Cheyenne, Baron and the Baronfest participants are our pups of the week

As all of you know I am a very impressive dog. But I have never had a fest before. I think Foleyfest would be a grand time. But I don’t think I could top a Baronfest.

We all remember Baron (AKA Bear.) If you never had the pleasure then I am sorry, because Bear was a dog’s dog, loyal, true, joyful. His passing shook the dog world like few others. So it is fitting that dogs should trek down to Missouri to celebrate one of the best dogs we have ever met.

Now with Baron at the Bridge he couldn’t host this event. Hosting duties were passed on to his little sister Cheyenne. Cheyenne is very yo,ung, younger than even Pocket so this was a big test for a little girl. But she was like Dick Clark on New Year’s Eve, this weekend it was like she was born to host.

As great a job as Cheyenne did we have to give a shout out to her Mom Monica. She had to do all the organizing and contacting humans. I am sure the dogs could have sniffed out Cheyenne but rarely do humans trust their pups’ sniffers, and, as a decision, that is not very scientifically sound, sniffing out is what we do. So they used the unconventional mail, e-mail, and those GPS things which are nowhere near as good as a warm sniffer and a cool breeze.

But somehow the humans made it to Missouri on Friday for the kick off of Baron Fest. The first to arrive was Rocky and he was given the honor of throwing out the first tennis ball to Cheyenne. Hannah soon joined them and the party had started with lots of butt sniffs and licks. Plus it was time to sniff and give licks to all the wonderful Moms who did the driving to bring everyone together.

Summer, Kady and Sandy soon joined the band. Oh how I wish I had been there, what fun they had. The dogs took joy in romping and playing and the Moms watching couldn’t help but smile. It was the biggest gathering of cyber friends I have ever heard about.

By this time there were so many pups I lost count. I know Ruger went and Daddy stayed home, not sure about Taser. Friday night the Moms were enjoying a wonderful meal prepared by Miss Monica while the dogs romped in the yard. When they went back to their hotels Moms and pups fell into a deep sleep.

While they all slept Baron and his friends at the Bridge planned some fun of their own. Knowing that all German Shepards love tennis balls they planned the biggest tennis ball assault of all. But having no tennis balls they turned to the next best thing. Tennis ball sized hail rained down from the heavens in tribute to Bear’ for what would a Baronfest be without tennis balls?

In their over exuberance with the tennis hail they almost killed all the participants of Baronfest but they meant well. And folks from other parts of the country, who were not used to tornado alley, got a little keepsake to take with them showing off their tennis hail from Rainbow Bridge. Miss Monica swears that she will not hold Baronfest in April again but no matter what I bet the Bear will let his presence be known again. So this is for Baron, Cheyenne and their Mom and for all the wonderful dogs who traveled to Baronfest.

Hopefully more of us will be able to get together near one another. I wonder if I can talk Mom into a Foleyfest?

(And while we are on the subject of German Shepards wanted everyone to know that Pokey’s and Maggie’s Mom, and our Mom, had a brief Human Space exchange of comments with Erin’s Mom Donna.
She is still going through hard times but she is physically well.
Maybe next year she will be at Baronfest too.)

The Beast in the Window

Foley: Before I let Pocket tell her version of what has transpired here the past few days let me explain. In the last month Mommy and Daddy have had their kibble savings dwindle down to bits. They have had to replace a dryer and a hot water heater. When the spring temperatures soared they turned on the central air conditioner. After a few brief days of cool air rising from the floor the it stopped. Our parents called in a man to look at the unit.

Pocket: There is a beast who lives under our house. He blows either cold air or hot air through these little grates and I don’t like being blown. If my ball goes near one of the these grates I cry until the ball is moved The beast stopped blowing cold air last week. I was very relieved. But Mommy and Daddy were agitated about it. On Friday they went out and came back with two big boxes.

Foley: The man said that they would have to replace the entire unit.
We live in a modular home so the air conditioner and the furnace are one unit.
If they replaced the air conditioner they would be throwing out a perfectly good furnace. So they bought a couple of window units. After much human foolishness, and words not read in the Bible, the units were in place. They turned them on and blessed cool air was blown forth. The motor was a little loud when the compressor turned on and off but it didn’t bother me none.

Pocket: You know the monster who lives in the floor and blows air on you? It moved into those things that Mommy and Daddy put in the window. It blows air and it makes the most terrible noises. I have tried to warn Mommy and Daddy by barking at them. One of them is right next to our bed. I can’t sleep knowing there is a monster in the window The only place I can sleep is on Mommy’s forehead and for some reason she keeps removing me from my comfy spot.

Foley: The first night I got no sleep. Because my Daddy likes the cold more than my Mommy, and they decided to put the units under the porch overhang, the air conditioner was on Mommy’s side of the bed. so they switched sides. For the first hour of bedtime they accused one another of having big butts which made their former side of the bed slope to the floor. The truth is the bed is divided evenly with them on the sides and Pocket and I in the middle which is like sleeping on a mountain next to two valleys. But when you have to sleep in someone else’s valley it can take some time to get used to.

Pocket: First they put a noisy monster in the window and then when they get into bed Mommy becomes Daddy and Daddy becomes Mommy. Foley says they are just sleeping on different sides but why would they do that? Just to mess with me? So I don’t know what to do. Do I lick Mommy and snuggle with Daddy or lick and snuggle the former and latter? I am just a freaking ball of confusion. I spend most of the day pacing around the bed trying to solve the mystery of slumber.

Foley Monster: The last few night have been cool so we have not turned on the air conditioner. But Pocket still stares at it waiting for it to attack. Mommy and Daddy flipped the mattress and have not complained since, to one another. To me they still complain about the sloping mattress. m The weather will heat up again, the air conditioner will be turned on, and Pocket will shake and pace again. I do not know what to do with her. Does anyone make a thunder shirt for air conditioners? I’m not going to get a good nights sleep all summer.

Pocket: The beast has been quiet the last few days but Mommy and Daddy are still doing the body switching side switching thing. I am starting to get used to it but I don’t like change. And in the middle of the night I stare at the beast in the window to keep it quiet. I don’t know why humans put things in the house to scare us. I hope that beast in the window doesn’t start rumbling me and blowing me but I know it will. I’m not going to get a good nights sleep all summer.

Max. Maxx, a Pup almost named Max, Winston, and Gimpy the bird are our April 22, 2012 Pups of the Week

It is spring. It is time to climb out of our hibernation holes, to paw the thawed ground, to sniff what is new wafting in the air. To meet new friends and learn of the passing of friends we never had the pleasure of knowing.

This spring we learned of a number of new friends who have picked parents who have recently suffered broken hearts and mended them with sharp little puppy paws. And we learned of a friend we never knew we had who again left his parents grieving, and the little dog who is trying to fix their hearts, again.

We will start with the only one of these dogs we have been able to personally sniff. Two weeks back we wrote about Bailey, our cousin who suddenly was yanked from our family to the bridge. Her parents found a new Shih Tzu, a male, who is so cute and playful that he is very hard to keep up my facade of indifference with him. He was introduced to us as Max. He is the dog who was almost named Max. His parents changed his name to Neely. We would love to show you a picture of him but our parents have not been able to snap one, and his parents live in 1982. But Neely, formerly Max, has helped repair his parents’, and his two human siblings’, broken hearts over Bailey, and he has loved every second of it. (Except when his puppy sister, Riley the Boxer, picks her up and tosses her across the room.)

Then there is the second Max, who must be a little raunchier, because his name has a second X.

I first came to know him as the Blonde Interloper. He wandered into the yard of my friends Cocoa Puff and Maggie Mayhem, the former stomping grounds of Tanner Bub. The mother of Cocoa and Maggie did what all good Moms do in this situation. She checked with Animal Control, the police, neighbors, put up fliers, checked for a chip, but this dog who wandered into their yard came without a trace. As she continued to look Mom was adamant that the Blonde Interloper would not be staying with her. Add this to the fact that Maggie, the newest member of the clan, didn’t like giving up her baby of the pack status without a fight,and did not welcome the Blonde Interloper without a fight. But the clock kept going tick, tick, tick. The Interloper kept lopping, no one was claiming him, and he did, as all dogs who pick a family do, decided he was home.

It was, as it usually is, the Dad who was the last hold out but finally he gave in. The final piece of the puzzle was his name. The Mom asked us suggestions and we all came up with names. But she liked Maxx from the Grinch who Stole Christmas, the dog who steals toys and then randomly redistributed them to the kids of Whoville which, in my book, makes him a bit of a socialist, but I suppose the name Maxx was less social than Marx.

Maxx was needed for a family that lost Tanner and the dog who stepped up to replace Tanner, Ruger. Maxx knew Maggie had a lot of love, but not enough to heal the broken hearts, and he slunk into their yard to heal wounds.

After these two emotional stories it’s time to take a break and enjoy a Winston. Oh not one of those stinky things that people suck on a smoke up the whole room. No this Winston has a very important job. He has to help one of my favorite Moms get over the loss of her beloved Snicker Silva.

It took a few months before Snicker’s Mom let a dog heal her heart but when she met Winston she knew he was the one to do it. The little white fur ball has helped mend her heart and give her some wonderful snuggle time. His Mom loved Snicker so much I was worried she would never open her heart to a four legged love machine again. But thankfully she did, and thankfully she let it be Winston, because I know he is the man for the job.

Now it’s time for a new Max.

This boy is a little older, nine in fact, and is not mending the hearts of his parents, buts his grandparents, but those hearts are so precious to us. Max’s grandparents are the Ladybug’s Mom and Dad. They never were able to get a new dog when Ladybug went to the bridge. But they did have an old daughter. (Not that old, but sometimes we let wordplay get the best of us.) And that daughter had a dog named Max. She moved to Ladybug’s parents home state and needed a place to live. She moved in with them and soon Max was becoming as much Ladybug’s parents’ dog and he was his Mom’s dogs. And sensing their sadness Max began, through sweet kisses, through snuggles, through genuine goofiness, to heal their hearts.

But poor Max still has his work cut out for him. Last week Ladybug’s parents lost their beloved parrot Gimpy. The whole family, including Max. miss Gimpy very much. But Max put away his sorrow to heal Ladybug’s parents again.

Meanwhile Gimpy and Ladybug are with Bailey, Tanner Bub, Ruger, and Snicker looking down on their families from the Bridge, happy to see that they have the love of great dogs in their lives again, and that these dogs are healing to pain of their passing.

So here is to spring, and the new dogs.

Foley's and Pocket's Trip to Ralph's Bakery

Pocket and I were taking a stroll through cyberspace yesterday when we came upon a little spot owned by our friend Ralph The Poodle http://www.ralphthepoodle.com/. We were hot, and in need of some air conditioning, so we ducked into Ralph’s lovely little shop.

First of all, let me tell you, we walked into the place and there is this wicked cool display. We gazed at some of the cool things we could get at Ralph’s. Fake grass to pee on, charms, extra tough dog toys, extra special doggie water, treats costing just over a dollar, and a special offer that everything is ten perent off when the Red Sox win, which isn’t often, but still, it’s something.

We next checked out the Luxury Pet Tags. These were really nice. They come in different shapes and patterns. They had names printed on them and our cell phone number, if, after we meet adog, we want to chat them up later.

The first room are postings of Ralph’s blogs. It is interesting to read all the helpful dog facts he knows.

Then we entered the new items room. There were outfits for your favorite friends, there was bacon cupcake, a fashionable bow tie, wait...Bacon cupcakes? Pocket they have bacon cupcakes. Num. Num. Num.

We then entered the shop proper and found some wonderful shampoo and an antique dog chair. When no one was looking we lied down on it. Score!

Next we went to the accessory room where we snatched ourselves a couple of Batman decals and chased each other around the room until one of the clerks gave us a stern look and we put them back To get our revenge we hid all the spray stuff that makes stuff taste bad.

There are a lot of cool stuff in the apparel room. Fancy wear and sportswear. Both Ralph, Pocket and I are Red Sox fans, and there was lots of Sox stuff because no one else wants it.

Then we caught a whiff of smell from the bakery. Our ears and tails both arose. We turned and followed the wonderful aroma until we reached the bakery. It was heaven on display. A blue sprinkle cupcake, a doggie donut, a giant snickerdoodle and a pink dipped cupcake. It was all so good. We tried to sneak back and sleep on the antique chair but they wouldn’t let us. So we went into the consignment shop. There was only a Teddy Bear Hoodie in there now, more stuff was coming, but it was a nice place to sleep off a meal.

When we awoke we were hungry again. Being dogs we are always hungry when we are awake. The next room was the dining room. I had a lovely Carob Truffle while Pocket enjoyed a good dog candy bar, which is as close to being a good dog as Pocket is going to get.

After a huge meal like that we needed to work of the extra pounds so we went to the playroom. I picked out a cute doggy froggy toy because I am a plush toy kind of girl. Pocket grabbed a New York Yankee plush bat which she ripped apart because, if you can’t beat them, rip apart their plush toys.

After playing more sleep was in order. Pocket and I found Beverly Hills beds, Mine was black and white and Pocket’s was pink and white. The price tag was $1,600 but we promised to be careful. How much trouble could we get into sleeping? Pocket peed the bed and we had to hightail it out of there.

We ran into the spa. Oh what wonderful things we found here. There were lovely shampoos that smelled so pretty. I grabbed a bottle of paw rub and itchin’ for relief to get rid of those annoying scratchy spots. Pocket found a Yorkie splash and shine set. Splashing and shining? Now that is living the dream.

Ralph has a lovely assortment of travel items but Pocket and I are all set with our special car seats. On the way out the door was the walking apparel room. I found a lovely crystal dog leash while Pocket went with a mod leash.

I highly recommend going to Ralph’s, there is something there for everyone and you will leave happy. But I advise you not to do what we did, take Mommy’s credit card without telling her.

Oh well, $1,600 dog bed, it was great to sleep on your for a night

For the record Pocket and I give Ralph’s store eight paws up.

Jack is our April 15, 2012 pup of the week

In all dog families there are the stars, the Hattie Maes, the Tommy Tunes, the Foley Monsters, and the quiet dogs who post now and then. We can call them the Pocket Writers. When there are multiple dogs in the family usually one dog does the barking while some are never heard from. But even if we never hear from them they are still part of our families.

This week we lost one of our quieter dogs. In the Lawson clan we hear from Lily, Moe, Scooter and Jilly Girl, but out of the 63 blogs they did on TB Jack didn’t sit up and bark until February 23. It wasn’t that Jack was not interesting. He just waited until he had something important to say. He had diabetes.

And what Jack had to say was very important because Jack was not doing well. Poor Jack reported to us that he was having diabetic seizures because his sugar was too high. He needed to get shots every day and he had to eat special food that was not particularly tasty. He signed that first blog Jack the Grouch, and with the shots and the bad food he had to eat who could blame him for being a grouch.

Lily was back at the computer for the next blog and the subject was Jack. The shots and the food were not doing the job. He was having more diabetic seizures which scared him and the whole family. He had to be kept at the vets, which we all hate, so they could monitor his blood sugar.

Things only grew worse. The doctors discovered that he had Cushing’s disease. Lily thought it meant he was a cushiony alien but it was a lot worse. As often happens with our friends, bad things began to occur all at once. Jack had eight seizures one day His heart began to malfunction, his blood pressure rose, and, even though we all prayed hard nothing was working. His Mom took him to work to keep an eye on him, which was hard, because those eyes were always leaking.

A short time later it seemed Jack was rallying. The specialist told his Mom it might be time to send him to the Bridge but his regular vet told her to try the phenobarbital to see if it would cure him and for the first few days it seemed to be working. But the other members of his pack were taking ill. Brother Moe had trouble walking and his Mom had to get a carrier for him which put all the weight on her. She took on even more weight when Jilly Girl needed to be tested for cushings. She shares a lot of traits with Jack so it would not be surprising if she had the same illness. With most of her pack suffering, we don’t know how their Mom was able to get through the day.

On April 11, Jack made the decision to go to the Bridge. He waited for his Mom to get home from her training, then she had her wrap him in a blanket, and brought him to the doctor and the dogtor gave him a shot to ease his way to the Bridge.

We did not know you, Jack, as well as we do our other friends, but we loved you none the less, we loved you because your Mom loved you , and we love her, and because we are a dog, and unlike humans, all dogs love one another, even if we fight sometimes.

We will miss you Jack. We pray that the rest of your pack recovers because your Mom barely made it through this experience and I don’t think she’d make it through another anytime soon. You run free and play hard Jack. We will be together again. And we promise to take care of your Mom and your pack.

Gardening With Foley and Pocket

Spring is here in the land of the Prunes and it is time for the zombies to come wobbling out of their homes and work on their gardens. Pocket and I take great pride in our gardens. But, while Mommy and Daddy are hard working, they don’t have the artistic eye that Pocket and I were blessed with. There is only solution to this. We were going to have to oversee their work.

I know many of our friends have to do the same for their humans. But Pocket and I are clean, delicate, and precious. We can’t be expected to curl up on the grass or (gasp!) the dirt to manage our people. So we are placed in our navy blue stroller to protect us from bugs, the sun, basically nature itself. From our perch we oversee.

(History of the blue stroller: Year ago my sister Copper at the Bridge and I were riding in a carriage in Mystic Connecticut. In the middle of the sidewalk the wheels came off and when the wheels came off the handles collapsed and when the handles collapse the carriage part collapsed and when the carriage part collapsed the zipper let go and when the zipper let go Copper and I found ourselves standing on the sidewalk with no leash in Mystic Connecticut. Mommy and Daddy scooped us up from the mean streets of Mystic Connecticut. Daddy tried to shove the entire carriage into one of those street trash receptacles leaving most of it hanging in the street. With Mommy holding me and Daddy holding Copper on a sweltering hot July day, and Copper being a rather long and thick Yorkie, they fought their way through the tourists and fishermen looking for a reality show and found a small dog accessory store. In that store we found the blue stroller and Copper and I were safely wheeled through the streets. And not to speak ill of the Bridged but Copper took up a lot of that stroller.)

Now, back to gardening. Pocket and I sit in the stroller. We looked at the gardens and told Mommy they were not symmetrical. I watched them remove grass and sod, telling them a little more this way and then that. I know they were getting annoyed but I’m an anal retentive Yorkie.

Then Daddy went to mow and Mommy began spreading mulch. I was in charge of the mulching and Pocket was in charge of the mowing. According to Pocket being in charge of the mowing meant whining whenever Daddy was out of sight causing him to come running back. I kept an eye on Daddy because I can not have any lawn clippings left over because they get between my paws and are wicked annoying.

At one point Mommy and Daddy thought they could sit down in the lawn chairs and rest but we put a stop to that. We both whined and scratched at the netting on the side of our carriage until they could not stand the noise and were afraid we’d rip the netting got back to work.

The lawn was cut, the gardens symmetrical, and the mulch spread. It was a nice start on our gardens and we decided that Mommy and Daddy could stop for the day.

We sent Mommy in to take a well deserved shower. But there was no such luck for Daddy. Like the old dowagers of Newport, it was now time for Pocket and I to go on our carriage ride around the village so the people could see us. As Daddy pushed out the Pruned came out of their homes to waive their handkerchiefs and blow us kisses.

When we got back home, since Daddy did such a good job on the lawn and taking us on our tour we let him shower inside.

When you’re the overseers you have to give your workers some perks now and then.

Foley Monster prepares to defend the dog who ate her father's Master Tickets

After many years of toiling on small dog cases I have the chance to represent a pup in a major case. My client is Sierra. She is a gentle and sweet Swiss Mountain dog. Her Daddy, Russ Berkman, won tickets to something called The Masters. From what I understand this is a golf tournament. For those of you who don’t know golf is a hideous waste of time that takes our Daddies away from us. It’s when they go to a big, beautiful, meadow, with trees, ponds and bridges, and instead of taking us they take big metal sticks and spend all day whacking their balls. Imagine the fun we could have with them: running after the sticks or balls, rolling on the grass, lying in the sun, going poopy in those little holes, swimming in the ponds. Frankly I think this golf is some sort of temporary Zombie possession. “Must hit ball. Must hit ball.” If they aren’t playing golf they are watching it on TV . You’ve seen it. You catch a glimpse of the white ball against the blue sky and for a second you want to chase it and then you realize it’s on TV (if you have a cat in the house, you laugh at the poor kitty as it swats at the ball.)

Even worse than that is when Daddies go to watch other men hit the ball with their shafts on the nice green grass, where, needless to say, we are not allowed. I could put up with the whole thing if we were allowed to stand on the cool grass with them, but no, we might pee on their precious field, and what anarchy that would cause. This is why, all in all, pups prefer Moms. They teach us when we are young to pee on the lawn then don’t mess with us by telling us not to.

Now on to my client: Sierra. Her Daddy won tickets to go waste his time standing around watching men hit the ball in a field that is half a country away. Again, Daddies!! Traveling across the country to do something that they could see down the street. Now somehow, while Sierra was home alone, with the tickets, they got eaten, and I have been hired to prove she is not at fault.

I have a number of possible defenses:

1. Entrapment: The Daddy left the tickets behind, maybe enticing Sierra with some barbeque sauce lightly brushed on them, to get her to eat them. Once they were eaten it filled her Daddy’s need for glory. He got on the news, got interviewed, and became a minor celebrity. All it took was to trick Sierra into eating his tickets.

2. Alternate entrapment theory: Her Mommy, not wanting her Daddy to go to the golf tournament, put peanut butter on the tickets and had Sierra eat them. She expected Sierra to eat all the tickets not leaving a trace but did not use enough peanut butter. Like most Moms she takes Sierra out and she could get rid of the remaining evidence when she took her out to do her business. Unfortunately her plan failed for lack of peanut butter.

3. Sierra was acting in her Daddy’s best interests: These golf tournaments can be dangerous places. He could get hit by a flying Tiger Woods’ slice, a flying Tiger Woods’ club, or a flying Tiger Woods’ hooker. Sierra was doing what dogs do best, protecting her Dad. She should be praised instead of being chastised.

4. She was taking a stand for dogs everywhere. Men should not be allowed on nice green fields with ponds and trees without dogs. This is a clear case of discrimination. The Masters have had problems with discrimination. We are the final frontier. Let dogs into Augusta! We stand united.

Either that or I’ll claim insanity from a bad case of rabies.

Bailey is our April 8, 2012 pup of the week

Last Saturday was my grand baby Meghan’s seventh birthday. We weren’t allowed to go which was OK with us. Pocket and I look for high ground when there is a lot of people stumbling around like the Walking Dead. Every time Mommy and Daddy go to my sister Kim’s house my cousin Bailey does some sniffing and licking on their hands to send me a message.

I met Bailey a long time ago, the day after I said “Gotcha” to my parents. She was four years old, the age Pocket is now, with lots of spunk, and we played together. When Mommy and Daddy would go away I would stay at Kim’s and play with Bailey, and when Bailey’s family went away she stayed with us. By the time Pocket came along Bailey and I were older and we would look at exuberant little Pocket, shake our heads and say “kids.” Bailey spent most of her time lying on the couch watching the world go by. When she was with us we always gave her Mommy’s lap because we are good hosts.

When Mommy got home Saturday there was no sniff message from Bailey. I asked Mommy if Bailey had stayed in the bedroom and Mommy gave me the bad news. Two hours before the party, while following her Mom Kim, as she always did, her legs gave out, she fell, and was swiftly transported to the Bridge. I let out a small cry.

Oh Bailey I will miss all your funny ways. I will miss going for walks with you: The way you lifted your paws up high while walking, and how you would pee 15 times on a five minute walk. You always had your tongue hanging out and your tail up, so proud to be shown to the neighbors. The way you would jump down ,barking and tail wagging whenever someone came to the door. The way you curled up in just the right position for me to curl up with you.

But most of all Bailey I want to thank you for taking care of my extended family. You were my sister Kim’s dog before she had kids, before she even had a husband. We all worry about family when they move away, but I knew I could worry less about her because she had you to protect her. Then when my grand babies were born, first Madison, then Meghan, you were the best baby watcher ever. That they have grown up to be nice, proper girls I owe to you..

I knew if any of them got sick, or had an injury, or if the meaness in this world had brought them down, you would snuggle with them until they felt better. If any of them felt they were friendless you were their friend. When you grew older, and only wanted to sit on the couch (Mommy called you the Queen Mother) you never snapped nor squirmed if one of the girls picked you up and carried you off to play. And when their Daddy brought home Riley, a giant boxer puppy with lots of energy and slobber, you just moved higher up on the couch and ignored Riley’s silliness.

Although you have left us all with broken hearts I am glad you went to the Bridge as you did. You left us as you lived with us, without fuss or noise. You just slipped away midstep. There were no trips to the vet, no big bills, you didn’t leave your Mom and Dad with a difficult decision to make. You never put yourself first. When your Daddy worked the overnight shift, and you spent the night snuggled with Mommy, you would go right back to bed to keep Daddy company too. When one of the children was sick you would leave the warm spot on the couch to keep them warm. You were a selfless little dog. You made the lives of every human you knew better.

I’ll miss you snuggling in our bed a couple of weeks a year, I’ll miss visiting you and watching the young dogs foolishly play, I’ll miss how we used to talk about Blaksie Bear, and I’ll miss your pretty face. I can’t think of anything else to say, so I adapted a song for you, and I will miss you the rest of my remaining days. You may have been officially my cousin, but I will miss you forever my sister.

Well I came by your house the other day, your mother said you went away
She said there was nothing that I could have done
There was nothing nobody could say
Me and you we’ve known each other ever since we was little pups
I wished I would have known I wished I could have called you
Just to say goodbye Bailey Girl

Now you hung with me when all the others turned away turned up their nose
We liked the same treats we liked the same kibble we liked the same harnesses
We told each other that we were the wildest, the wildest things we’d ever seen
Now I wished you would have told me I wished I could have talked to you
Just to say goodbye Bailey Girl

Now we went walking in the rain trying to find a dry spot on which we could pee
Now there aint nobody nowhere nohow gonna ever understand how it was with you me
Maybe you'll be up there on that bridge somewhere
Playing with Blake, running along
In a meadow somewhere there’ll be a computer on
And you'll see me writing my blog
Well if you do you'll know I’m thinking of you and all the lives in between
And I’m just calling one last time not to bring you back
But just to say I miss you baby, good luck goodbye, Bailey Dog

Pocket is a lean, mean, fighting machine

My friends, I am sorry to say that the humans have made this world a place where you can get killed just for living in your American Skin. We have to take every action possible to make sure that this violence does not affect those we love.

As you know I spend most of my day on the computer. It’s holds heat well so it’s warm to sleep on. Occasionally I open it up, check on my friends, do some blogging, and see what is new in the dog world. This is where I read about Dave Reaver. He is a new kind of Dog Whisperer. But he doesn’t turn pups into well behaved robots. He turns them into weapons.

This is when I decided to take a page out of book of violent humans. They hide their weapons in their Pockets, and so well I. I won’t have a weapon in my Pocket, my weapon will be a Pocket.

I told her I was sending her to Red Sox spring training. She has always thought she would be an amazing baseball player since she is so good at chasing down balls. Instead I sent her to Dave Reaver to make her a lean, mean, short killing machine.

The brochure promised that Mr. Reaver would train Pocket to use her keen sense of smell to locate drugs, explosives, fugitives, missing persons and cadavers. I read that dogs have olfactory sensations 100 times that of humans. (And yet Daddy still farts under the blankets while I’m snuggled beneath them.) None of these traits appealed to me, except for the sniffing out of cadavers, which could come in handy, here in the village of the pruned.

Pocket came back a week later. She didn’t seem any different but that was cool. When you are utilizing a killer Yorkie the element of surprise is key. l asked her what she learned. She said that she was trained to attack on the word “Cochise.” I waited for our late afternoon walk. Daddy was going have to be the victim but I think he knows about that olfactory thing and was farting regardless. I’m sorry but he brought it on himself.

Daddy innocently began his walk with us. When we got around the corner, away from Mommy’s judgmental eyes, I leaned close to Pocket and said “Cochise.”

Pocket’s eyes grew dark. She turned to Daddy then ran at him. She jumped. Then she began licking his ankle and humping his foot. This is not what I sent her to Killer K-9 Kamp for. I whistled to call her off.

She came back over. Daddy looked down at his wet leg. “Pocket, what was that?” both Daddy and I asked.

“I don’t know,” Pocket said, “but if a German Shepard had done that to him he’d be shtiting bricks right now.”

Finis

12 is our April 1, 2012 pup of the week

This is one of the hardest blogs I have ever had to write. I have put it off for more than a week. Sometimes I believe, after dogs have gone to the Bridge, that if I don’t acknowledge it then the pups not gone. But that isn’t true. 12 isn’t here anymore.

I think I have had two lives. One where I lived in my house, went for walks, lay on Mommy’s lap, and the second, far more rewarding life, where I do all that stuff, but I also spend time visiting my friends on the Internet and uploading myself to their houses. I don’t think there was a single day of my second life, going back to the pioneering dogs of Doggyspace, that 12 was not a part of my life.

It seems like the first time I stepped into this big online playground the first dogs to greet me were three oddly named, mismatched dogs: 12, Chappy and Whiskey. And we knew, right then, that we were going to be best buds for a long time. There were some rocky times along the way, never with our friendship, but in our lives. Whiskey was a rescue and proved to be a challenge to train but his Mom and Dad did it, with 12 maintaining a firm control over his pack.

12 was bigger than most of us, and his heart was even bigger than that. When we were down 12 always knew what to say to pick us up. He always gave us a big shoulder to lean on, a large paw to go around us when we were sad. We can’t imagine all the tomorrows without him, and don’t know how Chappy, Whiskey, Blue and his family will keep on.

But we will all be here for them, helping them every step of the way, because they are family to all of us.

For those who don’t know 12 became sick in the beginning of January with pneurothorax. He had spots on his lungs that were rupturing and causing larger spots. He was losing weight. We all went to wait at the hospital so he would know we supported him. He was sent home but he was still losing weight and didn’t want to eat. There were other trips to the vets, with an 11th birthday in between. And our favorite big boy still wasn’t eating. Six weeks after his birthday 12 was not doing any better and his parents had to make the hardest of all decisions.

It is terrible when any pup passes, but when it happens to such a strong pup family, when you can tell through their blogs, their pictures, and their comments how much they love dogs, all dogs, the ones belonging to them, and others, how strongly they advocate for dogs, how much they appreciate what us dogs can bring to a family and to society, it is so hard, because these wonderful people should be able to keep their dogs forever.

But now 12 is doing what he did each day with us, watching over his wonderful parents and siblings. And I am sure he will guide them to another troubled dog in need of a home, like Chappy, like Blue, and like Fuzzy Bacon, who 12 is nuzzling right now at the Bridge, to his family, who will turn this pup into a wonderful member of the family.

12 you were a one of a kind dog and we will never forget you. Love you always, the Dogs of the Internet.