The Ruby Rose and the Big Little Angels 3 Blog

The Pup of the Week meeting was quite acrimonious last night. Pocket and I spent half the night discussing the candidates. But as you can see we have settled on Ruger and Daddy and their foster brother Lambeau (honestly, we don't know which is which, please don't think we're anti-Shepdites.) But first an honorable mention to two candidates who received serious consideration. First Jani: She was our town crier yesterday letting everyone know of the tragedy in Chile and warning us of the dangers headed towards the Pacific Rim. Most of us dogs get our news right here, so it's greatly appreciated when dogs let us know when we, or our friends, are in danger. Although we live on the other side of the world we immediately hopped on the back of the couch and barked at the first sign of water. Also we considered Puppy Malatesta for the wonderful work his family does in helping dogs who need rescuing. Truthfully Puppy and the pack could be pups of the week every week.

Friday night we had a birthday party for Daddy and daughter #1 who were both born in February. I was prepared for my usual Friday of napping and pizza, but when Daddy got home he started bringing the chairs up from downstairs, Mommy was making cake, and I knew it was party time. Then the grandbabies came over and they love me. They pet me, and pick me up, and scratch me, and pull my ears, and try to snatch my tail and I remember why I got fixed. Mommy's in the kitchen, Foley's behind the couch, and I'm the sacrificial Pocket at the mercy of ten tiny little hands and 50 dirty fingers. Then Daddy came in with the pizza, the vegetable kind because of something called Lent that I don't understand. Everyone sat down to eat and Foley and I hurried under the table because little kids in a hurry to eat so they can play, and pizza, makes for plenty of floor food for us. This was especially pleasing because Mommy doesn't let us have human food anymore. We now have to rely

I've got some random thoughts rolling around my head. Ning has made it so freaking difficult to write in Word, then copy and paste. Everything comes out oddly spaced with different Font sizes. I have to type this over again because when I copy it the posts becomes unreadable. Thank God I only had four Foleyacinnos this morning. Pocket and I chased our first squirrels of the year Sunday. It's still only spring training so we made a quick dart and let out a few practice yips. I have been going out more often recently. As you know, Pocket pees two dozen times a day, and sometimes Daddy takes me with them. He says it's good for my hips. I have no idea what that means. I do recognize I need to get into squirrel chasing shape. I have been downloading myself to the hammies cage and working out on their wheel. It's a great aerobic exercise but I wouldn't recommend it for everyone. Matilda might find it tight quarters. Plus the hammies are hilarious. They're like t

Gosh, Pocket and I can’t remember the last time we honored a dog of the week who wasn’t either at the bridge or in grave danger of catching the next train to it’s shores. It has been a hard start of the year for our Brigade, but we’re still going as strong as the day we were formed. And we’re happy to announce this weeks pup is nowhere near the bridge, even though he did have quite a scare. But before we announce the winner I would like to say that every member of the Brigade could be named Pup of the Week because we’ve never been prouder of our colleagues. First, we have all welcomed the Hammies, who were unceremoniously swept out of the castle. Here they have a happy home where we’ll all watch out for them. I have already asked Hobo to work out a peace treaty between them and the cats so there is no unnecessary violence. Then there is Lily who has added another fun aspect to our site: the photo shopped pictures: of Smoochy taking our newest members on a bobsled ride, and of

Bob Papa: I’m Bob Papa, hello, and welcome to Vancouver Canada where it’s 76 degrees, sunny, and the Italian Ice concessions are now selling Slushies. Lewis Johnson: And I’m Lewis Johnson, here to bring you the finals of the Bobsled competition and to remind everyone who is coming out to see the event live, bring sun screen and one of those mini fans because it’s hot out here. Bob Papa: This year we have a first for the Winter Olympics. Lewis Johnson: Synchronized swimming on the speed skating track. Bob Papa: No, from the nation called, I believe, The Tanner Brigade, two dogs, Foley Monster and Pocket Dog, have been given a bye and will be competing in the finals of the Bobsled. Lewis Johnson: It says here this Tanner Brigade is an online community. I was unaware they were allowed in the games. Bob Papa: They weren’t until it was discovered that Liechtenstein is actually a Facebook group for Affenpinscher lovers. That opened the door to other online communities.

By Pocket Dog: I love mornings when Daddy doesn’t have to work. He gets up, does some downstairs business, takes us outside, gives us a treat and then sits down on the floor, and it’s Pocket Playtime. First thing we have to do is find my orange ball. This is my second orange ball. My first got destroyed last April. I switched to a green ball, but last week I killed it. Daddy then lined up my balls: the orange, the green (new), the blue, and the red. I sniffed each carefully, then nosed the orange ball towards him. He threw it, I chased it, and the game was on. To me that little orange ball is alive. I chase after it like I am hunting a squirrel or a tiny heffalump. I do it with an unmatched ferocity. Nothing can keep me from catching and destroying it, unless it goes under the hutch, or in the bathroom, or under the water dish stand, or under a chair or couch, then, like all ferocious hunters, I sit by the object it’s hidden behind and whine until my Daddy retrieves it. Playi

We have lots of members on the Tanner Brigade. We aren’t like DS where each dog has his own page, so our number of members isn’t inflated. For the most part, we have profiles with an entire family of dogs included. Sometimes these dogs get lost in the shuffle. Other times their secretaries are just too darn busy to help their pups type. You won’t find this week’s Pup of the Week amongst our members’ names, because his Mom put her pups’ profiles under her name. Also you won’t find very many posts from this profile. For those of us who have dual identities on Facebook and DS we have been kept abreast of this poor pup’s problems. All of us who are on, or were on, DS, know this pup well. We have been following the little guy’s health problems and have wondered how his poor Mom has been able to handle the stress. But she is a puppy Mom warrior and nothing can make her stop caring for her little Dachshund. This past week he took a turn for the Bridge, not that anyone has punched his

I am a little dog who was taught long ago to count her blessings and I am doing that tonight, because, while this bothersome snow is back on my ground, it isn’t as bad as some of my friends have endured. But that doesn’t mean the humans on the talking picture machine aren’t still stirring up fear. Like on Wednesday, all the humans were all a twitter because snow was coming. Mommy didn’t have school, which meant a lot more lap time, so I wasn’t scared. But Pocket, she worries about getting swallowed up by the snow and sucked down an Eskimo. I joined her for our morning constitutional. She was shivering and she told me she was worried about the snow. I stuck my nose up and smelled and tilted my tail into the wind. “Don’t worry,” I told her, “it is going to snow later in the day, but first it’s going to rain.” “That’s not what they’re saying on TV!” Pocket said, “Who are you going to trust some TV slope nose or your sister? It doesn’t smell like snow and my tail says the air isn’

I, the Foley Monster, have a confession, I am obsessed with my paws. I want them to be perfect. Today we went for a short walk around the grounds. It was bitter cold. But, even in the middle of winter, I can tell the Earth is waking up. I can smell all the flowers, and new grass, growing deep in the ground, and even on the coldest days I can't help stopping to sniff. I have tried to teach Pocket to stop and smell the roses, and try to tell the anxiety level of the Maltese who just peed on them minutes earlier, but teaching the ancient skill of smelling blossoms that haven't bloomed yet is hard and Pocket hasn't experienced enough of life to be able to sense their scent. I do love my walks. When I'm outside I am the toughest thing around. Cats,squirrels, humans, other dogs, they quiver when I pass. I enjoy the smells, oh the smells, the smells that surround me. But there is one drawback to my walks, I get bits of dirt, sand, twigs, god knows what, stuck between my pi

Another Pup of the Week with wings. I was talking with Tanner last night. He has a big party lined up for Ladybug today, just as he did for Morgan last week. But he's concerned he's going over budget for Pup of the Week parties and has asked us if we could slow down the March to the Bridge. I assured him we would like nothing more, and hopefully won't have another Pup of the Week that can only be celebrated by our Bridge contingent. Ladybug would be our Pup of the Week if she were at the Rainbow Bridge or the Golden Gate Bridge. Her perfect puppy parents loved her more than anyone else could, they cared for her, and held her in her last minutes, and she knew she was the most loved dog on Earth. When I think of Ladybug, even while I have tears in my eyes, I smile, because so often she made me smile, with her witty comments, her humorous blogs, her positive outlook on the bleakest forecast. When I perused my Inbox and saw that Ladybug had made a comment I always anxi

These are the days of the middle blanket. To crawl in so you're so deep there's no light, no hint of the outside world that throbs with pain and despair. Just block out the world, block out the light. But I have responsibilities. So many of you count on me to give you a smile. It's hard, especially when you've spent so much time gathering the pieces of your shattered heart and trying to remember how they go back together. All of this has contributed to the worst case of Foley Block I have had since I ate that wheel of cheese out of Ron Burgundy's refrigerator. What to do when you've got grieving followers begging for the structure of a few words to either bring a smile or raise a chuckle? I went down to the old sea chest, opened it with my nose, and pulled out Daddy's first dog Barney's diary. I flipped through, and hopefully this story will do one or the other. "It was my second summer with the Gays. Life was good. I was the bull of the woo

I remember being on the floor playing with Blake and Daddy. I don't know what we were doing. Just fooling around. Then Blake stopped playing. We knew she was sick. She had something wrong in the brain. We knew her song was ending. She looked at Daddy. His voice broke. "Blake?" he asked. She walked over to him, a resigned look in her eyes. She got into pee position, and something came out. It wasn't pee. It kept coming out all night. Daddy kept taking her out. He ended the night sleeping on her like she was a pillow. That morning was the last time I saw her. She went to the Bridge that night. I miss her. Then there was Jax. A dogtor misdiagnosed him. And Copper, died in her sleep. Finally Skye, sweet Skye, only five months old. I miss them all. Then we got Pocket. These were my friends. Pretty much my only friends. But I was a happy dog. I laid in the sun all day, slept all night, never had many adventures. Then I learned how to use the computer. And oh the fr