The Ruby Rose and the Big Little Angels 3 Blog

Before I left for the Bridge I had one more gift to give my Mom.  It is the last gift so many of us give when we cross over.  My last gift was River Song. Granted, some days that gift is like a pair of socks.  But most days my gift works out just like I planned (those days don’t include the days that she craps on my museum.) The key to finding a new dog to replace you is to get one who reminds Mom of you enough to make her smile, but not enough to make her cry.  The new dog has to have some of the traits that made your Mom smile, some things she wish you had done, and some traits from dogs that came before you. The most important trait River needed to have to remind Mommy of me was to be a snuggle bug, and on this she gets a B+.  River, as you can assume from a young lollipop who became impregnated before she blew out the candles on her first birthday cake, is great in bed.  She is incredibly warm, wonderfully snuggly, and loves to sleep in.  When I peer into the River of Life t

When I was on the mortal side of the River of Life I was a rather sedentary pup.  A chair, a couch, a warm lap, that’s where I spent most of my day.  A hearty walk, a dash after an irksome squirrel, the leap from the floor on to said warm lap, was all the exercise this little dog required. I was a couch potato (now I am a cloud potato, equally as sedentary, but more likely to be confused with an appetizer at the Outback Steak House) where, like human couch potatoes, I would watch the exploits of those dogs who lived the more daring life of running and leaping.  Through the magic of the World Wide Bark I even became friends with them.  Today I would like to give a tip of the tail to two champions:  Taz and Dylan. Dylan’s exploits are a few weeks old, and I have been remiss in not recognizing him earlier. He competed in an ASCA trial and Dylan took home first place in the Companion Dog category with a score of 197 which is quite excellent.  He then topped that by w

Growing up in Florida I never knew cold and was not looking forward to it.  While I have yet to encounter snow, I have braved the cold and found the best thing about it:  A warm bed. I have to admit that in the summer I did not respect the bed.  I loved it, and insisted on being in it my first night in our house, but it was because I wanted to be with Mommy.  I was told the bed was a place of peace but I often acted poorly in it, waiting for Pocket to settle, and then attacking her. It got to the point that I was leashed to the top of the bed like an animal.  I slept between the pillows where it was nice and cool while Pocket slept at the end of the bed under the covers.  I found it stuffy under there.  Then the weather turned cold and I ventured under the covers, And it was heaven.  It was so warm.  Mommy’s body heat was nice but Daddy gives off more heat than Hobo Hudson at a Florida dog gathering. I would get close to the warm snuggle spot but the darn leas

In the human world people write stories about the accomplishments of other people.  Every once in awhile, they will write a story about the accomplishments of a dog.  For some reason they title these stories human interest.  On this blog we write about the accomplishments of dogs.  Occasionally we write about the accomplishments of humans.  Perhaps we should refer to them as dog interest stories. Today’s dog interest story is about a wonderful pup named Beaux Jangles,  Beaux did not do anything special this week, except be the loving, handsome,  caring, sweet, charming dog he has been every week.  But by being this wonderful dog he made one of our Moms, Miss Yolanda, do something brave that led to the life of one dog being saved from a terrible death, and maybe others. Miss Yolanda’s job is to deliver all the things we send to our doggy friends through the mail.  She would be our hero for that alone, but she did more.  Often on her route she would see a tiny pood

It began on a cold morning in April and ended on a cold morning in November.  I started the project next to a bossy older Yorkie with me as the little sister and ended the project next to a bossy Griffon who was my little sister.   It started with me in my stroller in our side garden with Foley and ended with me in my stroller next to River in a garden named for Foley.   The last two years, after we moved to the Downtown Modular Abbey, Foley and I supervised Mommy’s and Daddy’s yard work.  Over the winter we would plan how our gardens would look then give our parents a list of plants to buy and supervise their planting from our stroller.   Over the winter Foley and I laid out ambitious plans for six different gardens, building news ones, and expanding others.  Then, in June, disaster struck.  Foley went to the Bridge and I was left alone trying to get two grieving parents to complete Foley’s plans. I think I did a very good job with the garden planning, espe

There is a duality to living at the Bridge.  This is a very happy and peaceful place.  When a pup arrives here, the pack members who preceded them, and their friends, are delighted to see them again.  But, on the mortal side of the Bridge, there is devastating sorrow. Earlier this week two of my best friends here, Jondalar and Keri, came running into my office and excitedly told me that their beloved brother Buddy was arriving.  They then scampered off to the top of the Bridge to wait.  I slipped on my robe to perform his swearing in ceremony, excited to see him, but also concerned for his family.  Days before, as I peered into the River of Life, I watched his family, worried about his health, and the dreaded “C” word was whispered as his parents spoke about him. Buddy passed over the Bridge and climbed the steps like all dogs, beginning in pain, and sorrow, missing his family, and still suffering what ended his mortal existence, but, the closer he got to the top,

River:  Hello my minions.  I am honored to be giving my first address as pack leader to my followers. Pocket:  Excuse me, exalted ruler, but you don’t have minions, you have minion, namely me. River:  No minions?  I was promised minions.  What good is a pack leader with only one minion?  Might as well be a pup leader. Pocket:  Well. in essence, you are a pup leader and I am your only follower. River:  What about Mommy and Daddy, am I their leader? Pocket:  No, Mommy is the main leader.  She controls the food and the treats.  This is why you have to sit for her before you can eat and you can’t move until she tells you to.  As for Daddy, he isn’t really a follower, he’s more like one of those wind up toys who might follow you for a few moments but ends up veering off and and getting stuck in a corner. River:  So I only lead you? Pocket:  That’s right. River:  How about if we got more dogs? Pocket:  We could do that.  But believe me that’s not as good an idea as you t

Hello my friends, it is I, Pocket Dog, taking over the Pup of the Week duties from my sister, Angel Foley to name the New England area Pups, who had their own fest this weekend, especially our hosts, Pokey, Maggie, and Toby, as our Pups of the Week, and give a special shout out to Jasper’s, Chappy’s, Blue’s and Whiskey’s parents Judi and Jorge, who organized the get together, and Pokey’s Mom Laura who opened her house to us. Attending the festivities besides myself and River, and our hosts, were Wishbone, Molly (of Molly, Sully and Angel Daisy), Bentley, and Barnum and Bailey.  (I hope I did not forget anyone, that’s all my nose remembers.) I was the life of the party.  I went up to all the other dogs, enjoyed sniffing them, played with them, barked at them, and eagerly climbed into the arms of all the parents. (EDITOR’S NOTE FROM ANGEL FOLEY MONSTER:  OH YOU DID NOT.  YOU SAT WITH UNCLE JORGE OUTSIDE FOR A BIT, BUT AFTER THAT YOU WANTED TO BE WITH MOMMY AND DA