Pocket Dog and the handicapped ramp

When we first moved here I was a very nervous dog.  I followed Mommy and Daddy all over the house.  If they went out to the porch so did I.  But since they were busy sometimes they didn't notice when the door shut before I got back in. I scratched the door until they opened it. They weren't very patient with having to keep looking after me.

Foley just laid down and watched confident that Mommy and Daddy would never leave her behind.
(Of course they wouldn't, not only is she the brains behind this operation, but currently she generates the largest revenue stream.)  But I was afraid if I took my eyes off of them they would be gone forever.

About this porch I keep getting stuck on.  I must admit this thing fascinates me.  It's not part of the indoors, but it's not outdoors either.  It's where we get leased up, get dried off, it's like our own little dressing room.  Plus it has screen doors I can look out at either end and I keep running back and forth afraid I am missing something important.

Our first few walks were a bit of a misadventure.  There are a number of different routes we can take with many unusual smells.  I keep darting back and forth trying to smell everything I can.  Then I would come inside and Vick on the floor.

But now I am following Foley's lead.  She has walked these parts before and she is showing me all the good smelly spots.  Plus she is showing me how to walk straight ahead without so much leash pulling.  And I have tried to make up for my household Vicks with some strategically placed Vicks.

The property manager who didn't tell Mommy and Daddy that there were busted cable wires under the house and didn't get the shed clean out?  Sunday night I took a Vick right in his driveway.  Daddy said I shouldn't have done it while he cleaned it up.  But I think he was secretly proud of me.
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But not too much on Monday.  He took Foley and me with him when he went to the management building to get the mail.  Mommy told him this might not be a good idea but Daddy said "how much damage could we do?"  Apparently Daddy is not a frequent reader of this blog.

I didn't Vick on the way to the office but I am usually an after supper Vicker and we were still a couple of hours away from eating.  Did you know I have a hidden talent?  Like a camel in the desert I can Vick without stopping, just having it fall out of my butt like cans off the back of a junkman's truck.  As we got two thirds of the way up the handicapped ramp my cans began to fall off the back of my truck.

Well Daddy didn't notice. He walked in, got the mail out of the box, walked out, and stepped right in my perfectly round Vick.  He didn't notice that either.  Yorkie Illustrated must have come because he wasn't noticing much.  Then he stopped and looked at his heal and saw my Vick on it.  He turned around and saw the trail of Vick we had both left.  He said "Oh Pocket," which can be interpreted in so many different ways.  He had a paper towel in his pocket and he tried to clean up our tracks but he only smeared them more.

(And can I make the point here that by this time they were his tracks.  Boy it pays sometimes to have a lawyer for a sister.)  He didn't do much but spread the Vick around some like a politician.  THe decided to pick up the rest of my Vick and slink away.

As we moved further down the ramp he saw he was still leaving Vick tracks. Boy was he mad when he realized he had stepped in the Vick with both shoes.  He had more smearing to do and he said some choice words to me, but again, my lawyer says it was his shoes, and he brought us in the building, so he was negligent and responsible.

He hurried us home.  I don't think anyone will know it was me who Vicked up the office.  Unless, of course, they follow the trail left by Daddy on his way home.

But if they do I am sure the manager will agree with my Attorney:  this entire thing was my Daddy's fault.

At least that's what Mommy thinks.

Otis and our weather dogs are our pups of the weeks

Up here in the Northeast we complain a lot about the weather.  We complain about the rains that come across the country or up the coast line.  We kvetch about the cold air the pours in from Canada in the spring.  Then we quetch about the hot air steaming up from the South in the summer.  The truth is we rarely have a great deal of weather to complain about here.  There are some big snow storms, some inconvenient floods, but nothing that puts our lives in imminent danger.  But with the Red Sox winning we don't have much to complain about so there is always the weather.

Then there are the real weather dogs, like Otis. our pup of the week trapped in his cellar while tornado monsters roar over his head.  I have never been to a tornado monster nor do I want to go to one.  They scare the Vick out of me.  And they never land where they should, like Washington DC, where they actually could do a lot of good because there is a bunch of stuff there that needs to be sucked up and thrown away.  I am asking Otis this week, for he is quite the affable chap, to accept this award for all our friends who have been pounded by what some bipeds call Mother Nature but what I believe to be discarded vacuum cleaners reanimated.

We are thankful that Otis had a nice basement to be safe in.  Their home and property were not damaged.  But there were pups near by who had their whole houses torn away and are now all living in shelters.  Do you know how hard it is to get a fully grown slope nosed adopted after they lose their home to the tornado monsters?  We wish them the best of luck.

As Otis said there is no place better then a basement when there is a tornado.  It is where smart humans take their pups.  We no longer have a basement.  We have a skirt.  Somehow I don't think something called a skirt will give the same level of protection as a basement.  I live with dumb humans.

Bear watched over his sweet Mom from the Bridge and kept her safe from the tornado monsters but not all of us have a strong dog like Bear looking over for us who scare the monsters.

Then there are Sydney, Moose and Buddy who winter just won't leave alone.  We are late in the month of April and they are still getting snow.  While snow isn't as dangerous as the tornado monster it just wears your down mentally.  Everyone wants an endless summer but no one wants an endless winter.

The tornado monster touched down close to our besties Saffron and Sage.  But you know Miss Jackie would battle to the death any monster that threatened her babies.  Cute little Gracie Mae is also in that state but her Mom is still cracking bad jokes on the Human Book so she must be all right.
Nothing beats those tornado monsters away like bad humor.

And poor Chelsea and Ashton, they are suffering from the "midway through a Democratic Presidency someone sets Texas on fire" storms.  They can see and smell the fire but for now are safe.  

Smoochy got stuck in a basement like Otis as he protected his Mom from terrible weather and tornado monsters.  Sierra and Nase slept through their tornado warning but I don't think a tornado is any match for a blob.   And we can't forget Jen and her friends down in Brazil who was hit with massive flooding.

Storms just continue to churn around us and it is only April.  I hope the weather calms down but the tornado monsters seem to thrive in the summer so everyone get down in their basement and hold on, just like our pup of the week, Otis did.  Meanwhile Pocket and I will be holding on to a skirt and hoping for the best.

We are in our new home

Pocket pick up that cable and plug it into the other one.  Don't lick your paws first!  Oh that's OK, your paws will heel soon enough.  OK now flip the switch.

Is the green light on?  Hello?    Hello?  Attention puppies of Earth   Gooooooood morrrrnnninnng Internet!  Foley and Pocket, the Web's most troublesome Yorkies are back.  We are broadcasting from our new flat where the people smell like prunes.  No more Franks'n'Beans or squirrel obsessers.

We are soon going to have a whole new bunch of characters to entertain you.  But for now we are working out the lay of the land and new routines.

We don't have big glass doors to look out and bark at the kitties.  We can't hear the car doors shut so we don't jump up and down barking at the mere sound.  The couch doesn't look out on the whole complex, just an old neighbors house that is blocked by trees.  We do have a porch which is cool.  We can run back and forth and look out the doors there.  But we haven't spent much time doing that.

We have spent a lot of time in the bathroom.  And not because of moving sickness but because we kept getting put in there.  When the movers were moving things out we were stuck in the bathroom.
When the movers were moving in we were stuck in the strange bathroom.  Even today when the cable man was here we kept being put in the bathroom.  Different bathroom this time but still it made us both very angry.

And get this, we moved into a house where there was no cable access anywhere!  The people who lived here before weren't on the Internet or even have cable TV.  They didn't know they were selling to their house to two famous dogs.  (Either that or they forgot, and, given all the safety locks, electrical plug blocks, and a shed full of socks, it's not the only thing they have forgotten.)  We are operating on a line that is running across the yard until they can hook up the lines under the house.
We aren't sure if this is within in the rules, and you know what fuss budgets old people can be, but when we questioned the slop nosed, biped, olfactory prune assaulter before we moved in he said the house was cable ready so if he says nay it might be time to call on the weasels.

We have to find our rhythm here.  We don't know when to fight anymore.  We used to fight just before bed time going up the stairs.  Now we just go from the living room, to the bedroom, with no chance to fight.  I used to bark when Mommy slowly made her way down the stairs announcing her to everyone.  Now she just walks out of the bedroom without even giving me a chance to bark.

But there have been positive changes too.  We have gone on proper walks around the neighborhood with all sorts of new smells.  And of course Pocket didn't vick on her walk, then got vick stuck on her tail, and got it on Mommy's clothes, so we still have that going for us.  Plus she got to play ball for ten minutes today and she was strutting around like a big shot after that.

But mostly life is the same.  I have my blanket, the lap time is increasing, and the cable is back on so I can watch my rapidly being canceled programs during the afternoon.  Oh Todd is there only One Life to Live?

I have also found out something else I hate.  The washing machine.   It used to be buried in the cellar  Now it is right across from the second bathroom and just down the hall from my blankets.  Wow is that thing loud and obnoxious.  You don't want to get stuck in a room with one of those.So we will be readjusting to life here.

I am sure that Pocket and I will have lots of new adventures.  So, from our new flat in the end of our one life to live housing, we are signing off.  But stay on guard because we will be back soon.

Hooowwwwllll!

Yorkies of the Old Folks Home Again!

My little burst of freedom by Pocket Dog

Oh sweet freedom!  I tasted it you know.  For one brief moment I was free, no leash, no parent, running like the wind, like my ancestors, except I was wearing a denim diaper.  Let me tell you what happened, but first, I want to assure my friends that I am back inside safe on my Mommy's lap.  And, in the tradition of every single blog done about a dog getting loose it was Daddy's fault.

This is what happened:  It was a beautiful Tuesday afternoon.  Daddy had spent the day taking things apart and throwing them in the dumpster.  When he wasn't doing that he was packing so there was no time to play ball with Pocket.

Also at our condo we have a high roof and bad gutters so lots of rain pours right in front of our house.  It goes on to the lawn, the grass grows high, and Foley and I don't like to pee on it because it tickles.

So Daddy takes us out the back porch door.  We aren't fans of going that way either because there is a chestnut tree and chestnut tree balls, which, when they fall, are all prickly, and hurt your feet.  But given the choice we would rather be pricked then tickled.

Usually the back screen door is shut and locked so the kitties can't get in.  The back door is open when the house gets stuffy and we need some fresh air.  Well on this day Daddy had been working Upstairs, Downstairs (PBS 9:00 PM Sundays) and while he worked he gives off a lot of heat.
The house soon grew hot and stuffy.  Daddy was finally settling down to play some ball with me when he opened the back door.

Like many things in life Daddy did it backwards.  He wasn't looking at the door when he opened it and did not realize the back door was open.

He sat on the floor finally ready to play ball with me.  He threw my half torn, saliva covered, yellow ball towards the dining room door,  I ran after it.  It hit the wall, bounced, and rolled past me.  I put on my rear breaks and slid to where the back door screen should have been shut, but it wasn't.  In front of me was the entire world, beckoning me to come running.

Then I saw, in the back yard, tall as a tree, our neighbor, the squirrel obsesser,  He was working on another contraption to trap the elusive squirrel he has never caught.  I knew I was never supposed to go outside, but he was ten feet away, and maybe he had caught a squirrel.

I bounded out the door, no parent, no leash, just a denim diaper making my butt look perfect.  I ran over the the squirrel obesser and he bent down to pick me up but I scooted away.  I barked at him as I darted back and forth.

Inside the house Daddy heard me barking from a distance and said:   "Pocket?"  He got up, walked in the dining room, and saw the screen door open and his little heart jumped to his throat.  He could still hear my playful bark and a few steps later her saw me dashing and darting around the squirrel obsesser.

He hurried out, picked me up, embarrassed that he had let me out, and about my denim pull ups.  He carried me into the house whispering to me that I could never do that again.  I told him I wouldn't but who knows what I will do when the sweet breeze of freedom blows past me.  I don't worry about getting lost, whatever human finds me will know who I am.

I am Pocket Dog.

The pup in the denim diaper.

Boris is our April 17, 2011 pup of the week

I can't say I know this week's pup of the week Boris well.

We have never barked at one another.   We haven't even done a introductory butt sniff.  I only know him from our friends Max and Tupper.

A short time ago Max and Tupper excitedly barked that they had talked their Mom into getting a brudder.  Puppies are like babies, only cuter.  Once a human takes one home they are in love with it like they have been best  friends their entire lives.

But poor Boris took sick right away.  They rushed him to the vet and he tested positive for heartworm, one of the worst words in doggy vocabulary.  Then his Mom learned that poor Boris would have to be separated from them.

Oh this poor baby.

You get to your forever home, you don't feel good, you get poked and prodded, and then ripped away from them.  And poor Mac and Tupper, who waited so patiently for a brudder, can barely find a sniff of their little friend.

We must tip our tail for Boris' dogtor who diagnosed the heartworm.  This is a difficult disease to recognize in young dogs and sometimes are only discovered after a pup has passed to the bridge.  According to Dr. Pocket the dogtor needs to administer a drug to little Boris that will kill the heartworm and any larvae which means eggs.  Once the drugs has been given to the pup it must be kept in a confined area.  Then there are several other tests after to make sure all the worms.  It is a long and costly process for poor Boris.  He's going to need lots of good help and prayers to make it to the other side.

Nothing is sadder then a puppy dog who gets sick.  But we believe in you Boris, you have our prayers, and we know you will be home soon.  Stay safe and healthy our Pup of the Week.

We also ask for prayers for Irie, the bird belonging to 12, Chappy, Whiskey and Fuzzy Bacon.  She has the dreaded blood in her stools.  She also isn't eating.  We usually don't ask for prayers for birds but this is something I have learned in the last two years.  It doesn't matter if you are dog, or a cat, or a bird, or ferret:  As long as you are loved by a dog, we will pray for you and send positive vibes.

There are a lot of prayers that need to be sent:  Hurley, Shadow's Dad, Irie, Boris, and others who I do not mean to slight by forgetting but I'm a tired dog who has done a lot of packing and got blackmailed into wearing a dress.  But let's keep the prayers going and the positive thoughts.

Keep those little ears open Boris, that's lots of dogs and humans praying for you.

And you hang in there too Irie.We need you jumping and flying in front of your Mom's and your families.

And we need to read the wonderful stories about you.

Foley advertises for a good mover

As you know, because Pocket and I have been whining about if for two months, we will be moving.  Unfortunately the move will be during Holy Week which completely ruins my plans to use the Pope Mobile to transport my personal belongings.  I mean come on?  Who wouldn't trust The Pontiff movers?  I don't know why the Pope needs the mobile during Holy Week more than any other week but who am I to argue?

Daddy had lined up a mover for the bi-peds but I can't trust them with my fragile treasures.  While he assures me that the Crips Moving Company does an outstanding job, and he was impressed with their logo:  "We will get you there or kill you trying" I was not sold.  Plus I didn't want my Philadelphia Phillies, or Chicago Bulls memorabilia to be misconstrued.

So, if you know the name of a good mover please let me know.

They would be responsible for moving my leopard vagina Kitty Condo and it's contents.  Please be aware that my kitty condo is built using the same dimensions as a TARDIS therefore, while it doesn't travel through time and relative dimensions in space, if is bigger on the inside then it is the outside.
Among the appliances I am most concerned about is my hot tub.  Like my condo, I cannot time travel in the hot tub either, but it is my personal space, where I go to get the ache out of my weary bones, drink Foleytinis and read Dog Fancy.

Then there is my Renoir.  This must be first wrapped in plastic and then put into a sturdy box.  I spent a lot of kibble on the Renoir and do not want anything to happen to it.  The same care must be given to my wide screen television and collection of dog movies where dogs don't die in the end.
There are three.

Finally, and most importantly, is the world famous Foleytini fountain.  This has to be carried with great balance.  There cannot be any splashing.  The fountain is the perfect blend of Foley and tini.  Any splashing will ruin the formula and I could be laughed out of dog society. 

I believe I would rather have my workers move our toys than the Crips  What isn't well known about the Crips is their love of stuffies.  Actually the Crips do not like this information spread about so Pocket remove the preceding in the editing process.    The last thing I need is trouble with the Crips.  These toys would include Pocket's beloved, small, torn tennis ball.

Please don't forget the ball, you would not want to deal with Pocket until she's had her first ball of the morning.

My Daddy and I am at an impasse about our bed.  He wants the Crips to handle it.  I think it is bad luck to have a vicious street gang touch your mattress.  I don't have a lot of kibble but I would appreciate it if you could move the bed and not the Crips.

And my blanket at the end of the bed,  It is red and the Crips love the color red.  I don't want to go to snuggle into my blanket and find some kid with a glock in there.  Then it would be on like Donkey Kong.

Finally, if there is room, could you take Pocket.  If not, I understand, she can sniff her way along.

Then again I don't want her joining the Crips and having to read about major violence that broke out between gangs because someone got peed on.
So just toss her in the hot tub.  Pocket's float.

The lost tragedy: The fate of the dogs in Brazil

There have been several tragedies in this sad and troubled world in 2011.  We learn horrifying new stories from Japan each day.  The earthquake and tsunami there have impacted the entire world.

But Japan is not the only country in the world that has been devastated by the forces of nature.  Almost forgotten, except by those in their grieving nation, Brazil was hit by massive flooding in January.  Homes were washed away, human lives were lost, and dogs were left homeless.

Into the fray stepped Jen Cabral and her family.  On January 12 she left to get her dogs food during heavy rains.  As she drove back home people told he to go back, the roads had become submerged due to the dam breaking and flash flooding.  Trying to get home would be dangerous.  But she continued, she had family, and pups to care for, and with God's blessing she made it home, one of the last cars to travel the road.  Once she got home her heart turned towards her neighbors whose homes were in the path of the water bulldozing through their neighborhood and the dogs who live outside their homes, chained, unable to run.

By that afternoon a torrential rain was falling.  Around her, and her family, neighbors, and their dogs, were being swept away.  All she could do was pray for relief.

The next day pictures and video became available to, what the rest of the world was a suffering third world nation, but to Jen and her pups was home.  A dog sitting in the debris of his house, no sign of his family, living or dead. A woman and her pup being rescued by a rope from a helicopter, but she l  ost her grip on the poor baby, and it fell into the rushing water below.  The whereabouts of the many dogs who made the streets of Brazil their own was unknown, as were the fates of so many people.  "Those who had got out of town, those who ain't got left to drown."

There was one dog she was most concerned about, a street dog, an old white striped female who depended on her husband for food.  Who would be there for her as the waters rose?  The dogs she was caring for in her kennel were sleeping on bedding soaked with water.  And it kept raining, day after day, as food and supplies dwindled.  After three days government jeeps made it up to the higher ground where she lived.  They were broadcasting the names of the dead and asking for assistance for those who were homeless.  And still the rain continued.

They finally made it into town, to face the devastation.  Here is one house destroyed.











Another house, that she described as smelling of death, either with humans or pets inside.

A street dog, a survivor, lay on the ground, but the old striped female, and another street dog, a black dog they fed, could not be found.

Eight days after the deluge began the sun came out.  People were brought up in the hills, but their animals, either farm or pets, were left behind.

The water receded but there were not signs of the street dogs   A vet thought they had gone into the hills when the rains came, but since the flood had changed the landscape, they couldn't find their way back.

That Sunday, when they went out, there was more devastation:  Livestock like cows, buried up to their necks in mud with no one to put them out of their misery.  A horse fell from a mountain side and lay on it's side for three days before succumbing.  An entire local village, buried in rock, with no plans to rebuild.

There was the smell of rotting flesh everywhere.  Bulldozers were used to push the debris, including the dead, into the river, as the vultures gathered overhead.  A tent city was erected for the homeless but no pets were allowed.  They had planned to go to the vet's to lend a hand but the roads were still impassable.

On Monday they made it to San Jao.  They saw the house where the woman was rescued but lost her pups, in ruins.  The vet had a space for about 40 dogs.  One of them was not a flood victim, but a victim to animal abuse that can occur in Brazil.  It had a gouge in his neck from being chained, and then maggots infected the area.

 

The sad truth came through during the visit to the vet:  There was an equal amount of dogs who were victims of the flood as there were of human abuse.

On February 5 they took a new pup into their pack, a GSD named Nicky.  Nickey came with an injured paw and a muddy collar.  He was very frightened and did not wat to be far from Jen.  The next day Jen found out that the owner and his family were all buried by a mud slide.  Only Nicky was left.

After the flood the streets were full of abandoned, sick dogs.  Those with wounds had them infested with maggots.  One had his tail eaten away, another a leg, and another part of his face.

  While Nicky was making a nice home for herself with the Pack funds became scarce.  Daddy's bakery had to be shut down.  No electricity.  No supplies.  No food.  Just lots of mouths to feed.  On Saturday, February 12 the celebrated their 25th wedding anniversary.  But no big parties planned.  Just two more dog rescues.

On Febuary 18th Nickey had to be taken to the vet's.  Whenever someone touched her head she would give out a cry.  This was from some trauma she suffered.  While they were at the vet's eight dogs died, one in Jen's arms.  Distemper and giardia have broke out at the vet's making an unbearable situation even worse.

On 21 a ray of light came through.  Someone had made a large contribution, and one of the vets, a Dr Bruno, would be able to care for the dogs four days a week.  Before then they were lucky to have a vet in the area one day a week.

Even dogs from affluent homes were abandoned.  Two St Bernards were left with a caretaker while their parents went on holiday.  The parents never returned.  The caretaker had no money for the dogs or himself.  They were surrounded and placed in new homes after a judge emancipated them.

In happier news Nicky had adapted to her new home and was no longer showing fear.

But slowly some of the abandoned dogs began to find new homes.  Franciscan nuns took 15 dogs home with them.  These were truly blessed dogs.


On March 3 it was a day of mixed news.  A little puppy at the shelter had passed away, while another came in, blind, and with a possible broken leg after being hurled from a car in a plastic bag.  That little fellow was lucky enough to find a home with a woman who had taken in 40 shelter dogs.  Also more vet care was coming in from the Kinship Circle Vets,

On March 5, nearly eight weeks since the floods began Jen and her husband had returned their focus to helping street dogs.  The vets were in place, and dogs were being adopted.  Her husband was featured in the Defense of Animals newsletter for the work they had done over two months in rescuing dogs.  Although life would never be normal again they could start to adjust to a new normal. 

On March 12 they returned to Teresopolis where the vet was located.  They found this little sick put as cute as could be

 

And this poor fellow got sprayed in the mouth by a poisonous frog.  I know a frog!  It is so hard to trust anything in Brazil.  Even the frogs have it in for dogs.

On March 15 the Kinship Circle Vets left leaving Dr. Bruno and Dr Jaqueline.  And there were still lots of pups to deal with, including pups like this.

By March 18 it became clear that they could Jen and the family could no longer keep the shelter open.  The cost of living in a disaster area, the loss of income, was too much to pay for their food and the pups.  They needed money and they reached out to friends.  Their first chip in did not work correctly so their original fund raising was poor.  But they have tried again, adding a pay pal account to their site.  They have people come to their door several times a week:  with dying dogs, parents looking for a miracle, or those who can no longer care for the dogs and want to just drop them on her doorstep.  They had survived from contributions from friends and benefactors but when the rain came everyone needed to take care of their own.  It seemed like no one cared if these 16 dogs in their shelter were turned loose on the street because they could no longer be supported.

I know there is so much pain and need in the world.  Japan, the Ivory Coast, Haiti. Brazil's tragedy got lost amongst all the other tragedies.  But there is still time to help.  I know that none of us have money, that times are very hard, but if you can spare even the smallest donation to the Dogs in Brazil then you would be helping a place, and a people, and dogs, that the rest of the world has forgotten.

If you can't contribute, and in all honestly we have not done so yet because we are waiting for when we move and our financial situation settles but we pledge to do so before the end of April.

If you can help please do, and if you can't there is no shame.  We are all struggling.  But if you can or can't please say a prayer tonight for the dogs in Brazil. 

Everything helps.

If you would like to contribute to The Dogs in Brazil click the link HERE

Tadertot is our April 10, 2011 pup of the week

There are pups we can count on being here every day.  We are so sure of their presence that when they are missing for a day or two, like Hattie Mae's midweek sabbatical, messages began flying back and forth questioning where she was, if she was all right.  Of course we were all relieved when we heard from her that her Mom had taken ill for a couple of days but was back at full strength.

Other dogs float in and out about once a month.  We don't mind dogs who do that.  It is always pleasant to see them, except when they bring us bad news.

When I saw a blog from Tadertot I was very pleased because I surely like Tader a lot.  He is a good friend.  He has wonderful jokes which I save up for my infrequent trips to the local pub.  I would like to buy that pup a case of popsicles.

But this week his blog didn't include the little jokes and sly asides.  This blog brought news of the most shocking and scary nature.  Tadertot's Mom had suffered a stroke.  Stroke is one of those words, like heart attack, or cancer that means something very bad had happened and our parents are in danger of preceding us to the bridge.

Tadertot knew that we would want to know what had happened and he talked to his Dad about posting on the Tanner Brigade. This was very brae of his Daddy .  Daddies are good at shouting but writing, not so much.  But he did an excellent job of delivering the sad news,

Tadertot was very shaken up, as we all would be if it happened to our Moms, and we are worried about our friend Tader and his Mama.

It is certainly hard on us dogs when something happens to our Moms.  We really don't know what to do with ourselves.  We count on them for everything and when they aren't able to take care of us who will?  But we don't think of us.

We do the only thing we can do.  We just stay near our Moms.  Always there if she needs a lick in the hand or needs a warm body to rub to calm her nerves.

Tader said his Mom is doing better and we can only pray that he is right.  He should know.  His heart is closer to hers than anyone else in the world.  The  Brigade has taken some mighty blows this year and we don't needs another one.

Know that we are all praying very hard for her, Tadertot.  We will think of her during the day and send warm, healing thoughts her way.  We will contract the bridge angels and have them look over her.  If money becomes a problem we will try to raise some for her.  Most of all, if your day, or her day, gets sad, and the tears start to flow, the best place to come is to The Tanner Brigade where we guarantee you a daily smile.

So here is to you, Tadertot, our Pup of the Week.  You are a very strong dog for supporting your Mom in this tough time.  We are very proud of you.  And we look forward to a summer with more popsicle jokes.

As for the rest of us we are going to snuggle extra close to Mommy and count our many blessings, and pray you get blessed too.

I am being violated every night by Foley Monster

Among my many humiliations on this earth none have been worse than the recent forced teeth brushing that has been inflicted upon me.  Starting on Saturday, at the most unsuspecting moments, Daddy grabs me, sits on me, and violates me.  Now I know how Scott Brown felt.

I should point out that he doesn't actually sit on me.  What he does is shove me between his legs and presses them together with his weight down on me.  Upon reading this back I agree the giant pervert should be arrested.

Then he forces my mouth open.  Then he takes out a brush, sticks it in my mouth and begins to stroke this thing across my teeth and gums while I struggle to get free, sneeze, sniff and gasp in desperation.

He says that it was for my own good (that's what they always  say, even on the witness stand.)  He says he has to do it because of my tar-tars.  Sicko.  (He claims I have tar-tars on my teeth.  I would really like to join the DA"s office to nail this bastard.)

He also does it to Pocket.  But he does it to me first,  I am happy he does it to me first.  I don't want to get the sloppy second brushing.  Pocket doesn't like it either but she's too young and innocent to know how she is being violated.

Now the humans, they think that we are so stupid, that all they have to do is flavor the tooth paste with chicken and we're going to fall in love with it.  You know who else likes chicken?  Humans.  If chicken tooth paste was such a great idea why don't humans have it?  "Honey, I can't stop brushing me teeth, this Duck La'Orange tooth paste is to die for.")    Believe me, putting a dead bird on the brush doesn't make it any more tempting.

Because we have teeny tiny mouths Mommy went to Oz to get a tooth brush from the Munchkin Dentistry.  There is a little pick at the end of the teeny tiny toothbrush. Daddy gets his Dr. Szell on and tries to pick away at my plaque.  I fight him and fight him on this, but I shouldn't.  I should just let him chip off the plaque and make my teeth nice and sharp.  Then I'll bite his hand off.  They say you can't bit the hand that feeds you but no one said you can't bite the hand that brushes you.

I say we rise up as a group and say no more tooth brushing.  Turtles live for like a million years and they don't brush their teeth.  And neither do Londoners and the Queen is 102.

If the government can be shut down by about 600 dumb people in Washington then 200 smart dogs can shut down tooth brushing.   United we stand, divided we floss. 

Who is with me?

Luca is our April 3, 2011 pup fo the week

Oh I do not like when one of my friends has an operation.  But when that someone is Luca, who brings so much fun and excitement to our playground with his brother Junior and late brother Fred by keeping track of everyone's birthday so we get to have lots of parties, has the best contests, including the current Most Exciting Adventure of my Life story, and is such a friend to each of us, it is very troubling.  Luca was going to have to have an operation for hip dysplasia.  I did not know much about this disease until I put on my big dog St Bernard suit and my hips started aching.  It is no fun.  Then his Mommy put up a video of Luca's brother Junior having the same surgery.  It was like watching Saw for dogs.  I haven't walked on my back legs in three weeks. 

Luca lives in Argentina.  This has caused some confusion because it is summer here when it's winter there and visa/versa.  I think their calender runs backwards.  It's so confusing.  But Luca was able to have two different doctors.  I know from my parents that in America, if you have two different doctors, you need to give one of them your house to be able to afford treatments.  I am very happy Luca had a choice because I want him to have the best doctors in with world.  There was a surgeon who operated on Junior in the Saw video and a surgeon their vet recommended .  They went with the surgeon their vet suggested which made me happy because I do not believe he owns a camcorder.

When Luca went to the hospital for the surgery it had to be delayed because his cardiac rythym was 60 points higher than normal.  Which was no big deal because mine was 90 points higher than usual.  At least Luca got a shot to make him calm down, I didn't get anything except the back of the couch to pace on, look out the window, and bark at any paper bag that happened to be blowing by.  My nervousness was doubled by the fact that, while I knew what time Luca was being operated on at his time, I didn't know how that translated in our time.  Their calendar runs backwards, how about their time, and are they in the central time zone, the eastern time zone, or do they have their own time zones like EST, CST or PST (Evita Standard Time, Chavo Standard Time and Peron Standard Time?  (OK, so my entire knowledge of Argentina comes from musicals.  I can't help it, I love Broadway.)

Luca was able to go home at 5:00, which I have no idea how that translates to time here on the American East Coast, here, after midnight, we let it all hang out, there, I think it's around 10:00 AM.  They had to keep Junior away from him because, believe me, after the day he had, the last thing you want is chatty, sniffy visitors who may destroy your sanitary environment by pissing or pooping on your sterilized zone.  Luca got some pain medication but still moaned all night.  Daddy has lots of medication to stay calm, but he wouldn't give me anything, for my nerves, so I too lay moaning all night.

In a couple of days everything was back to normal.  For me.  Luca was still recovering, but was  much better.  He was able to get around his flat on three legs.  He did have to wear the cone of shame, but let me tell you, I got a message from his big brother Fred at the bridge and he said he rocked that cone.  Luca could be a cone model. 

Luca's vet came to her house to check on her.  If you are American I will pause here while you recover from shock.  OK, we're back.   Yes, the vet went to his house.  Her name is Adrianna.  That's her with Luca art the top of the blog. She gave Luca some antibiotics and painkillers.  When I read about the visiting vet I said to my sister, "Pocket, next time I say let's go to a place like Buenos Airies let's go to a place like Buenos Ariies."

So here is to Luca, our Pup of the Week, who, so bravely faced surgery and came through perfectly, who holds us together with kind words and fun games. 

Even without surgery, Luca, our great friend, would be pup of the week.  Sometimes it makes something like a surgery makes us realize how much we love them.

Big Like Me

I have read all of the 150,00 blogs (I had Pocket do the counting) that have been posted on the Tanner Brigade since the group was formed.  I kept track of who had fun, who was treated well, who got the most food, who plays the hardest.  After having studied all this data I came to one conclusion.  Big digs have more fun.

Pocket disagreed.  She said little dogs had more fun.  The only way to find out which one of us was correct was for me to spend a day posing as a big dog.

I contacted the Teddie Bond institute for Doggy Experiments.  It is now run by his sister Gracie Anne Beck.  Gracie is a big help in finding Teddie's inventions but not really good at knowing how they work.  But when I found the inflatable big dog suit I knew I was in business.

We brought it home but Pocket and I couldn't figure out how to make it work.  Pocket tried blowing it up with her breath but she passed out in ten seconds.  Then we tried to inflate it using a pump.  Pocket rode it up and down, up and down, until she went way too far down and flew up and out the window. 

Pocket limped back in and we studied it again.  Then Pocket pulled a lever she found and all of a sudden the giant St Bernard inflated in front of our eyes.  We both went to hide.  It swayed back and forth.  I went out first.  I smelled it.  It smelled just like those dolls Daddy has that he has told us we can never, ever tell anyone about (Pocket remember to take this part out while editing.)  Next came the bag of hair and glue.  Well Pocket and I did the best we could in putting fur all over that inflatable puppy but we both came out looking like that freaky guy's beard on American Idol. 

We tried licking it off but the hair stuck to our tongue and we looked like Tom Cruise after spending the night at Harvey Fierstein's.  Ugh!  I put Pocket in the tub.  I turned on the water.  She screamed out "Hot, hot, hot!" I thought, great, a disco and began dancing to the words and the steam until Pocket knocked me off the side of the tub and turned on the hot water.  Let me tell you, fake St Bernard fur burning on a Yorkie does not smell good.

We got the water under control, began to fill the tub, knocked down the shampoo, got nice and sudsy, got one of those scrubby things and a comb, got all the glue and the hair off of us, kept the water running, clogged up the drain, and yada, yada, yada, let's just say no one will be using the tub until we move and we're hoping the new owners move in, turn on the tub, watch it back up and say "My God, we clogged the tub just by putting the key in the front door."  (And geesh, did Mommy and Daddy get testy over this.  Just because you've got the whole drama of a house sale doesn't mean you can lose you sense of humor.)

So then came the big day.  I climbed in the inflatable St Bernard.  Pocket sewed me in with her teeth.  I walked through the invisible doggy door.  I bounced off.  There it was.  The first thing I learned about being a big dog.  They don't fit so easy through doggy dogs.

Pocket got the door open and I pranced out.  First difference I noticed:  When you're a little dog people expect you to move for them, but when you're a big dog, everyone gets out of the way.  I soon came to a park.  There were big dogs and little dogs playing together.  I ran over.  Some of the little dogs barked at me like they wanted to fight.  Silly little dogs.  Their Mommies became frightened, picked them up and carried them to another part of the park.  The mothers of the big dogs watched them go.

"Thank god those little dogs are gone," said one of the Moms. "Let's get rid of these silly store bought treats.  Here is your freshly made filet mignon.  She held it out to us and we each took a bite.  It was the best thing I have ever tasted.  I turned to a regal looking German Shepard.  "Do you always get fed like this?" I asked.

"Once those little ones are gone," he said chuckling.

Another woman then called over to us.   She said it was time for something to drink.  I stuck my nose in the dish and I sneezed.  "This isn't water," I said.

"Of course not, it is Dom Perignon.  There aren't any little dogs to see," the dog next to me said.

The drink made me a little light headed.  And the filet mignon had gone right through me.  I had to do my business on the sidewalk, I was so embarrassed.  I looked around to see who would pick it up.  "Don't worry," another of my new big friends said.  "No one cleans up our poop.  We can vick wherever we want."

One of the Moms came back with her little dog.  Suddenly the Moms of us big dogs began yelling at us.  Don't bother that little dog.  Sit.  Stay.  Don't bark.  Don't pull on the leash.  It was like being a dog again.  But then the last little dogs left the park.   When they were gone we were all taken off leash.  "Go ahead, run around and play," a Great Dane said.

"But we have to be on leash don't we?" I asked.

"That's just for the little dogs, big dogs can do whatever they want."  I began running and playing with the big dogs.  A Shih Tzu saw us and began barking but his Mom pulled the little boy away.  He had been complaining that us big dogs go to run free.  "Silly little dog," the Great Dane said chuckling.

I was rasslin with a big yellow Lab when I heard a popping sound.  My suit had got a punctured.  Oh no!  All the big dogs stood in wonder as I deflated to my little Yorkie self.  "Oh no that little dog knows all our secrets," the Great Dane said.

"We need to shut her mouth for good," a sheepdog said.  I looked at all these big dogs and I smiled.  Then I turned tail and ran,.

For all the advantages big dogs have the one us little dogs have is that we are able to slip under bushes and through locked fences left slightly ajar.  I was able to lose those big, frustrated, dogs pretty easily,.

I ran into the house and told a stunned Pocket what had happened, realized she was stunned by a chipmunk on the deck slapped her and told her about the big dog conspiracy.  She was less stunned.

So now I have told my Tanner Brigade and Blogger Family.  So look out big dogs.  Because I have ordered dozens of big dog suits, for me, Pocket, Hattie, Shadow, Chelsea, Ashton, Bentley, Gracie, Team Small Dog, Silvie, the little Dogs of Brazil and our other tiny friends.  So next time you're at the dog park, sitting next to another big dog, off leash, drinking your champagne and eating your Filet Mignon remember, that Great Dane next to you could be a little dog, and we're on to you.

Foley Monster and Pocket are taking over Doggyspace

Pocket and I have accepted an offer to move into the castle and run Doggyspace.  They offered us some serious kibble and we had to agree.  At the Doggyspace run by us the most important thing will be loyalty to the new Princess, me, Foley Monster.  Because of this all you dogs who joined the rebel Tanner Brigade and still think the have the right to stay on Doggyspace will be immediately deleted.  Please prepare accordingly. 

Signed Foley Monster and Pocket

PS Happy April 1, 2011