It was a great idea. I would land on the tracks, and then I would hop a train home.

Foley: I told her if a train were coming, she would be squished.

Pocket: I was coming in for my landing on a nice railroad bridge. Everything was going to be okay, and then I saw THE TRAIN!

Foley: TRAIN.

Steve the Squirrel: NUT.

Pocket: I closed my eyes, waiting for the impact, but I landed right on top of the train.

Foley: That dog is going to live to be 40 and still not be toilet trained.

Pocket: The train was going towards my house, so I curled up and took a nap, and when I woke up, I was crossing the street where I lived, so I pushed the balloon off the car, landed softly in the road, and brought it home.

Foley: Steve the Squirrel and I saw Pocket dragging the balloon, and I was so excited to see her that I went running over to her and gave her big kisses and hugs and didn’t even get mad at her for stealing my balloon. Then we drug the balloon to the back yard.

Pocket: I was sitting on the deck, telling Foley about my adventures, when we saw the balloon start up again.

Foley: I turned to see scattered helium tanks on the ground and Steve the Squirrel rising in the air, stealing my balloon.

Steve the Squirrel: There will never be a nut too high for me now. Old Rocky’s got nothing on me; I’m Steve the Flying Squirrel.

Pocket: It was a beautiful balloon, watching it go across the sky. Foley had done an excellent job building it.

Foley: All I could think, watching a deranged squirrel stealing my helium balloon, was, ah Nuts.

With all the men biting dogs Foley and Pocket pay tribute to special Moms and Dads

I had another on-line smack down Sunday, this time when I was on the Sports Illustrated site after the end of the Red Sox game. I signed in under my name Foleymons because I enjoy reading how upset the slope noses get when their team loses a silly game.

But instead of whining and self-loathing in Boston there was a very bad man who kept making terrible comments about Nick Adenhart, a pitcher for the Angels who died in a car accident in April of this year. I know humans can be cruel, but this was at a depth that I have never thought humans could sink too.

That’s the only regret I have of becoming so Internet savvy. Before I learned how to paw a computer on and navigate web sites the only humans I knew were my family, and while sometimes I complain about them, they are all wonderful people.

But the more I surf the Internet the more I see how cruel humans can be. Now, as I watch them be cruel to one another I think this just isn’t a dogs business. We are superior to humans, as the smartest of them are aware, but I don’t want to rub their noses in my moral superiority.

My Daddy’s Pops is a newspaperman and there was an old joke about a dog biting a man was not news but a man biting a dog was. Now every story I read seems to be about men biting, burning, breaking, abandoning and abusing dogs. I think, as a species, we owe some humans a lot more biting then we have done. I believe this is why we all instinctively attacked mailmen. Before the Internet the world’s bad news entered our homes via these blue uniformed puffs, and we wanted to keep out the human’s horrors, so attacking them was our only means. Today our need to connect to one another has brought the horrors in our home by our own paws, although some of us chew the power cords in an effort to stop the information flow.

It’s not just what humans do to other dogs, but their words can be so painful to good dog owners. There is this singer, Jessica Simpson, and I don’t pay much attention to her because she seems sort of silly, but her poor pup, who she loved very much, got killed by a coyote, and like any of our Moms she refused to give up hope and kept looking for her. People on the TV and Internet made fun of her, and now that she has abandoned hope, mean people have used twitter to say they found the dog. That’s just a level of cruelty dogs can’t understand, like how there is no Klingon word for pizza so they don’t understand the concept.

Even here at our own Brigade we have been subjected to human failings. Everyone knows what happened, and there is no need to repeat. I know those who sent the cards and gifts were not wrong; those that received them late did no wrong; and I don’t have enough information on what happened in between to render judgment, but I do know again, it was human failing.

Gosh, you ask us to forgive a lot.

So that’s why when humans do something wonderful us dogs are more amazed then Daddy is when Pocket pees on the grass. And, speaking for the whole Brigade, I think we have a pretty amazing group of Mommies and Daddies here, and we would like to give you all a big paws up.

But most of all I would like to thank Baarney and Taabatha’s Mom and Shadow’s Mom who ran in the Race for the Cure for the disease that made my Mommy so sick and miserable, and they not only included my Mommy’s name on the list of people they ran for which left a Milk bone size lump in my throat, but they also included the name of our beloved Aunt Bev, and that made our eyes leak a lot.

So I would like to take my blog to personally thank them, and raise a Foleytini in their honor. We all know that we have the best group of dogs here at the Tanner Brigade, but we also have one fine group of Lollipops and Daddies here too and we love you all for caring so much for us, and each other.

You all deserve best in show.

Foley reacts to losing the Nobel Peace Prize

Unlike the President of these United States I awoke early Thursday morning to receive my expected Nobel Peace Prize. Instead of hearing five elderly Norwegians butcher the name Foley Monster I heard them clearly annunciate Barak Obama.

Barak Obama? Are you kidding me? He couldn’t even settle the dispute between the kitty I nipped and me. Now look at my accomplishments:

With my good friend Tanner Bub I founded the Tanner Brigade, a safe haven for dogs to voice their own opinion and not be scared off by mean dogs. It is by invitation only and I have to approve each member. It is a very peaceful spot. The President, in January, held what he called an Inauguration where millions of loud people stood out in the cold, and they didn’t have to get invited. Who is promoting peace here….Hmmm?

I, as Commander and Chief of the Tanner Brigade, led a daring raid into the Princess’ castle and pasted Tanner’s picture everywhere, in tribute to the world’s best Yellow Lab on the night he went to the bridge, and then we successfully slipped out without getting caught. The President? We’re still in Iraq, we’re still in Afghanistan, and we’re even still in Germany.

I exposed Princess as a ruler on paper only and led to her downfall and removal from power. The President? Osama Bin Laden could be hiding at the bottom of the ball pit at Chuck E. Cheese during his daughter’s birthday party and he still couldn’t find him.

I wrote one of the most popular musicals on Dogway, “My Fair Princess,” and also led the movement to change the term of female dogs from the evil bitches to the much nicer lollipops. Along with my fellow Tanner Brigade friends I wrote the Declaration of Dogpendence installing equal rights for all dogs. While the President has backpedaled on his promise to end “Don’t ask, Don’t tell” I have encouraged all dogs to tell us as much as possible no matter how embarrassing or disgusting.

I do think if the award had been given a couple of months earlier I would have won easily. There have been some issues I have dealt with recently: My interrupting of Sandy at the Video Puppy Awards; my brief stay in re-hab; the entire incident with the neighborhood cat who I nipped (and may I remind you I have kept quiet about it per the wishes of Mr. Nobel Prize Winning President), not to mention my recent apology for sitting on the laps of, and humping the wrists of Tanner Brigade staffers.

But my latest questionable deeds aside, I still believe I should have received the award and know you agree. I have seen the list of winners and none of them are without sin. Then again Ghandi didn’t win either. I think we have a lot in common. We don’t believe in fighting, we like wrapping ourselves up in sheets, we have a little sister who inappropriately peed (it’s in Wikipedia); Ghandi interrupted Halle Salase at the Best Swarthy Leader contest saying Benito Mussolini was the swarthiest leader of all time; I’m fairly certain he humped a wrist or two.

So President Obama can have your award, I’ll take my jumping, interrupting, sheet loving resemblance to Ghandi anyday.

Plus I invented the Foley-tini and that should count for something.

Foley Monster caught humping intern's wrist / Blackmailed / Issues apology

I have a little story to tell you, would you like a story?

I get up in the morning to go out and do my business and while I am getting in position to do my Vick I notice that there is a package with my name on it, which is unusual since dogs usually don’t leave packages where I Vick. I guess you can, I guess some dogs do business where they Vick, but not me.

I picked it up in my mouth and carried it into the house and then upstairs to my blanket and there is a letter in it that states: “you do some terrible, terrible things and I can prove these terrible things,” and sure enough in the package was stuff that proved I did terrible things.

At six in the morning, this seems like really bad news, maybe at noon it wouldn’t, but at six in the morning, it’s quite frightening. What this dog is telling me is that he is writing a screenplay and writing about the terrible things he knows that I have done and he is going to put it in a movie unless I give him my furry bed.

And I thought, and this is the word I actually used, this is a little hinky. And I want you to know how terrifying this news was. Was this dog waiting for me at my Vick spot? If you know me at all you know I’m a dog who is driven by guilt: Northern England Yorkshire guilt. And all I can wonder about is out of the hundreds of terrible things I have done, which one is he fixated on?

So I get ready, and go to work running the Tanner Brigade site, and I can’t tell Pocket, because while she’s sweet, she’s weak and stupid, so I call my consigliore Hobo Hudson, and he suggests we meet with the dog, and we do so. Hobo comes to our house, and I go out into the back yard, and I meet my advisory, and it’s the sinister Chihuahua that torments Pocket, and we find out, indeed, that he does in fact want me to surrender my furry bed to him or he is going public with these terrible things.

So Hobo and I discuss it and then we go to see Morgan and Tommy Tunes. We tell them what happened and they say wow, hello, this is blackmail, so what you want to do is have another meeting with the Chihuahua to find out if he’s serious because sometimes dogs have bad days. So we meet again and we tell him it’s a crime and he doesn’t care about that and he tells us he is also writing a book as a companion piece.

So we reassured him everything was just fine and a third meeting was arranged whereby he is given the deed to the furry bed. So the deed is turned over and he arranges to send someone over later in the day to get the bed even though he is saying he may write the book or screenplay anyway.

This morning I did something I have never done, I had to go downtown to testify before Judge Zoe Boe, the Narzario dugs, the Pack, Baarney, Taabitha, and the other Brigaders, telling them about the creepy things I have done. If they believe a crime has been committed they will issue a warrant; which is what they did when the Chihuahua tried to move into the condo.

And now we come to the creepy stuff that I have done to cause all this. The creepy stuff was that, when Mommy and Daddy are at work I have sat on the laps of, and humped the wrists of, interns who help me keep the Tanner Brigade up and running. And my response to that is yes I have, I have sat on laps and humped wrists.

Would it be embarrassing if it were made public? Perhaps it would, especially for the humpees, but it is their decision if they want to come forward. What you don’t want is a Chihuahua saying he knows I’ve humped wrists and he wants my furry bed. I would like to thank my friend Hobo; Judge Zoe Boe, Morgan, and Tommy Tunes and my wonderful Brigade members.

It’s been a very bizarre experience. I need to protect my Mommy and Daddy, the lapsies and humpies I had relationships with, the people of the Brigade, and I don’t expect to say much more on this subject.

Thank you

Foley's Big Baby Sitting Injury

Foley: Saturday was groomer day and both Pocket and I came out looking even more beautiful than usual. We were going to go to the Nursing Homes to see Aunt Bev but it was raining cats and pigs so we went home for what I presumed would be a snuggle night. But a short time later the leashes were out again and we were back in the car to spend the night with our grandbabies, Mackenzie, Emily and Kiley.

Pocket: I so just wanted to sleep. I have been working night and day on my campaign, I needed to have the perfect cut for my posters and I was looking forward to a night lying to top of the pillows piled on the couch. But the next thing I knew I we were back in the car and off to our human sister Kellie’s house to baby site our grandbabies Mackenzie, Kiley and Emily.

Foley: We got there and Daddy took me to do a Vick so I didn’t do one in the house. Daddy is so funny. It’s a new house and has lots of things not finished like lighting. Daddy tripped on the bricks, over a pile of mulch, stepped in mud and sunk. I was laughing so hard I couldn’t Vick.

Pocket: I got in the house and the children come running up to me, and I can’t help myself I get excited, tail wagging, tongue hanging out, the whole nine yards. The girls are running around me, there are humans standing and talking making loud noise.

Foley: Daddy finally got tired of falling down so he brought me in the house.

Pocket: And then Princess Diva came inside.

Foley: Everyone turned their attention to me, which they should, as I was brought in. I went down on the floor and barked, and spun, and stood on my back legs, and wiggled my butt for 37.3 seconds, and then jumped on Daddy’s lap in the chair having given all I had.

Pocket: Well Foley’s entrance just sucked the air right out of the room. She hurries over to take her perch on Daddy’s lap and I jump up on the stool and then Mackenzie comes over with a flexi leash and asks if she can put it on Foley and walk her around the house and Daddy says no, Foley’s nine and she’s earned the right not to be led around the house on a leash. Then Mackenzie asks about if she can do it to me and Daddy says, “Pocket’s only two and she hasn’t earned anything yet.” What the hell? Next thing I know I’m leashed up and she’s walking me around the room.

Foley: Pocket doesn’t walk well on a leash outside, inside she got wrapped around stools, lamps, chairs, various people. Mackenzie doesn’t own a dog and doesn’t know how to unwrap one, so she just tugged on the leash pulling Pocket backwards except Pocket’s got no backwards genes so she just dug her nails into the hardwood floor and skidded and I sat on Daddy’s lap laughing.

Pocket: I love the grandbabies, I love to play with the grandbabies, but this wasn’t fun. Daddy was sitting in the big chair with Foley staring at the TV screen with that stupid game they play on, and Mommy was talking to the other loud humans, and I was being skidded around like I was on the Jamician curling team.

Foley: Mommy ended the fun by telling Mackenzie to stop and then Daddy found two Harry Potter movies on cable and all the kids settled in for the night.

Pocket: Mackenzie put me with her and I cuddled right up on the blanket and it was just perfect. Emily and Kiley would come wandering in but Mackenzie was my protector now not letting the other girls play with me. Plus I learned a lot about Harry Potter. It’s a wonderful story about a dark haired Professor trying to put up with a lot of obnoxious kids.

Foley: Midway through the second movie Mommy said it was time for the kids to go to bed so as I always do I followed her up the stairs, but there not like the stairs home, which go up four, turn, go up two more, turn, and the four more. There are about 14 of the steps and they go straight down. As I was walking down after putting the kids to bed my back end got higher then my top end and I twisted a little, and my front paws, slid, and the next thing I know I was sliding down the stairs butt first.

Pocket: I was at the bottom of the steps and Foley that klutz began to go bouncy, bouncy, bouncy, backwards down the stairs in what looked like the most fun game ever.

Foley: I remember what I was thinking. I was thinking AAHHHHHHH!

Pocket: We had got bows in our hair and Foley’s was bright pink. She landed at the bottom of the stairs curled up and she lifted her head and the first thing Mommy saw was the pink bow and she thought it was a cut in Foley’s head and she went AAHHHH!

Foley: Oh my god! Where was my dignity? I stood up, and my back right leg was sore and wasn’t working right, so I couldn’t move fast, and then everyone was rushing towards me, even the kids out of bed who heard the yelling, and I picked up by Mommy.

Pocket: I tried to nip her as she was being picked up. I’m not proud of it.

Foley: I got brought to the couch and got poked, prodded, pulled and petted when all I wanted was to curl up with Mommy. Everyone determined I was OK, which is great news when a three year old gives you the medical thumbs up: If she’s on a death panel we’re all screwed. The kids went back upstairs while Daddy held on to me downstairs, and I still fought with him because I wanted to say goodnight.

Pocket: I didn’t want Foley to be hurt. I was glad she wasn’t. But again, she got all the attention. Everybody loves Foley.

Foley: I fell asleep hard on Mommy’s lap, and slept most of the day Sunday. But I’ll be ready for Tanner Brigade football on Monday.

Pocket: Great, I’m two years old and my sister is Tom Delay.