Giving up eating poo cold turkey just got serious by Pocket Dog

For weeks now I have been saying that I was going to give up poo eating cold turkey.  I go a day or two, then I'm right back to butt leftover munching.

This morning Foley was barking at the porch doors, as she does every morning, and Mommy told her to be quiet, it was just a cat or something, then she looked out the window and said "holy sh+t."

Being a lover of poo, I could not resist some that had been blessed by the Lord, and hurried over to see these holy nuggets.  I looked out the window and saw this.

"What are those?" I asked Foley.

"Those are cold turkeys and they want to come in and make you stop eating poo," she said.

"Oh my gosh I thought that was just an expression, I didn't know there were real cold turkeys," I said.

"Of course there are,  It's 20 degrees outside.  They're cold  They're turkeys.  And they want to come in to make sure you don't eat poo anymore."

I did not want those big feathered things in my house so I swore up and down that I would never eat poo again.  Foley nodded towards me and then clicked her tongue and the cold turkeys waddled away.

Now I have to find the will power to stop eating poo.  Mommy won't be happy if those things come in the house, and it could drive the value down.

Wish me luck.  And if you say you are going to quit doing something then do it.  You don't want cold turkeys in your house.

Wills is our March 27, 2011 Pup of the Week

Pocket and I conduct our Pup of the Week meetings over a nice brunch of bacon and kibble.  We both read the blogs, and then discuss our nominations.  Sometimes we completely agree.  Other times we argue.

  

This was one of the nomination meetings where we argued.

I had a nomination.  Pocket raised some good points.  At the beginning of the week this pup wasn't even a member of the Brigade.  His names doesn't appear on our membership rolls.  This pup would hold the record for fastest pup of the week win after joining the Brigade

But there were two important reasons for giving this pup this honor.  The first is that the pup's family took in a sweet special needs dog for adoption and they deserve recognition.  The second is that he showed the will to live and find a good home.  Which is why Wills is our March 27, 2011 pup of the week

So many of us had a hard life before we found our forever home.  I was on a big farm where I got to run around free with my family.  OK, I had it super sweet, but I am lucky, and an exception.  Pups found by the side of the road, facing the business end of a gun, in a dumpster, abandoned, dumped, wasted and not wanted are the norm.  But for most of us those days are long passed, and, thankfully, barely remembered.  For Wills it is like it happened yesterday, because it did.

He is a Golden Retriever who did not receive proper nutrition from the day he was born.  Because of his mistreatment he did not develop correctly and lost his sight.  Also he was only 8 pounds.  He didn't have much time left.  But then the wonderful, beautiful, kind-hearted Ms. Barbara brought him into the most wonderful home a dog could have.

The vet named him Wills because he showed such a great will to live, and Ms. Barbara knew it was the right name.  As they were leaving the vet told Ms. Barbara that she was surprised he was alive.  Well, in his wonderful new family, he showed he will not only survive, but thrive.

I will let Angel Sophie Bub tell the story of when he got home because I cannot tell it any better than Sophie does in her beautiful blog:  "Now, little Wills made mommy cry tonite. She got him a harness like Pocket and Foleys.  She has been helping him keep his feet under him with this harness and a leash. Mommy took him outside tonite to potty and he started to run in a big circle around mom.  He kept falling and pretty soon (with mom holding the leash tighter) Wills was running fast as his little legs would go in a big circle! His tail was up and his ears were just flying !!!!!  He did not seem to be blind at that moment.  It is the first time he has ran!!!!  He was so happy !   Mommy was doing the Snoopy Dance."

And if you have ever seen Ms. Barbara do the Snoopy Dance, well, you know it's sort of like Natalie Portman as The Black Swan on acid.  It's beautiful.

So we are here to welcome you Wills as what I believe is our youngest Pup of the Week.  You have dogs here with experience of living in a sight challenged world, like Otis, and his Mom can help your Mom.  You do have a wonderful Mom, and Pup family, even if Josie is a bit of a grouch.  And you have an angel on your shoulder.  Mrs Sophie Bub, who you share a page with, which shows you how much your Mom loves you because I never thought anyone would share a page with Sophie.

So welcome our friend, you are a valued member of the Brigade, in a fantastic family, and have a wonderful life a head off you.,  And Wills, that's why you're our pup of the week.

The things a Yokie has to do to sell a condo

It looks like, since Pocket and I took over the selling of our condo, that we finally have a buyer!  It is a young couple, and I think what sold them was our blog.  While we posted the blog to show a dog's perspective of the house we had not realized it was also a baby's perspective.   Now this baby is still in it's Mommy but smart baby's know that is when they are the most persuasive.  There is nothing like sitting on someone's bladder for two days to persuade them to see the situation from your point of view.

I hated when people would come in the house to be "shown" the unit.  We had to sit with Daddy.  He held us firmly by our harnesses.  So here we were, with visitors in our house, and we couldn't run up to greet them, jump up on them to see if they smelled like any of our friends, grrr at them until they gave us scratches, give them welcoming licks.  Nothing.  All these people did was make us get out of our snuggly bed early.

But the baby was able to look out the belly button portal and we had an offer.  It was a little lower than what Mommy and Daddy wanted but it was time for us to move so we took it.  Then they went to the place where we go for walks, where the people who smell like prunes live. They found us a nice house there.  We haven't seen it yet but we trust Mommy's taste completely.  I began to dream of a house where every spot on the carpet didn’t smell like Pocket pee.  Well, at least for a week.

The world would be a much better place if people would only listen to the opinions of babies and dogs.  But no, some human went and got involved.  A man human.  An old man human.  These are the worst kind.  We have one that comes over once a week and he won't let us sit with him and we have to get picked up when he moves around because he falls down easily and I guess old people explode when they fall.  What a mess.  So this old person came in, but get this, Pocket and I got to go out with Mommy and Daddy.

Pocket and I are allowed to roam the back seat but Pocket is going to put an end to that.  She is such a poor passenger.  I am content to look out the window.  But Pocket insists she is going to get in the front seat with Mommy and Daddy.  She sits on the floor then crams her head between the seats and tries to slither into the front section like a snake on a plane.  Mommy or Daddy push her back and tell her no but then she slithers her way back up there.  I swear when I am strapped to some little car seat while we travel I am going to be so mad at her.

We went to the most wonderful place on earth:  Target.  We park in the handicapped spot because Mommy can't walk.  This is a great spot because everyone coming in and out of the store has to pass the car and I love to people watch from my spot behind Mommy's seat.  But Pocket!  She slithers her way to the front seat and keeps trying to get a better view of what is going on by climbing higher and higher on Daddy, who waits with us in the car.  She starts by climbing up to his chest, then his shoulder, and finally sitting in his head.  I don't mind that really, my people watching is enhanced because they slow down and look at the man with the Yorkie toupee.

When Mommy came out we went to the Mall, another good place for people watching but not as good as Target, so I snuggled up for a nap.  Pocket climbed on Daddy's head again, thinking it would draw humans, but it didn't.  Mommy called our Realtor Donna, who was there for the inspection and she said that they didn't find anything wrong, just some rot on the window sills, so Mommy and Daddy were relieved.

Later that day Donna called back and we could sense Mommy's anxiety level rising..  The baby must have shifted and been sleeping somewhere that wasn’t on a vital organ.  It's parents wanted Mommy and Daddy to replace the sills.  Mommy called a contractor.  Someone else who came in our house that we couldn't jump on and smell.  He told Mommy and Daddy that you couldn't just replace the sills, you had to replace the entire window unit, for two bay windows, for a cost of about 6,000 kibbles.

Well Mommy and Daddy would have to knock over a Petco to get that kind of kibble, so it seemed the dream of selling the condo across from the crazy hospital and moving to a one floor home was sinking like the Titanic.  Daddy got mad at a hundred different things at once.  He's the Whack-A-Mole of anger.  Mommy just got depressed.  On Saturday night they were sure they were never selling the crazy condo.  Sunday morning when we went for our walk Daddy saw one of the people on the Condo Association.  She told Daddy that it would be foolish to replace the windows.  Other owners had covered their rotten wood with the aluminum.  She also said that the mother of the girl having the baby had gone around asking lots of questions about us and the condo.  This got Mommy and Daddy very upset.  This woman, who hadn't even seen the condo, was putting the kibosh on the deal.  The kibosh I say.

Now with Daddy playing whack a mole and Mommy with teary eyes it was time for Pocket and I to do something.  I contacted the Ning weasels.  I don't like doing business with them but we have been an excellent web site, fully paid our dues, and don't cause them any problems.  After Mommy and Daddy fell asleep we slipped out the invisible doggy door, and went to the seedy side of town, where the cats aren't spade and the squirrels are scared.

We were let into the room where the weasels were smoking cigarillos and playing canasta.  They were mixing Throwback Mountain Dew with Robitussin.  These were not weasels to mess with.  I sat down in one of their weasel chairs.  My tail was too small to fit through the small slit the weasel tails slipped through.  Pocket stood behind me.  She was my muscles.  If the definition of muscle is something that turns and runs at the first sign of trouble.  The Weasel asked me what I wanted.

I said "I come here with much respect, but these people, they make an offer on my Mama's house, and then they come back to them, and they're no so happy with the offer.  There are these window sills, purely there for cosmetic appearances, capice?  But now these bugiardas want the whole set of windows and mama mia this is going to cost some serious deniro.  My Mama, she sit homes and she's a crying and it breaks my heart.  I don't like to see my Mama cry.  Godweasel, can you help my Mama?"

The weasel took a pull on his cigarillo.  "And how are these home improvements a cause of concern to me Foley Monster?"

"The Tanner Brigade, it's one of your best Ning sites, if my Mama becomes too distraught to run the site it could collapse, and we won't be able to pay our yearly tribute to you Godweasel."

He shook is his.  "You have proven yourself a good and loyal friend Foley Monster.  I can give this to someone who can help you.  Now, as I sign of respect, lick my finger."

I looked at the leathery, skinny, smelly finger.  "Can't we just shake on it?" I asked.  He shook his head.  "How about Pocket licking it?" he shook his head.  So I licked the skanky finger.  Uccchhh!  The things we do so our Moms don't cry.

One of the weasels showed us out.  I heard the Godweasel tell one of his weasels to give the job to Luca Hedgehog.  Gosh I hope that nice young mother and her big, tall, geeky boyfriend weren't about to come to harm but I had to protect my Mama.

The next day the other Realtor calls and tells us the deal is back on.  As of right now we should be moving into our new home at the place were people smell like prunes by April 22.  If something changed I will let you know, but you will probably know first.

If you see a bunch of weasels scheming you’ll know why.

Dogs and owners learn together in dog training class - Tampa Bay Pet Rescue | Examiner.com

Dogs and owners learn together in dog training class - Tampa Bay Pet Rescue | Examiner.com

Ask Aunt Foley

As always these are actual questions from actual dogs unless we made them up:

Dear Aunt Foley:

I'm a young BLOB and have been in my forever home for six months now. Before that I lived in a shelter for six months, after being found as a stray at the tender age of three months! Life is easy now, but my pawrents don't like it when they let me out when it's cold, tell me "go to it" and I'm out there for 5-10 minutes, spend time behind the "privacy fence" where there's a notable collection of dog leavings, and then I come in where it's warm and piss in the living room (if I come in and poop, I don't get caught because my big sister eats the evidence). I've got almost no hair, compared to my sister, and it's awful out there, deep snow, or melting, my feet sink in and I'm up to my you know what, if I squat, it's frostbitten toosch! Why don't they understand how that cold just puts me off task? THEY don't go out in the freezing cold!

Little Sadie

Dear Little Sadie:

Oh my gosh you sound so much like my little sister Pocket, except for her big sister (me) eating her poo.  (Editor's Note from Pocket Dog:  She eats poo like a dog who has just got done running the Iditarod eats a steak.)  I am like you that when I go outside, no matter how cold it is, I can mill around, find stuff to sniff, but I do my business.  Pocket sometimes does her business, sometimes doesn't but either way she can still come in and piss on the rug.  Just today Daddy came home, called her name while holding her leash, and she ran under the table and peed.  And it wasn't even cold out.  Some say you should praise and give you a treat as soon as you go.  But Pocket is now three, and in excitable times she even has to wear a diaper.  My parents have tried and tried but she just doesn't get that outside is for peeing.  If I were you I would keep doing what you're doing.  It is cold and you don't want a frostbutten toosch.  Your parents love you and they will soon learn to love you interesting personality, that includes a little liquid on the floor.

Dear Aunt Foley

I have a sister.  She always dresses up.  She looks very pretty.  She gets lots of baths and she smells nice.  Lately I've been wondering what she tastes like.  I didn't tell anyone this.  But the other day I was getting already to snap up a bite of her, Mommy took a picture, and I got caught.  I tried to say I was just yawning but nobody believes me.  Plus, I still wouldn't mind a taste.  What should I do?

Fella

Dear Fella

I can tell you what my sister Pocket tastes like.  Chicken.  But you can't bite your sister.  First of all Hattie Mae is a doggy fashion icon.  She is worshiped.  Secondly your mommy will be very mad if you bite Hattie.  And finally, she is a Jack Russell Terrier and while she may look tame those things can go from zero to mean in like three seconds.  So I have to advise you not to bite your sister.  If you want, the next time I bite Pocket I will spit it out, put it in an envelope and send it to you.

Dear Aunt Foley

I love to play with my stuffies.  I shake them.  I throw them up in the air the and catch them.  I push them around the room so they move then pretend I am jumping on them .  I shake them like they are vicious prey.  Is there anything wrong with this behavior or is it normal?  My brother Sandy says I'm being silly.  I say he's a grouch.  Who's right?

Maggie

Dear Maggie

I am an older dog and I say shake away.  I love to grab one of my stuffies and shake it up like I'm a hunting dog going in for the kill.  It keeps our instincts strong because you never know when the living room will be overcome by critters.  As for Sandy I understand he is older, and he has some leg problems that cause him pain so this could be why his attitude about playing is a little off.  Maybe when he comes around he will feel better.  I enjoy playing with toys that have my sister Pocket's spittle on them.  That means I wait for her to play them, then distract her, and steal it.  She then sits there crying like a chimp who lost her banana.  Pocket mostly chases her ball and brings it back.  I don't understand that at all.  She's like that giant human in the commercials.  She chases ball and brings if back.  She chases ball and brings it back.

Dear Aunt Foley

Today I went to the vet.  I am a very young seven year old dog.  But the dogtor called me a "Senior" dog.  How often does this happen to humans?  Do human women go to their doctor and at the age of 40 told they are Senior Citizens?  And if the doctor did this what would the response of the humans be?  And what, if anything should I do to this bad dogtor?

A very angry JuJu

Dear Very Angry JuJu

Let me guess.  This must be a male dogtor.  I can't see a female dogtor saying such a thing.  This dogtor needs a much better dog side manner.  I am ten and I am not a Senior Dog so unless you are aging backwards in a Benjamin Pitt sort of way I have no idea how he could call you Senior.  If this happened with a Mommy and their doctor, the Mommy would kick the doctor right in the boolahlah.  I wouldn't do any nipping or growling, because he who has the anal thermometer has the upper hand.  There is only one weapon we dogs have and that is the fart.  Next time you go to your dogtor and he starts probing the anal end let out a nasty fart you have been building up for weeks.  The worst that will happen is that you will have to go on medicine a little bit, and maybe that dogtor will think twice about who he calls Senior.

If you have a question for Aunt Foley either leave a comment at the end of this blog or send it to Foleymonsterandpocket@gmail.com

Hurley is our March 20, 2011 Pup of the Week

Poo.  For something that humans build special chairs with water at the bottom to dispose of it, that needs to be picked up and disposed of wherever we may leave it, and for something that is so reprehensible that, if left on the rug, humans get very angry, it sure is important.  When humans have explosively bad poo they chalk it up to a bug that's going around or some bad food.  They don't worry about it too much.  But you know humans.  They have severe chest pains they wait to see if it will pass but if their check engine light goes off on their car they hurry to a mechanic.

Our good friend Hurley has had poo problems lately, and thank God his Mom, the wonderful Miss Nancy, is a certified poo inspector.  Hurley has been on and off medicine for blood in his poo for a few weeks now.  When the last cycle of medication ended we all hoped that Hurley would be fine.  But then bloody, explosive, poo began to be sprayed on her family members, and it was time for a trip to the kindest vet I have heard of, Dr. Apple.

Dr Apple did what dogters do, scare, and harass us desperately trying to make her better.  She had a pic line put in.   I don't know what that is but I don't want one in me.  There were needles stuck in her, blood drawn, x-rays.  Oh just the worst things.  Luckily kind Dr Apple let her go home with her Mom who didn't mind for a second her explosive butt juices, just wanted her home.  But Miss Nancy, as any Mom would be, was wracked with worry.

Now after a day like that how many pups do you know who would go to work?  Well Hurley did.  Miss Nancy wanted to keep her near so she went to work with her Mom.  They got the blood tests back which were negative, which is good, another thing about humans I don't understand, why negative is good.  Of course even at work Hurley wanted walks and toys to play with.  She did eat grass, and Hurley, girl, that is something you have to stop because that is not helping you so please  it might be time for you to take a trip to the John Deere rehab clinic.  There was no food, and there was some nasty farting.  There was poo, not bloody, thanks to the medication, but still no answers.

Then came the answer:  Cryptosporidum.  You can read about it HERE.  I am not going to lie to you my friends.  This was not a great diagnosis.  Basically it is a parasite living in Hurley's digestive track.  It is known in feral animals.  If your pup becomes in contact with traces of fecal matter from other animals, or licks from a puddle that an infected animal has drank from it can come in contact with this parasite.  It could also be in the pups system for years so it could be something she contracted as a pup before she came to Miss Nancy and it is just showing up now.  So for you parents with outside pups:  Scared yet?  It is also common in humans.  It is usually transmitted into the water supply from feral animals.  You can also get it from your pup if they are mouth lickers, but only if you have auto immune deficiencies, which thankfully neither Ms. Nancy or anyone in her family have.

Much credit must go to Dr. Apple who diagnosed Hurley.  It was the first time in 36 years he has had a pup with this parasite.  There is no agreed upon cure for this parasite.  Dr. Apple has Hurley on the human drug amoxoicylin.  He believes it will wipe out that nasty old parasite and Hurley will be fine.  There have been some miracles to get Hurley to this spot.  The test for Cryptosporidum has only been around for six months.  Miracle one.  That Dr Apple was smart enough to run the test and make the diagnosis was miracle two.  Now we're counting on a third miracle.  That the bad parasite is killed off and Hurley gets back to new soon.

Hurley, Cali and Miss Nancy are the nicest, kindest folk who have had more than their share of heartache.  Such kindness should be rewarded not punished.  We love them very much and want nothing but sunny days and Hurley chasing her frisbee in the future.

So far so good on the treatment but the question will be once the drugs are done if the bloody poo goes away.  If not, more drugs.  So I know I've asked before, but let's keep the prayer chain going for our friend Hurley sos he can keep chasing frisbees and keep Miss Nancy's heart from breaking.

Keep flying Hurley, we will be the wind that lifts your to that frisbee called a long life.

Petfinder's Adopt the Internet Day Our Home Town Taunton MA

Today is Petfinder's Birthday and also their first Adopt the Internet Day.  Anyone willing can use their blogs, Facebook Status or Twitter to help promote pets who need good homes.  We are going to start with dogs in our local Taunton Ma Animal Shelter and Yorkies Inc Placement Service

Our first dog is an Australian Cattle Dog named Finn.  Your can check out his profile Here

Our next cute little local pup is a Yorkie and we know Yorkies should never be in shelters.  Her name is Glitter.  She is seven years old and her profile is HERE

And there is another little Yorkie, five years old, named Ivy who you can find out about here

If your interested in a hound dog then you can read about Sara HERE

For friends of big dogs could you find a spot in your heat for Mandy an American Staffordshire Terrier that you can learn about here

Have you met any Brussels Giffons?  How about Dexter and Danny who can read about here

One of our favorite pups who is now at Rainbow Bridge was named Ladybug.  This Ladybug is up for adoption and if she is anything like our friend she will bring joy and love into your heart.  Read about her here

And finally we have an adorable Bichon named GiGi to brighten your home.  Learn about her here

Otis is our March 13, 2011 pup of the week

It is both an honor and a  privilege for us to announce that Otis is our March 13, 2011 pup of the week.

Otis has been sight challenged for some time now but that has not stopped him from being one of the most observant dogs I know.  Also he wrote a string of rhythm and blues hits in the 70's.  Hold it a second *ruffling through notes* that is incorrect , he did not write any songs.  Pocket please remove this sentence during the editing process.

This week we were quite concerned about our witty, white friend.  He had to go in for surgery.  I have never personally seen a surgery except on the TV but they always seem to go wrong and are done after the surgeons make sexy time in the supply closet.  No wonder there are so many infectious diseases in hospitals.  One little slip up and a doctor's entire family gets spilled out over the linens.

The dogter had made the diagnosis that poor Otis had two large lickyourmas in his tummy.  This made me worried.  I lick my Mom quite a bit and don't want any residue to build up in my tummy and need to removed by a sex starved surgeon. 

Well. of course, the dogter had miscalculated.  There were four lickyourmas in his tummy.  One of them was the size of a grapefruit which is wicked big.  I think it's bigger than Pocket.  Which would be like having a Pocket in your stomach, which would make you a kangaroo.  I would still be Otis' friend if he was a kangaroo but hopping and lack of vision seem to be a recipe for disaster.

The dogter said those lickyourmas had been in his tummy four four to five years.  That's a quite a long time to have Mommy residue in your belly.  But you know what?  How can Mommy residue be bad for you?  OK, if it's bigger then Pocket it's probably not great, but still, there is nothing wrong with having a little bit of Mommy inside of you.

In fact Otis had become so attached to the Mommy residue that the dogtor could not remove them all.  But that was OK.  He stuck his poker all over Otis and didn't find anything wrong so he stitched him up, gave him a kiss on his head, and called his Mom to take him home.

Otis was groggy, looked up,and saw his Mommy.  He gave her a kiss, darn the residue, and looked down to see his hoo ha had been shaved.  He passed out. 

His first night was  a tough one.  Very confused from the medicine they give you to bring about sleepy time.  And any operation on your tummy is quite painful so Otis couldn't find a comfortable place to lay down.  We haven't heard back about his condition but we're hoping he didn't have to wear the cone of shame.

Now Otis, you always make us smile, and we've had a little fun with your operation because we hope to make your Mommy smile.  But we are worried about you.  We pray that you fully recover and keep us smiling with your stories about  your Mom and your kitties.  And we all love you, so that's why you're our pup of the week.

\

Pocket's resume to be Charlie Sheen's intern

Dear Mr. Sheen:

Hello sir.  My name is Pocket Dog and I am applying for the position of intern.  I feel I have many qualities that would me the perfect candidate for this job.

Loyalty:  I am a dog, therefore by nature I am loyal.  I have been very loyal to my current Mommy and Daddy despite several instances of mistreatment.  They have a back room on the second floor with a door that magically shuts behind me.  When it does I just sit and wait for it to be opened and do not hold a grudge.  So if you need me to hide in a closet while your snort cocaine off a prostitutes mid-section not only wouldn't I mind, but I am used to it.  Also, if you needed me to take a baggie of heroin and hide behind the couch or under the bed I have experience in the job requirements of fetching things and hiding them from the PO.

Ho Tolerance:  In my formative years my human brother was in his mid twenties and we had a line out the door of tramps, hos, and skanks.  When I was a pup that area of my anatomy was broken during an ill fated attempt to "fix" it.  So not only do I have a tolerance for the type of female company you prefer, but I have no interest in being pleasured in the manner they are.

Children:  We have a similar attitude toward children.   I let children pick me up, pat me, carry me around, play ball with me but I know they will soon tire of me and go watch TV.  You pick your children, pat them, carry them around, play ball with them, then tire of them and go watch TV.  Also I could be an immense help in feeding your children since I imagine the only food available to either me or the children will be what your drop on the floor I can teach them how to lick the food off the floor.

Balls:  I am obsessed with balls.   I chase them.  I catch them.  I pick them up off the floor.  I sit on the couch and chew on them and lick them.  Yeah, you're getting the picture aren't you big boy?

Education:  I received an honorary doctorate from Puppy University, so, while I have no actual medical experience I would be a doctor living in the house with you. like Michael Jackson had.  I can dial 911 once out of every seven tries.  And I can run away like the wind, just like Michael Jackson's doctor.

Excitable peeing:  I am an excitable pee-er.  When I get overly excited I leak.  I sense you suffer the same problems with urination.  We can compare notes.

Feet:  I like to take my mouth and put it on my foot to lick it.  You like to take your foot and put it in your mouth.   Very similar traits.

Addiction:  You suffer from addiction to various substances.  I like to eat poo.  You call your house the sober house.  I call my house the no eat poo house.  The irony is lost on both of us.

Video:  We both like to put rambling, incoherent, offensive videos on the Internet.  Here is mine.

I am sure you will find my qualifications exemplary and I look forward to discussing how many kibble I will receive in compensation.  (Between you and me Mommy has lots of pills and she won't miss a few here and there.)

Sincerely yours,

Pocket Dog

We did not step on a crack or break Mommy's back

Since I have joined Mommy's pack she has, from the bottom up, had her little toe shaved because it got too big, probably from eating too much roast beef, then had it shaved again because the bone grew back ("bones don't usually grow back" the doctor said to Mommy with the alien DNA, so take Charlie Sheen and your inferior Adonis DNA) had both her knees replaced which only made them hurt more, had a hip injury that she needed a shot for, had irritable bowel syndrome (also known as owning Pocket syndrome), had the dreaded C word in her mammograms, threw up so much that she passed out in the middle of throwing up, had car pool tunnel syndrome, had a large, painful growth on her neck which she needed removed (OK it was before I joined the pack but I am reserving the right to use some artistic license here,) had her rotator cuff repaired (also before I was born but my sister Blake told me and it was no fun) and suffers from migraines on the brain (Daddy's Daddy told him that Daddy's 51 year old sister gets migraines when she gets her period, which possibly was too much information to share with a brother, and secondly pretty impressive that at 51 the Old Man River is still flowing towards the sea.)

But gosh we got quite a scare this week.  A lot of you on Facebook or who we've barked at this week know about it but some of you don''t, and even if you do know the story you have not heard it from the Foley perspective so you can get the truth from the no spin zone.  On Tuesday Mommy had an appointment with a pain management doctor to finally address her back pain.  We were very supportive of this.  Both Pocket and I love to snuggle against Mommy's back when she sleeps but sometimes that knobby, twisty thing is uncomfortable.  So she was doing it for the most important reason, to give us pups a nice place to snuggle.

She got all looped up on drugs before going so she would be nice and sedated.  She took them fifteen minutes before leaving.  Let me tell you.  If you have never snuggled with a loopy Mom you are missing out.  There whole body just goes floppy and everything becomes so comfortable.

But then it was time for Daddy to take her to the doctor.  He is from India.  Is it racist to say that he had to stop his examination to go make slurpies at the Kwicki-Mart and provide tech support for confused WIndows Vista users?  I thought it was.  I will make sure Pocket removes the offensive comment during the editing process.  The doctor looked at her x-rays and he saw something that he said wasn't of any concern but he needed to find out what it was (during their next meeting he said the x-ray worried him very much so I think he was trying not to get her excited but Mommy was too smart for him and knew it could be serious but too loopy to fully understand the trouble she could be in.)

So Mommy had to get blood drawn.  I hate getting blood drawn.  Mommy has less fur than me but it still hurts (unless you're all hopped up on pills like Mommy then there’s no pain.)  Then they took her into the MRI machine.  I have never been in one but I can tell I don't want to be.  Mommy laid down in the machine and fell asleep, but before she did she saw written on her paper STAT:  Rule out tumor or fracture.  Yikes!

When they got home Pocket and I were none the wiser.  We just ran down stairs and got into snuggle position with her and slept the afternoon away.  When we awoke Mommy and Daddy were kind of quiet, and were hugging without me in the middle, so I knew something was wrong, but in a decade of life I have learned to be quiet and not to make things worse.  Pocket, of course, ran around and barked.  I could share my secret with her but why should I?   Let her find out these things for herself.

The next morning, despite the opinion of every single person on Earth, Mommy went to work.  Daddy went for his walk of many miles, to his therapist (he's been seeing her for a long time but she hasn't got any better) and to the grocery store.  When he got home he did the laundry, emptied the dish water, shampooed the floors, then freed Pocket from her crate while I slowly stretched getting out of my blanket.  We went outside, took a little walk, did a little pee, came back inside and Pocket got ready for some ball playing.

Before the ball playing commenced Daddy checked the phone.  The message light was blinking.  Daddy checked the message.  It was from the doctor the day before.  Mommy had an appointment to see him Friday but he said if he found something bad on the MRI he would call before Friday.   It was before Friday.  The message was the Doctor needed to see her right away.

Daddy has been in therapy for months, been on all sorts of medications, has lots of relaxation techniques, but boy can he still panic.  He texted Mommy telling her that the doctor needed to see her.  Pocket barked because she wanted to play ball.  He then texted her again to have her text back if she got the text.  She didn't.  I opened my computer and tried to download myself there but couldn't get a connection.  Pocket picked up the ball and dropped it at Daddy's feet.  Daddy tried calling her cell phone but it went to voice mail so he left a message.  I went to the steps and barked at her to come home. Pocket nosed the ball to Daddy. Daddy texted her to text him if she got the phone call.  I sent her an e-mail.  Pocket threw the ball up in the air and barked.  Daddy sent her a text saying he was going to the school to get her.  I headed back upstairs to get in my blanket.  Pocket barked that she did not get her ball time and got stuffed inside her crate.

Pocket barked at him all the way down the stairs.  I went over to her crate and told her there might be something wrong with Mommy.  That stopped her barks of frustration and turned them to whines of worry.  I opened her crate door and climbed in with her and we crossed our paws and prayed.

Daddy came home first.  He smelled of relief.  We both were barking quite a bit.  While Daddy was relieved we had to smell Mommy to be sure.  He took us outside for a fast pee.  He then called his Daddy and told him that the MRI didn't show anything bad.  That's when Mommy got home.  Daddy got off the phone saying the dogs were going to start barking like crazy.  He was right.  As soon as Mommy came in we could tell she was relieved and her aura showed she wasn't ill.  We all hurried around the house of she transitioned from work Mom to our Mom, got in the chair, pulled up the blanket and snuggled down.

On Friday she went back for her first series of shots.  The Doctor had her on so many pills when she walked past us she rattled.  Then they left and Pocket and I waited nervously.  When Mommy came home she was moving a bit stiffly and got her over to her chair. The great thing about a rattling Mommy is she is soon a sleeping Mommy and man did we have great snuggle on Friday.

On Saturday Mommy said she felt a little better, and that was good enough for us.  We also found out that she is taking steroids so she is soon going to be picking up the couch and twirling it over her head.  That will be so cool.  We are going to have the strongest Mom around, albeit, a slow one who limps.  But we are thankful that she is feeling better and thankful to our wonderful friends who have sent us and our Mom strong words of encouragement and never let us lose faith.

If you're planning a move or need anything heavy lifted let our steroid pumped up Mom know and we'll have her sent tight over.