The Ruby Rose and the Big Little Angels 3 Blog

I would like to say that this week's Pup of the Week decision was hard. But unfortunately it was all to easy, because this week we all lost one of our best friends. I don't need to save it to the end. We all know Morgan is our pup of the week, of the month, of the year, of the decade, of the century, of the last century. His humble Mom, who adored him with a love as great as any in the world, in the blog announcing his going to the Bridge, put her friend's father's passing first, always thinking of others and even with her heart breaking, she still is putting her friend Martha's pain before her own. We look up in the sky, and we can see Morgan's Sheriff badge shine, and we know he is looking over all of us. But in his own way he always has been. His Mom's been looking over us too, and now it's time we look over her. Sometimes when we can't find words we steal and modify the words of others, and that's what we're doing here. So this i

There is a beast that lives in the cellar. I don't like it. It eats fire, it makes a loud noise, and sometimes it bangs. The beast has a purpose. It exhales hot breath throughout the house keeping us warm. But the beast has become sick and has to go away. The beast slayer is working on it now. Then we will have a new beast to keep us warm. Friday morning Mommy and Daddy weren't working. I don't know why. They feel no morale obligation to keep me informed of their schedule. When we get in bed I placate Pocket with a little playing, then start licking all the good tasting things that have attached themselves to Daddy's skin off of him, and finally crawl down to the end of the bed to sleep while Pocket sleeps cuddled with Mommy., Sometime during the night, usually Mommy's first time to pee, I go under the covers with her, kick Pocket out of the warm snuggle spot she has made, and spend the rest of the time sleeping next to her. Thursday night, I woke up earlier, an

Guess who is peeing less? That's right, me, Pocket Dog. I don't know why. I am socially drinking as much as usual. I'm playing just as hard as always. In fact I killed my green ball. One of my first blogs at the Tanner Brigade was about the passing of my orange ball. Now it's my green ball. Thank god I have a plethora of balls. Ever since I went to see Doctor Cold Hands I've been peeing less. Maybe it's because the Doctor said he could put me on medication to calm me down. I don't want to be the dog that sits drooling in the chair, scoffing down Foley-tinis, asking to be wheeled into the sunny spot and having my diaper changed 12 times a day (actually, except for the wheeling part, that's exactly how my day is now.) Mommy agreed. Even with the difficulties that my leaking brings she wouldn't want to change my personality, most of the time. Up to now I was on a fairly regular weekday peeing schedule 5:30: Get up. Pee 5:35: If I have a walk, pee again

Now that I have successfully driven Conan O'Brien off the air and pushed Jay Leno back to 11:30 Pocket and I will be taking over the 10:00 time slot at NBC whenever we are awake for more than an hour and remember we have a show. This is the transcript of our first effort Pocket: From the Tanner Brigade Home Office it's the Bownight Show with your host Foley Monster. Foley's guest tonight is recently elected Massachusetts Senator Scott Brown, with Cocoa Puff and the All Labrador Band, and me, I'm Pocket Dog, and now here's Foley. Foley: Thank you, thank you. Please. Did you see the big football games yesterday? More dropped balls then at a male puppy obedience school. You don't drop your ball when you're carrying it do you Pocket? Pocket: That's correct Yorkie. Foley: Pocket and I had an interesting weekend, we went baby sitting for Daughter #2. She has these two, tiny little people, we call them Grand Daughters #3 and #5. It's like ordering f

Before we get to our Pup of the Week we must take a moment to bestow the Pawents of the Week award. In the past two weeks we have honored Ladybug and Sage with our highest recognition, and we could give these two wonderful dogs Pup of the Week every week. But they are both shy and modest dogs and would not want to constant recognition. So let's take a moment to recognize their pawrents with the Pawrents of the Week award. They have had an incredibly difficult week, watching their beloved dogs in pain and suffering, and they have held strong, determined to do was right for their little, lovable balls of fur. So, for all the Brigade Members, and dogs everywhere, we would like to give them a big thank you and lots of licks. With all the sadness this week there has been one happy story. Atypically, it begin with a sad story, as our Pup of the Week lost a beloved sister and became depressed. She wasn't eating, She spent most of her time sleeping. Her puppy heart was broken. Than

I'm the type of dog that doesn't like to settle down, where there is a warm place to be sitting I'll be lying around, I'll snuggle into a ball just a cute as anything you've ever seen, but it's my Mommy's lap that's fit for a Queen. They call me the Foley Monster, yeah the Foley Monster, I sleep around, around, around, around. Throughout my life, when I'm done sleeping in my brown furry house, or the couch, or the end of the chair, preferably under a blanket, I stand, stretch, and head for my Mommy's warm, comfortable lap. But lately there's been a sign on her lap reading "ocupada," and sitting in my spot: Where I sleep! Where my children come and play with their toys! is Pocket. She broke my heart. She broke my heart. I nuzzle her. I let out a pur. My teeth go back and I growl. I plead to Mommy with a pitiful howl. "Foley if you wanted to be on my lap you shouldn't have got up," she says. "Pocket is sitti

Bichons, Lhasos, Weimaraners, lend me your ears. I just got off the phone with Senator-elect Scott Brown to concede the election and congratulate him on a well run race. He promised to take me for a ride in his truck. I have never been in a truck. If Mommy and Daddy had bought me a truck I might be Senator-elect, but this is no time to look back in anger. I would also like to thank Attorney General Martha Coakley on a race run. I have heard much criticism of her performance and I take exception. She did a commendable job for someone who cannot speak the English language, suffers from severe vertigo, is unable to find Massachusetts on a Texaco road map, and thinks Raider Sinica is a Yankee fan. Then there is Joe Kennedy, the Labrador Retriever who adopted the Kennedy name I rejected and ran as an independent. He did not get many votes, maybe a few more than me. I would like to take this moment to remind him that the Tanner Brigade gets the yacht the last weekends of July and August.

Today I had a very exciting day. I got to go to the Retirement Home and see Aunt Bev. And I got to do it without Pissy Pocket, because, well, she's pissy. So, for an hour today I was where I belong, the center of attention. Mommy and Daddy felt bad because they had not seen Aunt Bev since before Christmas, and what better offering to bring then a Foley Monster. I pranced in (OK, there was a great deal of sand to prevent icing on the ground so I was carried in, but Daddy pranced) and all the women there smiled at me. It was a short prance down the hall to Aunt Bev's room. When we went in she saw me and a big smile creased her lovely face. Daddy held me up as I sniffed and snuggled. We then gathered at the far end of the room, her in her recliner, Mommy in a chair in the corner, and Daddy, having dragged a chair across the room, and creating such a disturbance that it caused a nurse to enter the room and ask if there was a wild animal in there, which made Daddy turn red in e

My parents favorite team is the Patriots. They won lots of games this season, which should make them happy, but they lost the last one, and that made them angry. I don't know why. Seems like only one team wins a season, and that leaves lots of unhappy slope noses. Why spend so much time on something that ultimately makes you unhappy? It's like if every time we chased the squirrel after we caught it we'd have to get a bath. Come to think of it, that's what happens. But, as I drift in and out of my doggy naps I hear how these teams are in the fight of their lives, and this makes me angry. Because none of these men are in the fight of their lives. I'd probably spend more time watching and less napping if they were. But if they want to understand what to fight for your life is, they should meet our pup of the week. He is in the fight of his life. This week he became very sick and this illness has caused his poor Mom so much heartache and pain. He has been a very

Election day is Tuesday and I was prepared to plead with my friends who are Massachusetts voters to write in the name Pocket Dog, and the address 60 Hodges Avenue (which is the site of the State Mental Hospital across the street, but I've marked it enough time so it is mine) Taunton MA, for United States Senator. But now I am reluctant to do so, because these humans who are campaigning against me, and their supporters, are crazier then a rabid squirrel in the noonday sun. The pundits (I must admit, I don't know what that is, it sounds like something I leave on the rug) say the race is too close to call. Sometimes I wish I was too close to call, when I'm having fun upstairs, and Mommy wants me down. I have to admit I've been fooling you. I know a little pup like me can't win a Senate seat. And if I did I wouldn't want to leave my Mom and move all the way down to Washing Town. But I did have a goal. I wanted, from family, my TB friends, and Mommy's Face

The Foley Monster is outraged! She is flummoxed! She is appalled! On Monday Pocket and I went to the vets for our yearly check up. We had decided, as a family, that the main health care issue we would discuss is Pocket’s persistent peeing. That was it! Sure, we’d get poked, prodded, maybe even jabbed, you have to expect these things, but then we’d move on to the problem pisser. I went first. I weigh a magnificent 7.25 pounds. I’m a round, mean, fighting machine. The dogtor came in, read that I was nine years of age, and complimented me on how young I looked and how spry I acted. Well, I work out, I spend about an hour under the blanket putting my whiskers on. I mean all this doesn’t just happen! Then he began to touch and prod. He was kind of ticklish. I put up with it. I can be a glutton for attention. Everything was just perfect; swab of the ears, beautiful; one little shot in the butt, not too bad. Mommy was at the head of the table, closely supervising, making sure I wasn’t

I’ve been reading Pocket’s blog postings lately, and frankly, I’m concerned. Mommy always makes our vet appointments at the same time. If Pocket’s has one pending……oh crap. I hope it’s the female dogtor. I am much more accepting of women groping me then men. If it’s that old guy with the cold hands I am going to be one uncooperative bitch (@AKC registered). And he better not think of even sniffing my anal glands. Sicko! You know how, when Pocket is sleeping on Mommy’s lap, I like to stealthily approach her and attack her with six pounds of ferociousness? Well, get this. Friday night I was walking across Mommy’s afghan to get to her lap while she sat in the cozy recliner when something tragic happened. My piggy toe got caught in the afghan. I looked at Mommy with my most helpless expression when wham! Pocket jumped on the recliner, lips back, teeth bared, snarling like a heffalump, and scared the preciousness out of me. Daddy grabbed her, put her on the floor, and held her down with o

If you thought the debates over health care reform and airline security were tense, you should have been a fly on the wall at the Tanner Brigade home office as we discussed this week's pup of the week candidates. We had two very clear candidates. One was the subject of a blog so perfectly written, so moving, that we retold it to every dog lover we knew and they were moved to tears. The other is one of our favorite dogs of all time. She has bravely fought through a number of obstacles, including vomiting, lethargy, a restricted diet, and a terrible toilet in a humid camper. We agreed that the first pup's story was as moving as any we have heard in more than a year of puppy networking. Their parents generosity, their disregard of their own needs, and their purity of heart deserved recognition. But we had just made this pup's brother Pup of the Week a few weeks earlier. We have so many deserving dogs here that we would like to see them all honored. Then Pocket, who h

I have firmly committed myself to being a housebroken puppy, even if I have to become a pill popper to accomplish the goal. (After all Mommy and Daddy both need a half dozen pills to make it to work in the morning. The American Dream now comes in an easily swallowed tablet.) To help me obtain this goal I have written, and will so be recording, with the Tanner Brigade band, my new single: "Born To Pee." I hope you enjoy my noble effort at self-motivation: In the summer we pee it out on the grass of a fresh cut American lawn In winter we pee through doggy doors of plastic in banks of frigid snow Sprung from crates out on the wet grass Shaggy coated, piss dispensing and steppin out over the property line Baby house training rips the bones from your back It's a pee stain, it leaves Mommy looked pained I should of learned this when I was wee Cause pups like us baby we were born to pee Gracie let me in and teach me how to mend I need to learn how to be housebrok

On Monday, January 11, I will be going to the vet for my regular check up and to discuss my persistent peeing problem. I must admit, the prospect of a pee pow wow has me perplexed. I am perturbed with the prospect of lying prostrate on a couch while some psychiatrist probes my pained psyche to pin down if my peeing is provoked by being weened from the teet too early, abandonment issues, submission issues, or, Rainbow Bridge help me, having been overly examined by a creepy elderly vet with cold hands while just a pup. It has been suggested by many a wise pup that my persistent peeing problem can be puzzled out by a pill prescription. This could very well be true, but I, Pocket, would propel that pill from my mouth like a prop plane. If Papa prefers Pocket to take a persistent peeing problem solving pill he best peel some Prosciutto, perfectly place Prosciutto over pill, pop in Pocket's portal and purchase his paws over Pocket's pie-hole until the pellet has passed Pocket's p

When I was just a puppy and came home with Mommy and Daddy for the first time I did not know what to expect. How would I be welcomed? Would I be chased out like an interloper or welcomed with open paws? I was put down on the floor, just slightly larger then a bug, and Daddy brought down a black and white Shih Tzu. Daddy placed her on the floor. Immediately her tail began to wag, her mouth opened in a wide smile, she walked over to me, and gave me a welcome home nuzzle and kiss. I knew I was home. I resolved if they were ever to bring home a pup for me to meet I would greet them with the warmth and graciousness that Blake had greeted me. Each time a new dog was brought home, as my parents took me to greet them, Blake's hospitality was foremost in my mind, until I saw them, and thought "Hey, who the hell is playing with my toys?" and started barking. The intention was there, but the worst angels of my nature always took hold. I know how difficult it was for Blake to gr

Hi, the Foley Monster here, wishing you all a happy and healthy New Year. We haven’t posted a blog in a week. We were on staycation. We had a great time. We played the slots at Mohegan Sun, had a dinner at a nice restaurant (but it was our second choice, the first had spiked milkshakes but it wasn’t open, we’re still wracked with disappointment), we celebrated my Mom’s birthday, we stayed up New Year’s Eve watching the annual exploiting of Dick Clark’s deteriorating health while drinking Foleytinis (Mix cocanut rum, peach schanppes, pineapple liquor, and orange juice and garnish with a jerky stick). On Friday Pocket and I chopped down the Christmas tree then hid under the bed when Mommy began yelling about it being artificial. (Mommy’s New Year Resolution was to be calm and assertive, oops.) Guess you’re not supposed to chop down an artificial tree. Who knew? Saturday we helped Daddy get rid of the snow with our massive pees. Pocket made a resolution not to pee in the house