Friday, January 31, 2014

Pocket and the Big Mattress

There are certain household matters that dogs should definitely have a say in.  One of these is the bed.  Us dogs sleep 16 hours a day.  Bed is very important to us.  Any change in the sleeping arrangements should be run past us.  Which is why I was stunned to learn Mommy and Daddy bought a new mattress without consulting me.

I sleep in the big bed with my parents.  I like the bottom of the bed, under the covers.  I have spent years scratching at the mattress, adjusting the fluff, to make the perfect spot for my little body.  I fully expected the spend the rest of my days on the spot that fit my body.

But this week, with no announcement nor warning, Mommy and Daddy bought a new mattress.  After the purchase I heard them discussing the matter, but, like most things they say, I ignored them.  A few days later I heard a big truck pull up outside.  River and I were lock in the front bedroom.

We heard multiple footsteps in and out, in and out, while we stood behind the door and barked.  There were humans with unidentifiable scents, and we could smell our beloved mattress come closer, and then fade away, and something else come in, with the dreaded smell of new.

Things were lifted, shuffled, placed and replaced, and then more footsteps leaving our house.  Finally the door was opened and we ran towards the dreaded new smell. It was as we feared, our beloved mattress was gone, and was replaced with a big gleaming white cube.  River sniffed, sniffed some more, turn to me and said “foam!”

Foam!  Mattresses are supposed to be made of springs and latex and feathers and lumps.  What have they gone and done?  And worse, we weren’t supposed to get on it until nighttime.  What good is having a strange object that you never wanted in the house that replaced something you really liked and never wanted to get rid of if you can’t lie down on it?  The entire thing was a big gyp.

When we got on it at night I was not sure about it.  All my spots were gone.  When I lay down it did make a little curve where my body was.  But when I moved the spot was gone. I spent a long time wandering around looking for my spot.  Meanwhile River stayed at the top of the bed.  She is less particular than I am.  She doesn’t want a spot, she just wants to sleep against a human’s back.

It took me a few days to adjust to the new mattress.  I guess it’s all right.  It is comfortable.  And I think it’s better for Mommy’s back.  Whatever is better for Mommy is OK with me.

I am angered about what happened to the old mattress. Foley has it.  And her and her friends have been sledding down and gliding over all the lumps and bumps we spent years putting there.  Even at the Bridge Foley gets all the good things.

Hope she enjoys my bumps.

Tuesday, January 28, 2014

River Flew Over the Cukoo's Nest

After my high flying escape over the gate of doom I was once again regulated to my crate.  What a gyp!  Perform a death defying stunt that impresses everyone and you get locked up like you’re James Miller.  (Google it.  Griffons don’t do footnotes.)

And not only have I been locked up but I have been put on drugs against my will.  

The drugs are something called Benadryl.  This concerned me greatly.  The only thing I knew about this drug was it was powerful enough to kill an immortal.  I learned that from Spalding who told it to Madame LaLaurie on American Horror Story Coven.  Well, if you are still with me after two obscure references I assume you’re going for the full ride so let’s get started

They got the drugs into me the dirtiest way possible.  They used cheese.  Drat the weakness us dogs have for cheese.  Then they corralled me and put me in my crate.  For the first 30 minutes I was nothing but pissed off and then:

Have you ever really looked at your paw?  Like, dude.  All your paws have these little dots on them, and they make patterns and sometimes the patterns spin, and it’s like wicked cool.  And your nails, they are like four little daggers man, and when you hold them up to the light, woo!

And have you ever watched your tail.  It just goes back and forth, back and forth.  And the more excited you get watching it the faster it goes.  It’s really cool.  Then, when you start getting tired, it slows down.  It’s awesome.

And have you ever stuck your tongue out so far that you can see it.  It’s red, and wet, and it moves in and out of your mouth, and these little bits of saliva fly off of it, and then just hang in the air like bubbles, and then just float to the ground like tiny butterflies.

The bar of my crates are silver, and they begin floating in front of me, like I can put my hand through them, and then the entire crate lifts off the ground and I begin to float over the house, but I am looking at myself in the crate, and then I’m up in the stars.  

And then I dozed off, woke up, and  it was 15 minutes after I first became fascinated with my paw.  I took a deep breath, and then went back to pushing on my crate door, panting, barking, and trying to escape.

But let me tell you, it was a great 15 minutes.

Sunday, January 26, 2014

Jake the Trailblazer is our January 26, 2014 Pup of the Week

A short while back I wrote about Jake.  He was picked by Amber, after she went to the Bridge, to help her Mom through Amber’s passing, and build new love in her Mom’s heart.  Jake came with both and aggression and health issues.  It was a struggle, but through that struggle Jake and his Mom found love and new memories.

We thought Jake had provided us with enough inspiration, but this week he took a chance for all of us and endured strenuous testing to prove that a long denied promised land could finally become available to us.

The world of chocolate.
On Thursday Jake took it upon himself to disprove the theory put forth by big chocolate and big assed humans, that chocolate is bad for dogs, by eating a dozen cookies his Mom had made with baker’s chocolate.

His Mom came home to find the crumbs, a guilty look on Jake’s face, and his Dad watching an SVU marathon not because he thinks Mariska Hargitay is hot but because he enjoys Ice T’s line reading.  She took to the Human Book for advice on what she should do after Jake had ingested the “poisonous” treats.

Jake’s Mom gave the pertinent facts:  He weighed 25 pounds and the vet’s office was closed.  Soon ideas abounded, and concerned posts slammed the Internet.  The consensus was that Jake should be forcefully given peroxide to induce vomiting.  Of course this was the human’s advice, the same humans who have been hoarding chocolate from us for years.  His Mom gave him the peroxide.  

Then the Human Book people told Jake’s Mom to get ready for the puking, that there would be a rumbling in his stomach and then a great deal of puking.  The entire Internet was waiting.  Jake burped, drank some water, played for awhile, Advice came in to give Jake another dose.  His Mom held off.  Jake burped again and took a nap.

The next day he got up, ate, took his normal poops, and looked for more chocolate.  Looking down on him I realized he had proved the humans wrong.   We can eat chocolate!  Jake risked his life to open the door for the rest of us to eat chocolate to our hearts delight.

I would suggest trying a small amount first to make sure you don’t get sick, but I see a day when we will be eating chocolate with every meal and Jake will be remembered as the Rosa Parks of dogs.

Of course it is going to be a long struggle.  Humans want to keep the chocolate for themselves and continue the myth that it is bad for us, but thanks to Jake, and the huge risk he took for us, we shall overcome.

Friday, January 24, 2014

Foley's Best Worst Christmas Ever

I didn’t know what to expect on my first Christmas at Rainbow Bridge.   When I was a wee pup Christmas was at our house and all my human brothers and sisters, and later their spouses and children, would come to our house.  But, as we started to grow older, Mommy and Daddy would go to their houses, and, after us pups exchanged gifts with our parents in the morning, it was mostly a crated experience  the rest of the day.

I was always bothered by this.  I love all my grandbabies and nothing made my heart more joyful than to see them ripping open their presents, sharing them with one another, and spreading Christmas magic to everyone around.  I don’t know why I wasn’t allowed to go when the gift opening moved from Mommy’s house.  I would have just sat on her lap and watched.  I am not a pee pee and boom boom machine like Pocket.  But that’s all water under Rainbow Bridge now.

This year I got to watch in the River of Life everything I would have missed on Earth.  First, I got to see Mommy have a mini melt down as the clock ticked down and she realized that she would not get the presents wrapped and food cooked in time to leave. Actually, this was something I saw every year, and was glad to pass on the tension.

Then, as Mommy tried to get ready, and the clock passed leaving time, Daddy began to pack the car filled with presents for their nine grandchildren.  With Mommy having bought eight gifts for each child that meant Daddy had to squeeze 72 gifts into a 2006 Honda Hybred.   I must admit it took a little Foley magic to get that done.

Mommy made it to our human brother’s house, only dropping her cupcakes twice, and then she was swarmed by her grandchildren, who ran to her like she was Mickey Mouse holding busted cupcakes.  Meanwhile Daddy made 36 trips back and forth to the car getting all the gifts out

Then there was eating, drinking, and talking, totally boring stuff.  I whisked down to whisper in Grandbaby Emily’s ear that she ask when it was time to open the presents, but I don’t think she needed my whisking to ask.  After several whisks and asks it was time for the present terrorizing to begin.

And it was.  My oldest human sister Kim took over the passing out of gifts, which she soon regretted, as she was swamped by nine gift deprived children who attacked her like she was Michonne and had just walked into a zombie classroom with fresh brains.

And that’s when I realized, even on the safety of Mommy’s lap, I did not want to be there.  Too much noise, too much chaos, too much trash that a little Yorkie could get confused with and end up in one of those big green bags.  When we had Christmas at our house the children were all small, now they were big, clumsy, and overcome with Christmas joy.

Even though I missed Mommy terribly, I enjoyed all the special Christmas celebrations here at the Bridge, and I enjoyed watching the opening of presents from the safety of the Bridge more than I would have from Mommy’s lap.  I could experience it, without being hurt but it.  

Being without my Mommy and family made this my worst Christmas, but being able to see the children’s joy made it the best worst Christmas ever.

Sunday, January 19, 2014

Roscoe and Katie are our January 19, 2014 Pups of the Week

All dog stories have a beginning and an end and here we spend a lot of time with the end so today let’s talk about two beginnings.

But to get to the beginning we have to start at the end.  Recently two wonderful friends joined me at the Bridge, Willie and Cassie.  While I was very happy to see them and get to spend more time with them they left huge holes in the hearts of their family members.  As I had with River, Willie and Cassie began to look for new dogs to build new love in the Mom’s hearts.

Cassie was the first to arrive at the Bridge, and the first to find a replacement but her Dad’s stubbornness almost waylaid her plans:  An ignored Jack Russell puppies for sale sign; an adoption day in front of a pet store ignored; a Jack Russell featured as adoptable pup of the week also ignored  

Cassie knew she needed help to get through to her Dad and contacted Uncle Bob, her vet, who sent her Dad  an e-mail about a wire haired Jack Russell in Georgia and a website where he could check them out.  Her Daddy was going through the motions of looking at them when Cassie whacked him upside the head as he passed a 12 month old female.  He went back to check the dog out.  While he was doing that Cassie went over to her Mom, lifted her Mom’s head towards her father’s computer screen so she could see the pup, and that was that.  Cassie’s Mom was in love and her replacement had been found.

Soon Cassie’s personally picked pup, Katie, had moved in with her dog deprived Dad and wonderful new memories were being created.  And Katie is carefully listening to Cassie so Katie will know what her Dad needs.  The paperwork may show that Katie was rescued by Cassie’s parents but the reverse is true.

And the same can be said for Roscoe, a rescue who was personally picked by Willie to take his place in his family and help his Mom recover from the loss of her beloved boy.

Willie, with help from his friend Shiloh of Shiloh’s Space, who gazed into the stars for answers, and found what Willie was looking for.  Willie then got Shiloh to influence her Mom into calling Willie’s Mom, and when she saw this young boy, Roscoe, she could feel Willie’s sweet breath on her neck, as he whispered the words “This is the one.”

Roscoe should make it, via transport, to Willie’s house, this week.  Jessie Belle will start teaching him the  ways of the house, and she and Willie will help mold him into the perfect pup  And like Katie, Roscoe will begin to create new pathways of love in his parents’ hearts, and heal some of the wounds.

So welcome home Katie and Roscoe.

And welcome to our very large pack.


Friday, January 17, 2014

River Song: High Flying and Adored

I am what is known as a velcro dog.  I always want to be near my humans, preferably keeping in physical contact with them at all times.  I hate being left alone and I suffer from what they call separation anxiety.  I am put in my crate, and when Mommy and Daddy return, the crate is on the other side of the room, and sometimes, in it, is the most offensive boom boom, that has been stepped in, kicked, and, seemingly, deeply rubbed into my fur.

Then came the projects:  The Taking Stinky River Outside Project; The Washing The Stink Off Of River Project; The Trying To Keep River In The Tub Project; The Cleaning The Offensive Boom Boom Remnants From the Crate Project.  The whole thing became quite a project.

After a boom boom incident Daddy had to take the crate apart.  When he put it back together the door did not line up correctly.  The next time I needed to be crated Mommy put me inside, and let go of the latch.  She had assumed the door was secure, but, a soon as I was left alone, I tested her assumption, and, by pushing enough, was free.

I then ran around the house looking for Mommy but she was nowhere to be found.  I went over to the kitchen window.  The blinds kept hitting my in the head.  So I jumped up and grabbed them with my teeth, pulling them down with a great crash.

Now I could see out the window without getting hit in the head.  But while I was ducking as the blinds hit the floor how did I know Mommy wasn’t on the porch?  So I went to the kitchen door, jumped high in the air, grabbed a hold of the blinds and pulled them down too. No Mommy on the porch.   I spent the rest of the day running from one window to the next looking until I finally saw Mommy.

She was quite upset to see me out of the crate, and even more upset that the blinds were on the ground, but, like all good Moms, she was happiest that I was safe.    That night she talked with Daddy and they decided the crate may be causing more problems that it was solving.

Then Daddy suggested getting a gate and keeping me in the laundry room.   They agreed it would have to be a high gate because I am an excellent jumper.  The next night Daddy bought a three and a half foot gate.  Everyone agreed it was too high for a six inch dog to jump over  The biggest concern was me putting my head through the slats so Daddy used the gate from my crate to make it impossible for me to get my head stuck.

They put me in the laundry room, behind the gate, with a bed, some water, and some toys.  I was not happy to be there.  I pushed, prodded and poked the gate before they left but could not escape.  Mommy and Daddy left confident that when they returned I would be still be in the laundry room, and, if I had boom boomed, I would not have trampled in it.

After they were gone I grew very excited.  I had to look out of the now blind free window and see where they were.  I stood on my back legs and jumped.  My paws touched the top of the gate.  I readied myself again, bent my back legs, and jumped again.  My paws touched the top of the gate.  I paced around and thought.  Then I got into position again.  I jumped, my paws hit the top of the gate, and then I pushed off my front paws, jumped the gate, and stuck the landing!

Once again I was free.  I bounced from the couch to the vibrating recliner to the table with the orchards, then back into the kitchen and up on the table.  There were no blinds now so I could look out the window, and jump on the couch and look out the back window,  Then the heat came on.  For some reason I became fascinated with it, and began to paw at the grates, lifting them off the floor.  Then I remembered Mommy and began to run from window to window.

And it was about that time that Mommy got home.  I was jumping up and down looking out the kitchen window.  Daddy said to Mommy “look in the window.”  and she turned to see my excited, smiling face.  She hurried inside (as much as Mommy can hurry) figuring that she would see that gate tipped over, but it stayed upright, leaving Mommy and Daddy flummoxed about my flying.

So now I am back in the crate.  I haven’t got out of it yet, but I keep banging my head against it and moving it across the room trying to get free.  There has been some talk about medication but I laugh at it  There isn’t a crate or gate that can hold me.  Next time you pass by my window, take a glance, and you will see me hopping.

Here’s a picture of little old me before I cleared the gate.  

I am high, flying and adored.

Sunday, January 12, 2014

Clint is our January 12, 2014 Pup of he week

I must say, while I was living on the mortal side of the Bridge, I was a pretty lucky pup.  I rarely had vet visits that weren’t my yearly checkup.  I went once for scotting my butt in the snow.  There was nothing wrong with me.  I just wanted to stop walking and knew scooting my butt would scare Mommy and Daddy, and they would carry me to the car so I didn’t hurt myself further.  Mission accomplished.  And once I popped out my front knee and screamed my little head off, but, by the time we got to the vet, my knee as back in place, and I was happy.  The only other time I made an unscheduled trip to the vet was for my parents to be informed my song was ending.

This week Clint got an unexpected trip to the vet and luckily the vet gave every indication that his song will continue.  But this is the story about why he had to go the the vet.

Clint began peeing more frequently and you know how our parents are about our bodily functions, any slight deviation from the norm is cause for great concern, while they could pee red for a week and shrug it off as something they picked up somewhere.  But I suppose its a good thing.  We can’t tell them when something tis wrong so they have to assume everything is always wrong.

Everything was normal while Clint was peeing, no dribbling, no straining, no burning, least as his Mom could tell.  But it was taking him longer to pee.  And he was going a lot.  

So his Mom took a urine sample (no backstory on how she got that but I think it’s easier with boys) and they drew blood from Clint (we know how they got that:  Ouch!) His Mom was very worried that Clint was in kidney failure, which would mean his song could be ending, or had diabetes, which could lead to blindness, insulin shots, and lots of money, so she asked her friends to put hands and paws together to pray for a good results and to give her strength because she didn’t think she would be dealing with age issues would come so soon.

And then, after endless waiting, came the news, no diabetes!  No kidney failure!  Nothing but a nasty urinary tract infection which is no fun but was a wonderful bit of news for all of us who prayed for a good result.  (Though for Clint there the constant peeing is a bit of a bother but the antibiotics should clear that up in no time.)

So here is to Clint, good health and answered prayers.

Sunday, January 5, 2014

A Pup Named Benjamin is our Pup of the Week

Although I don’t enjoy talking about it, each day, per my duties as a Judge in District A of Rainbow Bridge, I must go through the formality of swearing in dogs who have passed over from the mortal side of the River of Life to the eternal side.
Some of these dogs are happy, climbing the stairs from the Bridge cures them of everything that ailed them during their lives, and they are happy to leave the pain behind.  Others are sad about leaving their families, but, soon after being sworn in, when they meet their old pack and family members, those sad thoughts fade, the way a dream does the more you are awake.  And then there are those who are overjoyed because their Mommies, or their Daddies preceeded them across the River.

Some of the dogs were friends of mine when I frolicked on the mortal side, while others I become friendly with as we run through the giant fields, climb the mountains, or run through the quick dry puddles.  Usually the dogs I befriend after meeting for the first time at the swearing in are unknown to my Mommy, and, when I whisk down in her dreams to bring her for a short visit to the eternal side, I have to introduce them.

Which brings me to my new friend Benjamin.  A few days ago I saw this cute little beagle begin the climb.  He was quite hurt at he began his journey towards me and one of my clerks whispered to me that he had been hit by a car.  I shook my head sadly.  With each step he got better, until he arrived cured.

He was such a respectful and friendly chap I invited him back to my chambers.  He told me his name was Benjamin and he had a wonderful Mom named Rachel who he picked out be to his Mom when he was 8 weeks old.  His Mom was not able to have human children so Benjamin was her child.  He lived with his Mom like I did with mine, like peas and carrots, which no one can separate.  Their favorite activity was watching the sunrise together.

And then, after many happy years together, Benjamin knew his song was ending.  So he did what all Angels do, he looked for somepup to take care of his Mom, and found a precious pup named Bella.  Although she didn’t know why (no Moms under their pup’s influence do) she adopted Bella.  Shortly after that Benjamin was taken to the vets as the reason for his song ending was revealed:  He had cancer.

Three weeks later the Angels came to take Benjamin.  He said he didn’t want to go, but he was told each pup is only given so many heart beats and he had used his up.  Knowing it was time to go, and not wanting to cost his family with expense of the expensive last days of cancer, Benjamin took to the street, where he was clipped by a car, and whisked away by the angels.  

Benjamin and I have sat on the grassy knoll and discussed his decision.  He know his passing was horrific for his family.  Sudden, violent passing often is.  But he didn’t want his Mom to have to make the decision of when to let him go.  He hopes he was being compassionate.  It is so hard to be compassionate when you are parting with the love of your life.  

I think Benjamin’s heart was then, as it is now, pure.  He hopes his Mom understands.  He was out of heartbeats.  And when it comes to heartbeats the last one is nowhere near as important as the ones that came before, that beat in sync with your Mom.  But he doesn’t want his Mom to feel guilty about the way he passed over.    His time was up, he had to go, and there was nothing anyone could do about that.

So now Benjamin will do what I am doing.  When we were both on the mortal side of the Bridge we were our Mom’s Angels taking care of them, now we are at the Bridge and we look over them night and day.  And, like I have done with River, teaching her how to do all the things Mommy loves while not reminding Mommy too much of me, Benjamin will do with Bella.

And Benjamin’s Mom needs to remember he is always an angel on her shoulder.

Friday, January 3, 2014

After Years of Trying to Get Me to Pee Outside Now My Parents Want Me to Pee Indoors by Pocket

As many of you know I have struggled most of my life with housebreaking.  I blame it on a small bladder and weak muscles.  Foley would give me a look of disgust and mutter about how unprofessional I was whenever I leaked on the carpet.  She took great pride in peeing outside, even in the worse weather, unless someone pissed her off, then she pissed on.

When River arrived she came with a fresh set of pee pads, having been trained to pee in the house, which seemed silly to me, because peeing in the house came naturally to me, no training required.  But the key was peeing on those two little pads in the hallway, and when I tried, I was like 5 0’clock Charlie, off by more than a lot.

I am a follower by nature, as long as the following occurs in doors  While I was not very good at following Foley outside to pee, I am very good at following River inside to pee, except while she pees on the pads, I am peeing on the floor.  (In my defense River is not very good at sharing the pee pads, she tends to take up the entire square.  She can’t spare a square, she doesn’t have a square to spare.)

I am trying very hard to get things right.  But I do get confused easily.  When I make boom booms in the house I do them on the pads and think I did good, but I am told that is bad (but could be worse.)  When I don’t make pee pees on the pads I get in trouble.  I think it would be better if we came up with better words for these bodily functions, perhaps short, four letter ones, I could keep them straight.

I like to pee under the kitchen table.   I can hide when I do it, and I alway hope that no one will find it, even though someone always finds it.  Daddy says if they put a pee pad under the table then I would pee on the pad, but Mommy disagrees, I am afraid she is right.

So I make up my mind that I am only going to pee on the ground.  Then comes a cold  or wet day and Daddy has me on the porch trying to make me pee on those two little pads which makes me nervous, especially if River has already peed on it.  It’s not nice to pee on someone else’s pee.

Now I am living in the Bizarro world.  When the weather is bad I am brought out on the porch, leashed up, and, instead of being taken outside, I am brought over to the pads, on the floor, where I am not supposed to pee, and I am told to pee, which I would do, if I wasn’t on a leash and Daddy wasn’t looking at me.  It’s like robbing a bank in front of the guard.  It goes against the natural world.
We had a big snowstorm recently, and, with much prodding, each time I needed t pee, I went on the porch and peed on the pads.  My feet may not touch blessed Earth until spring.  

Foley came to me in a dream and told me it was ironic, I could pee on two pads but not on the entire Earth.

She might be right.  Won’t be able to tell until Spring.  And when I find out what ironic means.

Poetry Thursday

  It is a new segmant of  Angel Sammys and Teddys Pawetaton  in pictures….here is the photoi followed by my poem.  Who can take bananas? Pil...