The Ruby Rose and the Big Little Angels 3 Blog

Just when I thought I was out they pull me back in. You all know how protective I am of our family. Especially those of the Yorkshire variety. Our friend Zoey Wilson may not be our most active pup. She spend lots of time with the humans on Facebook and playing in the paper Princess' castle. I warned her of the dangers of the castle but you know kids. Well Zoey entered a cutest pup contest. Now being a Yorkie, even the most hideous looking Yorkie, should be enough to carry a pup to first place in such a challenge. I know I may be a little prejudice for the breed, but seriously, our two main attributes are our cuteness, our barking, and out fanatical devotion to our Mom. That's three, our three main attributes are our cuteness, our barking, our burrowing, and our fanatical devotion to our Mom..... OK, enough of that. Got to get back on track. Zoey posted fliers in the castle asking her friends to vote for her in The Cutest Dog contest. Now granted, I have been barred

We are dogs. We used to have several jobs across the world: herding sheep; protecting the homestead; ferreting out critters. But as we have evolved, for the most part, our jobs have been whittled down to one. Protecting Mom. But the sad fact is there are so many threats to our Moms in the world that we can't protect them from everything: problems at work, while traveling, bad men on the street, illness, money problems. But we like to think we can protect our Mommies at home. Even the tiniest dogs like Pocket and me believe if any evil walks in the door we will bite it backwards. But even at home there are heartbreaks we can't protect them from. This week Dulce's Mom had to break the sad news to her. She, and Dulce's Daddy, even though they were in love when Dulce first anxiously strolled through their front door, had, as humans do, grown apart, until it became too difficult for them to live together. This is something that is very hard for us pups to und

You all know the great video: The one where Brody is watching Brady playing with his toys and he is helpless to do anything, the urge to take them in his big mouth and squeak, squeak, squeak them almost overpowering him. Well that's how Mommy and Daddy were about that retirement community that they had planned to move into. Even though it was clearly spelled out that you could only have one pup there Mommy and Daddy kept driving through checking out modular homes. Just like Brody playing with the toys they couldn't stop looking at the houses hoping that one of them would drop into their drooling mouths. I knew it meant a lot to Mommy and Daddy to live three, it is close by, they used to walk my sister dog Blake there when they lived in a neighborhood across the street, and Pocket and I have strutted our stuff their too. So, in my role as their unwanted Attorney, I decided to take my Associate Dr Pocket and get my Mommy and Daddy the modular home of their dreams before God s

One thing us dogs can agree on, we do not like to be pricked. Pricked, prodded, probed, pinched, punched: we try to avoid all of these activities. But our Pup of the Week, Baron, also known as Bear, is getting pricked for all of us, Our poor Bear has developed some mobility problems with the onset of his Senior years. It's sad for Mommies to see us when we're no longer kids, jumping, running, humping (OK maybe not that one.) Most dogtors say there isn't much they can do about it. You can't stop time. But not Bear's Mom and not her Dogtor. They came up with a brilliant idea to use an Asian method of healing for our boy. When I first heard of it I was scared to death for him. All I could remember was the old episodes of M*A*S*H I was made to watch and how the people joked about the Asians eating dog. But Daddy told me they don't do that. Anymore. (Anymore?) He also told me that Mommy used to go the an Acupuncturist. I didn't believe that for a second.

I watched Pocket heading to the wall on the other side of the street and I knew she didn't pay attention when she crossed the road. I ran up to her, took her by the paw and helped her across the road. As many of you have commented Pocket and I are too tiny to scale a wall. "We could just go around it," Pocket said. We just went around it. And where did we emerge? Was it on the island with Ben and Hurley? In the Emerald City from the Wizard of Oz? To some, but to us it was just the state mental institution. Now don't go jumping to conclusions. The kitty hadn't gone crazy. The kitty had gone wild. At the State Mental Institution they were called feral cats. These are bad cats. The kind of cats who knock over cigarette trucks and sell the cartons on the cheap . The kind that run shine out of the back of the old maintenance building. The kind that don't get spade. The kind that stay in heat so long the eventually go poof in an orange ball of fla

Today, when Pocket and I went to get the mail, only to find out that we had none (sigh) we saw a hand written note taped to the community board. "Last Cat: If found return to Unit 20." I thought of Boots and his adventures, and wondered if the cat had jumped on my windowsill and copied my download codes. Then I studied the note carefully. "Lost Cat." Could they have been any more vague? Perhaps: "Missing Mammal" or "Misplaced Carbon Based Unit." Could they post a picture of the kitty? Or at least a description? Pocket doesn't scrutinize events the way I do. She just wanted to find the kitty and reunite it with its Mom. "But Pocket, we don't know which kitty it is!" I pleaded. But you can't talk to a dog with a diaper on her butt, and she was off. A few minutes later she returned with a baby chipmunk. "That's not a cat," I said folding my paws across my chest. "Vit vight vee,&qu

Pocket and I are exploring what went wrong with the system this week. We ran the numbers again and again. We recalculated the machine. We even paid Steven Jobs to check every aspect of our operating system. But the results were irrefutable. For the first time in Tanner Brigade history our Pup of the Week is....I can't say it.....a cat. Not that Boots didn't have an amazing week. If she was a dog, this wouldn't have been a contest at all. You see two weeks ago Boots just disappeared. Now I don't know how this happened. It certainly had nothing to do with me sending the "Download yourself" codes to Savannah and having Boots intercept them and download herself. Nope, that didn't happen. The first place Boots went was Chile. She found a little hole in the ground. She carried in her teeth a small cable connected to a camera. She used her heightened sense of kittiness to find the trapped minors and establish communications. From there she went to Florida

I am so grateful that it is Labor Day and I can take a break from the daily grind. I have written a little poem about the things a dog doesn't have to do on Labor Day. On Labor Day I will not lie in the sun I will not watch Pocket chase her ball as much as she wants to run I will pass on grilled hot dogs, even the bun It's a dogs' job to have fun, and on Labor Day we shall have none On Labor Day I will not lay on Mommy's lap I will not ask for a treat, not even a liver snap I will skip my six hour nap On Labor Day, not being able to do a dog's work is a bum rap On Labor Day there will be no time for play The work of napping, playing and running are not for this day This is Labor Day when we must put our usual work away When its the humans who get to nap, play, and lay But I ask, on Thanksgiving, do we get turkey and trimmings? On Christmas do we have boxes with presents brimming? On July 4th do we have barb-b-ques and go to the beach swimming? So why on Labor Day s

(Sorry, the picture will not load. We will try to correct this) Another week, another valued member of the Brigade who has earned our concern because of illness. Unlike last week, this week’s pup of the week has not received the all clear from the dogtor and this has led to a great deal of unrest. I know many of you here, and those on Facebook, have already said prayers, but I ask you to say a special one tonight for our friend Cooper. Cooper’s tale began with an innocent trip to the groomers. While there the spa attendant found red spots in his mouth and tummy. Our boy had to be taken to the vet who said he had narrowed it down to two scenarios: One Cooper would be just fine, the other he would be going to the bridge. Well Dr. Pocket could have diagnosed that just by reading the blog! The dogtor said our friend had IMHA. This does not sound good to me at all. The more initials something has the worse it is, like NAMBLA or FEMA. I don’t know what none of those initia

I scampered down the stairs on Tuesday after Mommy opened the door to my bedroom. I jumped up on the couch, then leaped on the back, ready to survey my property and bark at intruders, when my brown eyed gaze was blocked by a big sign that read: “For Sale.” Firstly, I was not happy that this primitive sign done in boring primary colors was blocking my view, and secondly, I thought it was silly to make a “For Sale” sign for Pocket that was bigger than her. When Mommy hobbled downstairs she told me that her summer of Total Makeover Condo Edition was over and our house was on the market. I jumped down, ready to walk around the place, gather my belongings, and put them in Pocket’s pockets when Mommy told me to relax. It would be a long time before someone offered to buy the house, and we’d have to find some place to move. I asked if we could go to Auntie Bev’s. Daddy said that Auntie Bev had stuffed her house full with a life time of memories, each of which had to be meticulously