Foley's Review of the Richest Dog in Town

Two weeks ago we had a huge buzzard dump 21 inches of snow on our little house.  I was upset because my grassy pee and poop place had been covered up by snow six Foleys high, but what upset me more was the delay in delivery of the long awaited book by my friend Hobo Hudson:  The Richest Dog in Town.

On Saturday Daddy said he was not checking the mail because of the storm.  I told him he had to, Hobo’s book might be there, but he wouldn’t listen.  On Sunday, after digging out our house and checking on Grampy Daddy came home with the mail, and wouldn’t you know it, amongst it was my copy of The Richest Dog in Town.  I took it from him huffily and went into my kitty condo to read.

First all, I must mention the cover:   A grinning Hobo with his paws around stacks of coins, lovingly drawn by my good friend Zoe Boe’s mom Aunt Connie Gross.  She caught the marvelous mischievous and loving gleam in his eyes.

Like all great memories Hobo balances his story between laughs and tears.  The tears come early as Hobo, a dog with great potential and the capacity for tremendous love and loyalty in his heart,  bounces from one home to another, and, through a series of misfortunes too well known to neglected dogs he spends his early years alone, tied to a tree.

Every day a kind couple would stop on their walk to speak to Hobo, and soon these stops became extended, and Hobo’s owner, who could not let him live in his house, struck up a conversation with the couple  and soon Hobo was with his forever parents’ Bruny and Walter.  He found his parents’ were cat people but, except for one brief frightful night when his former owners came to visit and he thought he was being returned, Hobo has lived a happy life.

A clever little terrier Hobo notices that cat claws have the capacity to shred clothing, and seeing that local teens enjoy wearing shredded clothes, builds a successful business in the making of shredded jeans.  After a problem with his attorney, a one (checking notes) Foley Monster, he is forced to sell his company which makes him the Richest Dog in Town.

From there Hobo’s adventures are just beginning as he continues investigating profitable endeavors including a cruise ship for dogs and their families and the start of a dog university while also trying to deal with the human world as he attempts to takes his cat secretaries to dinner at an upscale restaurant, tries to buy his Mom a washer, and ends up embroiled with his Dad’s court fight with the elf who lives in his computer.  Hobo also takes the secret codes from a drunken Foley Monster (there is that name again) and travels through the ducts that make up the Internet visiting friends and ending up in Cuba where his quest for cigars leads to another economic opportunity.

Through it all Hobo shows us that, to be a successful dog, and more importantly a rich and successful man, one only needs to listen to man’s best friend.

Wordless Wednesday

Chelsea Johnson is our February 24, 2013 Pup of the Week

Oh what a week our friend Chelsea Johnson had this past week.  But this week was the end and we need to start at the beginning, not her beginning, but the beginning of the troubles, where many of our blogs begin.

The beginning of the troubles usually start with a lump.  Finding lumps are never a good thing, unless it is a lump of money, and, even then, if it comes in a lump, it usually is discarded drug money, which means if you take it the Dixie Mafia is going to be after you, and you don’t want the Dixie Mafia after you.

Chelsea had a lump on her front leg at the elbow.  The doctors did a test in January. They took blood from her leg but could not tell if the lump was Stage One, Stage Two, or Stage Three.  The doctors hoped that, since Chelsea had the lump for six months, it would be stage one which would be benign.  They were also worried because they would have to remove the lump and two centimeters around it to make sure they got the entire infected area, but, because the lump was at the narrowest part of the leg the surgery would be very delicate.

And then there were the kibbles.  Surgeries like this don’t come cheap, even though I am not sure why.  Dogtors seem to get a lot more money if they are cutting us up then if they are feeling us up.  A janitor gets paid the same amount if he’s washing the floor or tiling the floor but I guess it’s different when it comes to doctors.  And, if a dogtor is cutting your nails and it bleeds the gauze he uses to stop the bleeding is free but if he uses the same gauze when you are being operated on then the gauze costs lots of money.  It’s a human thing.  I don’t understand it.  If I could find a dog I trusted with operating on me I would use them, until then we are subjected to the will of humans, and that means any operation costs lots of kibbles.

On Thursday Chelsea was finally scheduled for surgery. At the same time Mother Nature decided it would be a good time to send a Buzzard to dump tons of snow on the house Chelsea shared with her Mom.  If ever a Mom had reason for a big case of the nervous nerves it was Chelsea’s Mom Aunt Kristi, who, after waiting weeks for the surgery, had to hope it would not get rescheduled because of the storm, that she could make it to the vet’s, and got her baby home.

On Thursday she got Chelsea to the vet for the surgery but then it became hurry up and wait.  They were doing some other surgeries first and then would do Chelsea’s so poor Aunt Kristi had lots of nervous waiting.

The doctor had said Chelsea would be operated on mid afternoon but there was another phone call, an emergency had come in and Chelsea’s surgery was pushed back again.

After 10:00 Aunt Kristi finally go the call she had been waiting on.  Chelsea was out of surgery and was doing good.  She was awake and walking around.  The surgery was a success.

Because of the Buzzard Chelsea had to stay at the vet and her Mom worried about her because that’s what Mom’s do when we are at the vets.  The Governor  got a message from me representing Chelsea and I told him to make sure the roads between Aunt Kristi’s house and the vet’s were clear.  Knowing my reputation, and how important Aunt Kristi and Chelsea are, he made sure the Aunt Kristi could make it to the vet the next day.

On Friday the dogtor told Aunt Kristi that she could pick up Chelsea at 1;30 Central Buzzard time.  Chelsea was able to help the dogtor in checking the incision by opening the covering.  The incision looked good to him.   She was coming home with tranquilizers (this is my second Sunday blog about a dog who was sent home after an operation with tranquilizers.  I have Pocket studying if the vets are secretly trying to drug us into oblivion.  We will report back to you.)  along with pain meds and benedryl.  

Finally she got home and was resting in her own recuperation room at the house.  She needed to stay still.  The less she walked the better.   Before Chelsea got to break all the simple rules laid out for her her Mom kept her busy by feeding her pill after pill to keep her out of pain and calm.

Chelsea had a good night Friday, despite some whining.  Her leg wasn’t bothering her.  Aunt Kristi spent time in Chelsea’s recuperation room to comfort her.  On Saturday Chelsea ripped off the plastic covering her bandage and had to go back to the vet to get it put on the wrap again.  She is not wearing the cone of shame but does have a  no bite collar that keeps her from biting the plastic or the wrap.

Chelsea is still going to need prayers.  First we are awaiting the biopsy and we need to all pray it is B9.  Then we need to pray for her full recovery.  And that they survive the Buzzard that is hitting them again Monday.  Just lots of prayers for Chelsea.  But don’t bet against her, she has already defeated a Buzzard and surgery, and if you can beat both Mother Nature and Father Health Care you can beat almost anything.

More Pocket Dog Chasing Balls Rules: The Places I Won't Go

As most of you know my favorite things are chasing my ball, eating, and snuggling with any available human.  I include sleeping under the heading of snuggling with any human.  First comes the snuggling, and then I drift off to sleep.  I do prefer a simple life.

I have a complicated set of rules when it comes to chasing my balls.  If my ball rolls to certain spots I run back to Daddy and look up at him with my: “I ain’t touching that ball there” eyes which are really effective eyes.

Then Daddy has to go and get the ball himself, bring it back to the throwing area, and throw it again.  Hopefully it doesn’t land on those impossible to land spots which I wrote about earlier, or the scary sports that I want nothing to do with.

These are some of the scary spots:

By the vents:  There is a dragon that lives under our house.  When is it cold out it blows hot air.  When it’s hot it blows cold air.  I know it is blowing air as a warning.  If I go near it the dragon is either going to blow fire and kill me or reach up with it’s tail and pull me down.  I don’t want either one of those things to happen to me so I send Daddy because he’s too big to be dragged down or to burn.

By the water dish:  I don’t like to have my teeth or my paws touch the water dish.  I can stand and lick the water from the bowl without touching the rim.  But when I have to get the bowl with my claws it sends shivers down my spine and if my teeth clang against medal I think I am getting tortured by a Nazi Dentist.

In a corner or along the baseboard:  Nobody puts Pocket in a corner!

Near any electrical cord:  One thing that Foley has taught me, if you bite an electrical cord you will never forget it.  I don’t want to try to pick up a ball, miscalculate my bite and explode like a Russian meteor,

Under the bed:  I sleep in the bed with my Mommy, Daddy and Foley.  The three of them pass a lot of wind while they are in there.  I know where that stinky wind goes.  It goes under the bed.  Ugh!  No thank you.  

I hope for you young pups who play ball inside your house that these tips will come in handy and give you a safe and happy ball playing experience.  

Wordless Wednesday

Trixie is our February 17, 2013 Pup of the Week

We all have secrets we keep from our Mom and Dad. We don’t mean to keep these secrets but there is no way for us to tell them. These secrets have to do with our lives before we came to live with them.

Parents don’t have the same problem. They are always telling us about what happened in their lives, usually when we are alone with them and they are feeling blue. But that’s what we are there for. We look up at them with our sad brown eyes and listen with our big ears. Somehow that makes them feel better.

But we can’t do the same. Dogs do have the wonderful ability to live in the moment. We are in our forever home so it’s we convince ourselves we have always been in our forever home. But there is a little bit of memory inside of us that we can’t suppress. When something bad happens that little memory of our old life explodes and for a few days it makes us The Dog Who Lives in The Past.

This happened twice to our friend Trixie in the last two weeks.  Trixie was found wandering in a Wal-Mart parking lot and brought home by her new Mom, our Aunt Linda.  She is a wonderful Mom and Trixie could not have found a better Mom, or better siblings in Tashi and Tiara.

But on this day her Mom tripped going up the stairs and landed on the dogs including Trixie. None of us know what traumas Trixie faced in her former life but when her Mom landed on her Trixie got hurt, and then scared.  She ran under the bed and would not come out for her Mom at all.  She did, after lots of coaxing, come out for her Dad.  But she was scared of her Mom.  Aunt Linda was very upset, trying to get her baby to come to her, but poor Trixie was so scared she snapped at her Mom when she came near.  They were both broken hearted

Trixie spent her time with her Dad and ignored Aunt Linea until finally Aunt Linda called Hannah Banana’s Mom Kim.  Thanks to Aunt Kim’s good advice Aunt Linda began playing on the floor and giving treats to Tiara and Tashi while their Daddy ignored Trixie. Seeing her sibling playing with their Mom, Trixie began to trust her Mom again. One good walk alter and everything was back to normal.

But less than s week later Trixie got very scared again.  It was time for her to be spayed.  She was nervous when her Mommy dropped her off at the doctor’s office.  Then she woke up not knowing where she was, with her Mom nowhere to be found, and in pain. The Dog She Used to Be took over again.

When Trixie got home she looked for a place to hide, finding it under the couch.  She would not eat or drink, she just lay under the couch and cried.  She even refused to take her medication.  The next day her Daddy lifted the couch, her Mom threw a towel over her, and they took her back to the vet.

Trixie had been so scared and afraid to move she was covered in doggy droppings and needed a bath. She also got a shot of Tramadol and some Cittrine for her upset stomach.  She was then taken home and put in her crate so she could not hide again. The doctor suggested some Prozac for her but her Mom felt like she needed it more.

The next step was to place the crate in a playpen with pee pads spread out under it. Safe inside the pen Trixie came out for water and food. The next day she allowed her Mom to wrap her in a towel and hold her.  Every day since she has made a little progress.

It is going to take while for Trixie to lose The Dog She Used to Be and occasionally that pup will pop back up, but now her Mom knows how to handle her, and how to send the The Dog She Used to Be away so Trixie can enjoy being the Dog She Was Meant to Be.

Foley Could Be Named in Westminster Doping Probe

On Monday and Tuesday we watched the Dog Super Bowl, the Westminster Dog Show. Being a Yorkie, we root for our breed, and, when they are unfairly eliminated, I root for whichever member of the Toy Group defeated them.

This year it was a little affenpinscher named Banana Joe. I quickly got over my jealousy when I noticed something special about Joe. The proud way he walked. The beautiful curve of his tail. That certain something that said born leader, a big dog in a small dog world.  In short, Banana Joe reminded me of me.

I was rooting for him in the final and when he won I was ecstatic, then when I found out that he was a Massachusetts dog, living in a town just a few miles from my house, I was even happier. This elation soon turned to fear when I realized that I could be the reason Banana Joe is stripped of his title, and he probably doesn’t know did done anything wrong.

Did you read my blog a few weeks ago about the different vets that we have had?  The vet before our new one I said was from North Attleboro and the cost filled my Mom with sorrow.  Money be darned not going to this vet turned out to be a hellacious mistake.  First, I must publish a correction, because while he lives in North Attleboro, his clinic is in Seekonk.  And second, this vet, William Truesdale owns Banana Joe. So, the same doctor who last year squeezed my anal glands also squeezes the anal glands of the World’s Top Dog.  My first thought was how cool is that?

And then I thought about the chain of events. Banana Joe was just this ordinary little house lap dog going nowhere special. Then there is me.  The only two things that have stopped me from winning best in show for 12 years running is my refusal to let my tail be cropped and that someone flushed my ovaries.

What if Dr Truesdale squeezed my anal glands just before I left?  I wasn’t paying attention to the sequence of events.  After squeezing my glands he got special Foley juice all over his hands. Then he went into his office without taking off his gloves where loyal Banana waited for him.  He picked up the little Affenpinscher and without anyone knowing some of the secret juice that makes me so awesome was secreted into Banana.

What happens if they have run a blood test on Joe?  Are they going to find traces of Performance Enhancing Foley Secret Anal Juice?  And if they do are their going to strip him of his crown because of his use of PEFSAJ?  As everyone knows if you are on the juice, you’re out. So please, Westminster humans, do not punish Joe for using PEFSAJ. He did not seek it out and only came into contact with it because his Daddy is sloppy.

(P.S.  To Hobo, the Richest Dog in Town:  I am asking my Daddy Minion to squeeze my glands every day.  I am sending you the juice.  Florida seems to be a place where athletes go for performance enhancement. Please take the juice, copy it, mass produce it and we will split the profits.  Then get ready for thousands of show dogs to come sniffing to your door.  And plan to be so Rich and Famous that by next year you will be hosting the Celerbdog Apprentice.

Wordless Wednesday

Pokey, Maggie and Toby are our February 10, 2013 Pups of the Week

If you have read my Mom’s whinings the last few days you will know we had a giant buzzard hanging over our area this weekend.  It parked right over us, dumped 21 inches of wet snow, and it breathed so hard it knocked over trees and it’s breath howled around our little home all night long.

Honestly, for Pocket and me, except for a few short trips outside to do our business, which left us cold and wet, it was the best 24 hours of our lives. The power went out at 7:30.  For the next two and a half hours we were able to sit peacefully with no annoying television blaring or bright lights interfering with our napping.

Then we went to bed, the greatest bed ever. We climbed in around 10:00 and except for a couple of trips outside we stayed snuggled in bed for hours, with it freezing outside the bed and warm and toasty under the covers. For us, while the cold, wet, freezing snow was quite problematic, and the howling winds annoying, the Buzzard was Snugglefest 2013 and we wouldn’t have missed it for anything.

Just a few miles to the north of us Pokey, Maggie and Toby didn’t have as pleasant a night.  Their Mom is what is known as a “necessary person” and she had to go to the hospital where she works to help the sick people there.  The Governor who is like the big dog of the state had ordered that no one could drive on the roads but the trio’s Mom is so important he sent her a special pass to drive.

While we were tucked safely in bed with Mommy and Daddy knowing that all of us were safe Pokey, Maggie and Toby had to stay up all night, worried about their Mom traveling and worrying about the Buzzard over head dropping more and more snow and howling like it had it’s foot caught in a buzzard trap.  

And their Mom, while knowing she was safe at work, had to worry about her babies home alone with no human to protect them if the power went out. if the temperature dropped or if a neighboring tree came crashing through the roof. Her work done she hurried home and there was a wonderful reunion at the door when everyone licked, kissed and hugged one another in relief knowing they were all safe from the storm. Then there was one last bad moment for our three friends, they had to to bound through the snow looking for a place to do their business which I can tell you from experience was no day at the beach unless their was a giant buzzard over the beach.

While so many of us on the East Coast were affected by this terrible buzzard we were all able to ride it out together.  Aunt Laura and her babies had to do it apart and that is why we recognize them and are sending them virtual hugs and kisses. May you never go through another bad storm apart.

Pocket Laments Having Become House Trained

For five years I have worked very hard to become housetrained. Last year I made a vow: No more embarrassing pee puddle, no more wet spots on the rug, no more boom booms left on the kitchen floor. With concentration, and learning to control the muscles in my netherlands, I became housebroken and put aside my blue denim diaper forever.

I was a Pocket triumphant. Then came winter, and I was left to wonder why had I ever bothered to become housebroken at all?

Foley has always told me to watch the humans and learn from their strange ways. She says she learned housebreaking while still a pup and now it is a behavior she cannot unlearn. When I was going in the house Foley would publically call me unprofessional but privately she told me that humans didn’t go outside and I shouldn’t either.

I wished I had learned from her.  I have gone from a life of getting out of my warm bed and taking a whizz in the corner to getting out of my warm bed, putting on a slight jacket, going into the freezing cold, where, not only am I supposed to urinate and risk getting frozen to the ground but then I have to get into the least protected position in the animal kingdom, the poo squat, and while I relieve my bowels for all the world to see I have no protection from wind, rain, ice, and evasive squirrel.

The Daddy comes in the house, walks into the warm bathroom, does his business, and flushes it away.  I asked Daddy why I can’t pee in the bowl and he says it’s because we haven’t evolved like he has. I guess he’s right because when I have to pee or poo I need to revolve in a circle and it’s a rule of nature that, if you have to revolve you will never evolve.

Tomorrow night they are predicting that we will be getting four Foleys of snow which is a lot of snow. Humans will be making extraordinary efforts to ensure that every human is safe inside during the storm. While this is occurring we will be taken outside and stand with nothing protecting us just to pee.

And to think I had to learn to do this. If there is one thing I have learned from this is to never learn again.

Wordless Wednesday

Of Bundesrat and zoophiles or Fred and Fido a Love Story

First, before I begin my rant, I would like to thank my friend’s Cassie’s Dad for bringing this story to my attention.  It ran in today’s New York Times, and, sadly, it is true.

And now, I rant.

The Bundesrat, which is the upper house of Parliament in Germany and not, as I had originally believed, the German manufactured car driven by the Pillsbury Dough Boy, voted on Friday to criminalize “using an animal for personal sexual activities” and to punish the humans that do so with fines of as much as $34,000

$34,000? Let me tell you buddy, if I don’t know you and haven’t given you a good sniffing I wouldn’t let you stroke my tail for $34,000.  No wonder they called the Nazi march goose stepping, they had to get their legs that high to mount the goose. I guess when Hitler’s few defenders said he was OK because he loved his dogs they meant he really loved his dogs.

Amongst the new regulations contained in this legislation is: “using an animal for personal sexual activities or making them available to third parties for sexual activities and thereby forcing them to behave in ways that are inappropriate to their species” is no longer legal. And this law was passed is 2013? I know pimpin’ ain’t easy but it should be a little harder than taking the dog for a walk and leaving it tied to a lamppost then hoping for the best.

Apparently there is a group who opposed the Bundesrat legislation. They are known as zoophiles and they are represented by Michael Kiok who claims that animals are perfectly capable of expressing whether or not they desire sex.  That is true, and, as a representative of dogs everywhere let me state our expression is “Oh hell no!”

David Zimmermann, an animal caretaker who is also a director of the zoophilie group, says that he had a sexual relationship with his Great Dane until it passed away.  He said “It’s a sexual aspect that is entirely foreign to most people. They just see a man and think, ‘What terrible things is he doing to that dog?’ ”  Yes, they do, now step away from the dog!

Let me sum up by saying that we call you Mommy and Daddy for a reason. If you wouldn’t do that to your children don’t be doing it to us, and if you would be doing to your children then you got problems no dog can solve.

And my friends, if a human ever comes at you with that intention, well, I wouldn’t tell you to bite the hand that feeds you but everything else is fair game.

Hobo Hudson is our February 3, 2013 Pup fo the Week

We have several friends of are very accomplished in their deeds but none of them have become successful in the human world. My friend Hobo Hudson has done what we thought was impossible.  He has entered the human world and has conquered it.  While I am a very successful dog lawyer I only represent other dogs.  But Hobo has surpassed me.  He is drawing income from actual humans.

Hobo has written a book.  He did it by using words.  He didn’t see an open book on the floor and pee on it, then claimed the novel as his own because he had bookmarked it.  He did not take a giant poo in a book (I did this once halfway through Moby Dick.  American classic my butt. Who wants to read 300 pages on whale blubber?) No, he put paw to pen (or keyboard, he is very secretive about his methods,) and now he is an author.

The book is called The Richest Dog in Town and can be bought at Amazon here.  We have not had a chance to dig our paws into the book yet but we are looking forward to doing so.  If you would like to get an idea of Hobo’s very creative storytelling technique you can read his blog here. 

Hobo is a very wise dog who has figured out how to turn some of our natural enemies, squirrels, cats, and other things that most of us chase away, and make them work for him. He has squirrels working for him in his farming business and he has a large number of cats working for him, including his personal assistant Thomas. Plus no one knows more about the dog bone futures market than Hobo.

Hobo is a very stay at home dog. Many of the older members of DS will remember him, but, when issues with the former owners made many of us leave, and join the upstart Tanner Brigade, Hobo led the way.  While some stayed at DS, and others, like my sister and I, came back, to DS, Hobo has been happy at the small town Tanner Brigade, like a gentleman farmer sitting on the front porch with no need to ever leave town.

His parents don’t do Facebook either. They are too busy helping Hobo with his businesses to spend much time social networking.  But we don’t want his brilliance to be hidden in the shadow, and it is our honor to bring it into the light.   

Hobo’s writings never fails to raise a smile even on the sourest of pusses.  His stories are very clever, his writing very clean and professional.  This is a book you will read and want to share, but don’t share, because Hobo needs as money book sales as he can get.

So here is to my friend Hobo, who went from a dog left abandoned, tied to a tree, to a soon to be best selling author.  His book is called The Richest Dog in Town and he is, because he is such a gentleman and a good friend, even if he couldn’t write, he would be rich with friends and love.