The Ruby Rose and the Big Little Angels 3 Blog

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 pup

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 o

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 s

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.

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 w

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 c

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

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 me

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 Rea

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.