The Ruby Rose and the Big Little Angels 3 Blog

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 tear

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 in

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

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 wa

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 ou

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’

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 th

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

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 looki