Tuesday, September 30, 2014

Pocket and River Have Differing Views of Cousin Neely's Visit

Pocket: Neely came, Neely went, and mostly, I yawned.  Last year when Neely stayed here I hated him.  I hid under chairs, never left Mommy’s side, my insides turned to water, it was a terrible situation.  Meanwhile, Foley either laughed at me or yawned.  Mommy anticipated the same thing this year.  And with me having digestion issues Mommy forecast nothing but disaster.  But I’m a big girl now, the leader of the pack, and I am now confident in my position in  my Mom’s heart, so, after a fit of initial barking, I mostly ignored the little bugger.
River:  Neely came and I hated him.  Who the hell was this guy?  Why are they bringing other dogs into the house?  Are they dissatisfied with my work?  Shouldn’t I have gotten some sort of warning?  The last time I was with a male in a house I ended up pregnant and then on the street.  I did not want this to happen again.
Pocket:  Neely had that faucet shut off a long time ago.  Mostly he’s just a big lovable goof ball who was missing his family.  I let him play ball with me in the morning and he didn’t hog the ball like River does when she plays with me, and he never attacked me in my sleep like River does, or get all defensive about her food like River does.
River:  That thing came walking in here like he owned the place, chewing my toys, sitting in my chair, and continually giving me the “How you doin’ look!”  And while Pocket didn’t have a bad poop the entire time he was here my appetite disappeared and I had to be fed separately and begged to eat.  That is not me.  Then, the last day he was here, he crapped all over the house, like he was going through something stressful.  Far from a model guest.
Pocket:  There was only one thing I cared about, that he stayed off my Mom’s lap, and he respected that.  He did spend a lot of time face licking Daddy, I think he almost ripped his lip off, but that’s OK.  Daddy was willing to lose a lip to keep peace in the house.  Anyone is welcome in the house as long as they stay off Mommy’s lap.
River:  I believe that dog took us to the edge of disaster.  Thank God we are back to Mommy, Daddy, Pocket and me.  And I am back to being the biggest dog in the house.  I hope I never see that dog again.
Pocket:  Can’t wait until Neely comes back in April.

Sunday, September 28, 2014

Cooper is our September 28, 2014 Pup of the Week

Some dogs arrive at the Bridge unexpected, some arrive on schedule, and some always seem to be on the cusp of arrival.  Cooper was one of those dogs.  He was expected here several times during my tenure, and it is my understanding he was expected even before I arrived.
During his short life Cooper survived IMHA, Polycythemia, and hypothyroidism, but when a large mass was discovered in his chest there was no avoiding his fate. Despite thousands of prayers, and a herculean effort by his Mom, Cooper joined me at the Bridge Thursday.
Cooper was only five years old when he passed, the same age that my first sister Blake was when my parents lost her.  Converted to human that’s 35 years, a very short life span.  I think that’s why dog age gets converted to human years.  It’s not important that I passed at 91 or that Tommy passed at the human age of 119, but when you learn that Cooper was just 35 it becomes clear how tragic his passing was.
Hundreds of Cooper’s friends were there to greet him when he finally arrived at the Bridge.  Any dog tough enough to avoid the Calling as long as Cooper had is very respected here.  While happy he was no longer in pain, feeling better than he had any time in his mortal life, he was still very concerned about his Mom.  “When you are a sick dog,” he said, “which I was for most of my life, you become so close to your Mom.  You cling to her for life, and she gave up everything, money, time, her own health, for me  And I left her,” he said with a slight sob.  We all hugged him, and then quickly got him fitted for his wings then flew him up to Tommy’s so he could watch over his Mom.
But, as I sat there and watched his still grieving family, I made other plans.  Plans that I was told I should never make again.  But I am a Yorkie, a Terrier, and I just can’t help doing things I’m not supposed to do.  I grabbed Cooper and told him we had someone else to meet and then I had him fly with me straight up the mountain.
We landed outside the Big Guy’s castle.  Cooper said he would wait outside but I took him by the paw and lead him inside.  Like a good boy Cooper sat and put his head down.  I walked right up and stood at the foot of The Big Guy’s desk.
“Welcome Cooper,” the Big Guy said, ignoring me.  “I hope you found everything here to your satisfaction.” Cooper just nodded.  “I am sorry for the circumstances that brought you here.  We strive to have every being we send to Earth be perfect, but sometimes a few cells are calculated incorrectly and that’s all it takes.  I am very sorry.  But usually, when that happens, other cell changes happen, and that is why, from everything I have heard about you,  you are the perfect dog.”
Cooper again nodded and then the Big Guy asked him to come around to his side of the desk and sit in his lap. (Dear Aunt Foley:  Have you ever been asked to go around to the other side of the bed and sit in The Big Guy’s lap? Answer:  Nope, not once.)  Cooper did as he was instructed and climbed up on his lap.  The Big Guy then took a measuring stick and measured my friend then jotted down some numbers.
“According to my calculations,” he said  “in your five years you have received 18 years of love.  Your life may have been short, but if you measure your life in love, you lived a good long life.  There are many dogs in shelters, or bad homes, who live into their teens, but don’t experience a year of love.  So when we measure a year in a life, how about love?”
Cooper thanked him, and the Big Guy told him to hurry back down to Tommy’s house.  I nodded to him as he went by, and stayed at the bottom of the desk, tapping my paw.  
“Yes Foley?” he asked.
“Measure in love?”  I asked.  “That was from the musical Rent!  Have you been reduced to quoting Broadway shows?”
“I created music, I created the composer, so I believe that I can safe quote the show, which is about people living with, living with, living with, not dying from disease.”
“You just quoted it again!” I said, suspecting the Big Guy was cleverly distracting me with showtunes.
“That particular musical is about young people, suffering illnesses, but making the best of life, knowing they only have a short time left.  I think it is apropos..  Plus the young man who wrote that musical, he died, at the age of 35, which, if my calculations are correct, would have made him five in dog years. So, the young man who cleverly suggested to measure your life in love, had the same lifespan as Cooper. So, the next time you come up here to complain about the death of someone so young, instead of measuring their lives in years, measure it in love.”
I knew it was time to leave.  I slowly made my way down the mountain thinking of what the Big Guy said. Maybe we should measure our time in love and not in seconds, minutes, hours, and years.   We certainly would consider that we lived a long time if we did.
But more seconds, minutes, hours and years would be nice.

Friday, September 26, 2014

Ask Aunt Foley

Dear Aunt Foley:  I heard my Mom tell my Dad that my Grandfather kicked the bucket.  I looked at the bucket and it hadn’t been kicked. What’s going on?  - Copernicus.
Dear Copernicus:  I am sorry to tell you this my friend but your Grandfather has joined me here at the Bridge.  Humans don’t do a very good job dealing with the ones they love crossing over and sometimes they invent terms to make it easier to deal with.  Kick the bucket is one of those terms.
I had my minions look into the origin of the phrase.  There are many answers.  Some say it comes from when humans hung themselves, they would stand on a bucket, and kick it to induce their falling and choking to death.  Another claim is that pigs, before being slaughtered were hung from a beam, where they would kick and struggle. This beam was commonly called the bucket.  A third theory is from an old Catholic funeral custom. A bucket of holy water was placed by the feet so mourners could sprinkle holy water on the corpse.  Although I would imagine in such instance if the bucket was kicked the death of the corpse may have been overly reported.
Once again I think my research shows that humans are a pretty messed up bunch.  But there are lots of reasons that humans do this.  When something hurts them humans use humor as a way to deal with it.  This is one of the healthiest ways to handle it, existing in that land between laughs and tears.
The good news is that you don’t have to fear the bucket. You can kick the bucket all over the house and don’t have to worry about anything bad happening to you.  Just don’t stand on the bucket.  Those things aren’t too sturdy.
And your grandfather is happily with us here, where he enjoys himself like he was a young boy again, although I must admit, the sound of him running around the school yard kicking a bucket in the air is rather annoying.

Wednesday, September 24, 2014

Tuesday, September 23, 2014

The answer is River by River Song

I have read so many sad blogs about pups who have passed to the Bridge.  Sometimes this question is asked:  W hat does a broken hearted pup parent have to do to feel better? For my Mom the answer was simple.  River Song.

When Foley went to the Bridge my Mom was crushed.  Foley’s love for her was like a huge skyscraper, and when Foley left that skyscraper collapsed leaving a big void in her heart.  And there was no way to rebuild the Foley skyscraper.  Her heart would be in ruins forever.

Mommy always enjoyed the Brussels Griffons at the groomers.  She asked if the groomers knew of any breeders, and she was told that I had recently had a litter and my current owner was looking for a new home for me.    Even though Mommy wasn’t ready for a dog, she decided to take me.  As soon a she saw me she fell in love, and I began building a new skyscraper of love in her heart.

But there was trouble building it.  You see while Mommy loved me she began to feel guilty.  Was it right to love me so much so soon after Foley’s passing?   Foley would come down and visit Mommy in her dreams and tell her that she was very happy that Mommy found a new puppy and she should put away those thoughts of guilt.

But still Mommy had those bad feelings that she was being disloyal to Foley.  I think lots of parents go through this.  They can’t help feeling that they are replacing a soul they loved with all their heart with another, and they should hold that love in reserve.  But nothing is further from the truth.

First, there are lots of dogs out there that need wonderful Moms.  For you wonderful Moms who are living every moment with a giant hole in your chest I know it is so hard for you to think about taking another dog into your house,  but out there tonight is a dog who needs a great Mom like you, who is living without love.  You won’t fix the large structure broken in your heart, but reaching out to this dog, bringing the pup home, and being the wonderful dog Mom you are to this pup will do you both a world of good.

That part of your heart broken by your loss will never be fixed.  It’s like having your home leveled by a tornado and your belongings lost.  You will build a new home, you will get new belongings, and you will treasure new things, but you will never get back what you lost.

My Mom has a new home, and it’s named River Song.  

Sunday, September 21, 2014

Dogs Dealing With Time are Our Pups of the Week

I am going to allow give you another secret about Rainbow Bridge.  There is no time here, no clocks, no days.  Since we are here for eternity there is no need to get anything done by a certain point.  When there are millions of tomorrows putting things off until then doesn’t seem to be a big deal.
But on the mortal side of the Bridge Time is a constant companion.  One that never stops moving:  It keeps going, at the same madingley steady pace, and when you stop paying attention, or even if you are paying the closest attention possible, this companion  known as Time steals what you love until the day comes when it’s cold hand reaches for you, and sends you to me, and your loved ones, here on the immortal side of life.
No matter how much you search for solitude you will never be alone because Time is always there, and with each methodical step a grain of your life slips away.  Sometimes, when you are walking alone at night, you hear it’s footfalls.  Sometimes when you are sitting alone you feel it’s cold presence pass near you and sometimes you see it, just out of the corner of you.
When a pup you love starts getting older, a bit slower, a bit grayer, or worse, sicker,  Time walks a bit closer to you and you become more aware of him.  You want to reach over, grab Time, make him stop but you can’t, he keeps looking straight ahead, taking the same measured step stealing those special moments you need to treasure.
I think there is nothing harder than knowing that Time is near, and you so want to stop it, so you have more time.  But Time keeps moving, and the days are getting shorter, the sun is setting earlier, and the end is in sight.
Time becomes your enemy.  You hate it, because with each step Time inches closer to taking your beloved.  “Stop,” you want to scream.  “Show some compassion, show kindness, just give a moment, one moment when I know you aren’t there.”  But Time shows no emotion, no empathy, until He runs out.
Humans on the mortal side of life say they do thing to pass the Time, but you can never pass Time, never get ahead of it, you do things to ignore Time, to hush those fateful footsteps, to keep him out of the corner of your eye.  We must all find ways to ignore Time, if not it will drive us all quite mad.
My only advice to you from my lofty perch at the Bridge is to not walk in step with Time, but to run, to dance, to enjoy Time, even when it’s running out.  Stop for a minute, to hug and hold your pup while Time keeps going.  You can’t stop Time, all you can do is enjoy it’s passage.
Enjoy every second with those you love and soldier on when Time takes what you love, until what he takes reunites one day again.

Friday, September 19, 2014

Ask Aunt Foley

Dear Aunt Foley:  I went to work with Dad last week.  Sometimes he comes home from work, and he’s tired and cranky, but from what saw all he does is sit behind the desk, talk on the phone, and play on the computer.  What’s up with that?  - Katie

Dear Katie:  Oh the work thing. Humans make so much about the work thing.  They’re tired, they’re frustrated, they’re depressed, and then, like you did, you go to work with them, and you find out that they work with wonderful people who brighten up when you come in the room, and are happy to see you.  So the answer to office crankiness is easy.  We should go to work everyday.

But we are not fools.  If we are going to go to work everyday we should get rewarded for our efforts.  Every company should have a dog walker, a playroom for us, and a lunch room where home cooked food is made.  For these slight additions we will bring peace and harmony to an office.

All this stress that our parents complain about at work would be quickly dissipated with a look into our deep brown eyes, a stroke of our fur.  Those outsiders visiting the office would immediately be put at ease by our welcoming presence.  

Plus, of course, this works for us too, as we no longer would be left alone.  We can just as easily lie in a chair in our parents’ office as we can lie lonesome in a chair in our houses.  Just as long as the company remembers to buy an extra chair.

I still have to work out what to do with dogs who have parents that work outside but being outside is better than being inside, and if your parents job is in transportation we are real good at riding in cars.  If humans could just open their minds a bit their job stress would drop way down.

So a big tip of the tail to your Dad for being ahead of the curve and taking you to work. He may have started a revolution.  

Tuesday, September 16, 2014

Britney Spears: Dog Mom of the Year?

I was flipping through some newspapers the other day when I saw that Britney Spears had spent $31,235.15 on her dogs last year.  I was ready to proclaim that Britney Spears was the best dog Mom in the world.  But before I proclaimed I asked the wisest beings I knew, the owls, to investigate how she spent this money.

What they reported back to me was shocking.  I had imagined the pop diva savant going to animal shelters and spending the money she duped from tone deaf millenniums to better the lives of dogs in need everywhere.  Unfortunately she lived down to my previously conceived impressions.

In January Ms Spears spent $5,568 on what TMZ referred to as a white Malteste.  Well there you go.  I know $5,568 is a lot of money for a Maltese but you got to spend extra if you want a white one.  Such actions can force you to sell your NBA team but doesn’t stop you from posting selfies with your $5,568 dog balancing on your fake boobs.

And then she spent $8,212 on a Yorkie.  I cost my parents $300.00.  Of course that was 14 years ago.  With inflation I would probably cost about $375.00 now.  So that Yorkie is worth like  Foleys?  Oh I don’t think so.  That dog isn’t even worth a couple of hundred Pockets.

Of course I shouldn’t blame the $8,000 Yorkie.  She was probably a $3,000 Yorkies top.  But when you are dumb, and you have money, you will pay just about anything for something you want.  It’s what is known as being good for the economy.  She also spent $1,585.00 on clothes for a dog but you can’t have a rare white Maltase and an $8,000 Yorkie wearing off the rack.

I hope that someone will be able to talk to Ms Spears and tell her how much the Dogs of Brazil could have done with that $31,000, or some of the other rescues across North America instead of going to a greedy breeder.  And if she would allow me in her dreams about lollypop princesses and unicorns I could tell her that she could get a Yorkie, and yes, even a white maltese for free.  All she has to do is look.  Or pay someone to look at shelters, and then she could give all the money to needy dogs.

Sigh.  I don’t think this is going to happen.  I just read a woman named Paris Hilton spent $18,000 on a single dog.  I tell you, I got 99 problems and bithces are two of them.

Sunday, September 14, 2014

Hagan, Greta and Nike are our September 14, 2014 Pups of the Week

I have been visiting Dr Freud lately.  Nice gentlemen.  Comfortable furniture.   Pipe smells great.  He’s coked up half the time but who am I to Judge?  The Big Guy sent me to him.  He seems to think I have anger issues. I think I have done a wonderful job controlling my temper, until this week.  “Serenity now, serenity now.” he taught me to say when I get upset.

I got summoned to the Bridge.  I looked down to see Hagan climbing towards me.  I felt my anger rising.  I had flown so many prayers for Hagan up to the Big Guy.  There were an army of angels flying up Hagan’s prayers.  The last we had heard the answer to the prayers had been yes.  Then suddenly, without warning, the answer was no, and Hagan was separated from his beloved parents.  Serenity now.

I asked Hagan what went wrong.  “I know my friends prayed for me to get better, unfortunately the answer was no, but I said a prayer of my own, that I could feel better for just a few more days so I could spend some extra time with my parents.  Those prayers were answered yes.  And I am so thankful they were answered because my parents and I treasured those days.”

I understood but still felt gypped that so many friends thought Hagan would be all right when the opposite was true.  I could not let him see me angry.  It was unprofessional.  So I swore him in, then I hugged him and told him how sorry I was he had to leave his family.  I quickly got him fitted for his wings, gave him some flying lessons, and then led him up to Tommy’s who awaited with a huge plate of chicken and steak, plus a bowl of popcorn.

I was settling in to watch his family cope with his loss and give Hagan encouraging words when my beeper went off again.  Another pup friend was arriving.  I flew to my post and saw a pug climbing the stairs.  I wasn’t sure who it was at first until she introduced herself.  She was Greta from the http://idahopugranch.blogspot.com/.  I was surprised.  She was still a pup.  I asked her what happened and she told me she got sick after eating a mushroom and she passed over.  I gave her a hug and told her that she could eat anything on the ground now, run, play and never have to worry about getting sick or injured.  I got her wings, helped teach her how to fly, and took her to Tommy’s to meet all my friends.  I promised her she would never be alone again.  And then my pager went off.

I had to go back to my spot on the Bridge again and I was getting mad.  Serenity now.  Serenity now.  That’s when I saw Nike.  Just a little pup.  So young she was born after I passed over.  I swore her in, fitted her for her wings, and then asked how she passed over.  She told me she went running downstairs to her doggy door when suddenly flood water poured in, caught her, and she got sucked her right through the door.  By the time her Mom got to her she was gone.

There would be no serenity now but I couldn’t scare this puppy so I flew her too up to Tommy’s place.  Thankfully, like the ground at the Bridge, Tommy’s mansion keeps expanding, which is good because we certainly need the room.  Then I flew straight up the mountain.

I reached the Big Guy’s cloud and I just stormed in.  The Big Guy dropped his quill pen, rubbed his temples and muttered “Oh me.”  He waited a minute while I stood on his rug, on my back legs, my arms folded, one paw tapping on the floor.  “Yes Foley?” he asked.

“I have tried to remain calm,” I said quickly.  “I have done my breathing exercises, repeated my mantra, and it was working.  I know you promised Hagan’s parents he would be all right then went back on your word, but Hagan explained that he made a deal with you to stay a little while longer.  So fine.  Then little Greta was just in her yard, ate something she shouldn’t have, and bang, she gets sent here.  OK.  I understand.  LIttle dogs make mistakes.  But Nike!  A puppy!   Dies in a flood!  In the middle of the freaking desert!  You make a flood in the middle of the desert and a puppy gets swept away in it and what, it will all make sense some day?”

“Yes,” he said.

“Well I have been her more than a year and it doesn’t make any sense to me!” I barked.

“It’s not someday yet Foley.”

“And when does it come?”  He didn’t answer, and I knew his answer would be someday.  These trips were really getting to be useless.  I turned to leave when he called my name.

“You have many friends that you have me on the Internet have you not?”

I said I did.

“In fact these friends have enriched your life immensely have they not?”  I agreed.  “Do you know why I invented the Internet?” he asked.

“Al Gore invented the Internet!” I said.

“Well In invented Al Gore,” he said.  See, I knew I could get him to admit a mistake.  “And the Internet was invented to bring people together.  People have used it for other things, people often misuse my gifts, but you and your friends used it correctly and now you have a large, loving family do you not?”

I just nodded.

“So right now you, and your family on the mortal side of life, along with many others, have a family reaching around the world, all ready to give love, support, humor, understanding, more than even their biological families give is that true?”

My silence was affirmation.

“So your complaint is that you have lost so much because you have so much to lose?  Would you rather you have nothing to lose, no friends around the world, no love, no support, no understanding?  You wouldn’t be angry right now, all these dogs would still be here, even the one who drowned in a flood at the desert, you just wouldn’t know any of them, and their parents would not be getting any love and support right now instead of the cards, the gifts, and the love they are getting.  Which would you rather have?”

I sadly nodded, too proud to admit he had a point, that the Internet had given us all wonderful families, but, with the best of families there is lots of pain and sorrow and turned to leave.

“Please prepare yourself Foley, there will be more senseless deaths, more hearts broken, and I need you and your friends to help heal them.”

I looked back and nodded just as my beeper went off, and while I hoped it wasn’t a friend, I knew it would be someone who left behind broken hearted parents, and hopefully us angels would be able to heal the pain of the broken hearted.

Friday, September 12, 2014

Ask Aunt Foley

Dear Aunt Foley: I would like to know why it is that our mom and dad's feel the need to pick up our poo after we have relieved ourselves. I mean if I so much look at another dog's poo my mom throws hysterics - but there she is, quite happy to shout at dad to go pick my poo up before it's even been allowed to cool.  Don't they realise I am just leaving my calling card to warn the neighbourhood that I was there OR what they are doing is an invasion of my privacy (not the least to say disgusting!)
(I would have also loved to ask why they also feel the need to defecate in MY 'water bowl' too but as I don't drink from that vessel in the bathroom, I can't BOL)
Yours, Mr Bemused from London
Dear Mr Bemused:  Humans are poo obsessed and I am afraid I can’t tell you why.  Personally I think it’s a sick obsession.  Once I got bored, found a wax ear plug and ate it.  When I pooed these long strings of wax came out.  If was cool.  But Daddy thought they were worms.  He and Mommy dissected my poo.  They took pictures of it and sent it through the tubes that make up the Internet to Aunt Jodi.  They spent an entire night on one stool until they figured out it was wax.  It was my poo  They had no right to post it on the Internet.  I was violated in a way only Jennifer Lawrence could understand.
And now Pocket is getting the fecal exam.  Every three or four days, after breakfast, Pocket has diarrhea.  She goes two or three times, blows everything out, and is fine for a few days.  Now I lived with my parents for 13 years.  The bathroom is right off the bedroom, where I slept, where I came to play with my toys.   I heard what went on in there and I don’t believe that any human in my house went more than three days without almost blowing a hole in the back of the toilet.  But no one cared.  Just flushed it away.  But they watch Pockett’s poop like she’s giving birth.  They rejoice when it’s a good poo poo and get very upset when it’s a bad poo poo.  Pocket doesn’t care.  She just poos, looks for the flush handles, doesn’t see one, and looks for food.  But my parents study Pocket’s poo, then decide what they should feed her, if she needs some supplements, if they should change the food.   One night Daddy was on his hands and knees studying the poo.  The next morning, after a good poo, he brought it in to show Mommy like it was a prized possession.   Their entire life revolves around her poop.  Luckily Pocket has had three good poo days so hopefully the examining is over.
But their own poop?  Well first of all, while they show ours to everyone, and bring it to the vet’s without our permission they don’t want anyone to take theirs.  “I don’t give a $hit” I hear them say.  They have the $hit, but they are not giving it to anyone.  “And I’m not taking their $hit” they yell.  Well, why would they want to (even though they have no problem taking our $hit.)  There are $hit storms, people up to heir neck in $hit, the $hits hitting the fan, they wonder who gives a $hit while apparently the answer is everyone.  They have to stop being so obsessed with $hit.  Really, the humans have to get their $hit together.
And you are so right, we go on the lawn, they run out there and pick it up.  Another dog goes in our yard and they clutch one another and look at it in fear like someone just dumped plutonium in the middle to their property.  They even put up signs of dogs in the squat position with the word no through it so dogs won’t go in their yard.  I think people should carry these around and when someone says something obvious they can hold them up because they literally mean “No $hit.”
As for our water bowl, I could never reach it, but River can and she says what they do to a bowl of water is a disgrace.  But don’t ask them to move it.  They will tell you the don’t “give a $hit.”

Thursday, September 11, 2014

Pocket's a Rat by River Song

Every house has their own routines and we quickly become accumulated to it..  On Saturday mornings we get up early and Daddy goes to work.  As soon as he is gone we climb into Mommy’s recliner, she puts the legs up, and pushes back and we take a long nap.  If she doesn’t get in her recliner quickly enough we walk behind her whining.
Some of our routines aren’t as much fun.  Just before we go to bed we get our teeth brushed.  I hate having my teeth brushed.  The toothbrush is bigger than my mouth.  Plus I have perfectly white teeth not like my sister who has let her teeth become full of tartar.  I understand her getting brushed but why should I?
Pocket goes first and I go hide.  We love in a single sized modular home.  It’s a freaking one level tube. Not a lot of places to hide, but there are knooks and cranies and I am small.  I squeeze myself in and hope for the best.
The Pocket comes tearing out of the bathroom looking for me.  When she finds me she narcs me out, barking her little head off.  Daddy follows her and I twist and turn trying to disappear up my own butt.  But small dogs have small butts and I am soon scooped up and face a good 15 seconds of tooth brushing hell.
I am stunned by this.  As a lawyer Pocket should know that you never rat anyone out.  And Daddy won’t let me touch her, he insists that Pocket is a confidential informant but there is not much confidential when the confidential dog is running around barking her head off.  And I am a victim of tooth abuse.
Someday I must repay my sister by turning rat on her.  Here’s hoping for impacted anal glands.

Wednesday, September 10, 2014

Nearly Wordless Wednesday

Hi.  See that butterfly?  That's me:  Foley Monster.  I picked out the prettiest form I could find and flew down to visit Mommy, Pocket and River while Mommy trimmed the butterfly bush.  Aren't I beautiful? 

Sunday, September 7, 2014

Barnum is our September 7, 2014 Pup of the Week

There are not many dogs I meet at the top of the stairs leading from the Bridge who arrive wearing a hood so they can’t be seen, but Barnum did that, and like so many things Barnum did, he did it for others.  He did not think that the Tommy had received adequate mourning time and he did not want his friends to know he had arrived.  The swear in ceremony was done in secret.
“Foley, can I hide in your place for a few days so no one knows I’m here?” Barnum asked me.
“We could, or we could go to some place real fun,” I said.  And then we flew high up in the air to the Tunes’ Mansion.
Tommy opened the door and hugged Barnum and welcomed him.  Tupper, Max, Raider, Willie, and so many friends came over to him, licking and biting him.   He was overwhelmed at all the friends who were with him.  Tommy then ordered the TV remote changed saw Barnum could see his Mom.
We all gathered around Barnum.  Tears came to his eyes when he saw his brother Bailey.  The two of them could only be separated by one thing and sadly they were experiencing it.  On the television Bailey sat with his Mom, both staring out the window, thinking of the dog who was sadly watching them from Tommy’s couch.
Another beagle came running over when he saw Barnum’s Mom on the TV.  It was Chauncey, Barnum’s sibling who had been with us at the Bridge for years.  We left them alone as they watched their Mom.  She was telling Bailey how worried she was that Barnum would be alone at the Bridge.
“Oh Mom,” Barnum said looking around at the dozen of friends that were gathered around him.  Tommy handed him a hot dog from the grill and he scoffed it down.  “If only you could see me and my wonderful friends, you would know that I am not the one alone, I am the one who left you and Bailey alone, and for that I am sorry.”
I hopped up next to him (hopping up is much easier when you have wings.)  I told him that we could visit his Mom and Bailey in their dreams. Bailey would remember, but his Mom wouldn’t, which wasn’t fair but is one of the Big Guy’s rules.  When you’re an angel, and you visit your Mom in her dreams, even if your mom can’t remember your visit, she will feel a little better about her day.
That night we did go visit.  His Mom could barely remember his presence the next morning, but Bailey knew his brother was with friends, and he could stop worrying about Barnum being alone and start taking care of his Mom.
After the dream visit I brought Barnum up to his cloud and we discussed both having met Pokey and what a wonderful gentleman he was, and how much he enjoyed meeting my wonderful parents and even Pocket and River.  He told me all about all the dogs who gathered at Miss Laura’s house last year.  I was very jealous.  I missed it by just a few months.
But I knew Barnum had been touched by my Mom because he had just the smallest bit of her scent.  That made me feel so good.  I think he thought it was strange I spent so much time sniffing him but when you are at the Bridge a scent of Mom is a rare and treasured gift.
As I was leaving Barnum’s house on his cloud more and more of his friends were pouring into the house and I smiled because I knew a dog with as many friends as Barnum would never be lonely at the Bridge.

Friday, September 5, 2014

Ask Aunt Foley: Do Trees Go to Heaven

Dear Aunt Foley:  We had a wonderful weeping willow tree in our backyard for years.  All us dogs all the way back to Angel Apollo dug holes under it, lay under it on hot days, treed squirrels in it, and watched our grandparents reaffirm their vows under it.  But it became too large and it’s roots spread out so far that it squashed the sewer line and needed to come down.  Do trees go to Rainbow Bridge?  - Napa Michael

Dear Napa Michael:  Is that the beautiful tree that just popped up by Apollo’s cloud yours?  My gosh what a wonderful tree.  I was sitting with a bunch of my friends under that tree today.  Apollo said he thought it was his favorite tree Weeping Walter and gosh darnit he was right.

The rules of the Bridge are very simple.  If you are loved you come to the Bridge.  And anything can be loved which is why we have so many beautiful flowers and trees here.  Nothing ever dies Napa Michael.  They just come here and wait.

One of the most amazing things to see is when a tree comes to the Bridge.  The land on the immortal side of the Bridge is always growing, because more and more beloved come every day.  But a tree is about the biggest beloved that just appears.  When Weeping Walter arrived Apollo and were lying snuggled up together in the sun when suddenly we were split apart, Apollo travelling east while I went west.  We didn’t know what was happening.  Then there was a big rumbling beneath us and we ran away until the ground started shaking.  Then Weeping Walter just sprung up from the ground fully formed.

All us dogs gathered underneath it, marvelling at it’s beauty.  That’s when Apollo said he thought it was Weeping Walter but I thought it was way too beautiful to be in an ordinary yard.  I figured it came from a palace.  But I should have known it came from a back yard because, the way it stood, I could tell it was a well taken care of family tree.

So Napa Michael Weeping Walter is waiting here for you, and for all your family members, waiting until some day you can all gather underneath it like you did for your grandparents vows, and be a family together again.

Until then Apollo and I will keep that tree good company

Tuesday, September 2, 2014

Mom vs The Birds by Foley Monster

Mommy is mad at the birds and this is causing all sorts of problems for me.  You all know how hard Mommy works in her gardens.  She likes everything perfect.  Daddy does too.  But he also likes to feed the birds.  And birds are very sloppy eaters.  Their seed falls to the ground and causes weeds.

Mommy hates that they cause weeds but she begrudgingly let’s Daddy feed the birds.  Now the birds are trying  to get sweet nectar from her flowers and, when they do they are knocking petals to the ground. Plus, after eating at the feeder they are using her car as a restroom.  .  Not even I was allowed to do that.  She has had it with the birds.

And this is bad news for me. Because birds bring your prayers to me, and also do poop bombs on bad people who deserve crappy birdie karma (if you find a big bird poop stain on your windshield ask yourself what dog in the neighborhood did you anger?)

I was unaware of the strife Mommy was causing in the bird community until a group flew up to my cloud (birds are the only beings that can cross the River of Life because they can fly which is why flightless birds like penguins act so pissed off all the time.)  They accused my Mommy of being an anti-birdete.

I could not have that.  I called my Mommy up for a dream meeting with the birds.  It did not go well.  Birds and Moms are very stubborn.  But after a couple hours of seed picking it was decided that Mommy would make the garden around the feeder into a small garden mostly with rocks and statues so the bird feed did not fall and make weeds.  There was one hitch.

Part of the plan was moving St Anthony under the bird feeders.  He has always been a friend to animals and I thought he would be happy but you wouldn’t believe how angry Saints get about having birds crap on their heads.  I told Mommy it might be better just to leave things the way they are.

Not only did she move St Anthony, but then they decided to move the bird feeders to the back pine tree.  Well the birds were up in wings about this.  The term bird brained comes from the fact that birds do not have big brains.  While the tree with the feeder is directly behind the tree the feeders were hanging from the birds could not find the feeders.  I asked my Mommy to make big arrows out of rocks pointing to the back tree so the birds could find them but she said it would mess up her grass.

Some of the birds have found their way to the feeder recently and I am hoping that this means the turf war is over.

Unless someone poops on St Anthony.

Being an angel ain’t easy

Monday, September 1, 2014

Tommy Tunes Induction Into the DS Hall of Fame

As you know today I planned to start a group on DS called the “Tommy Tunes Hall of Fame Group.”  Well, apparently I can’t start a group because I don’t have a wolf badge.  Do they still badges here?  Anyway if anyone has a wolf badge and could start the group for me I would appreciate it.

Also if anyone is good at photoshop and can take Tommy’s picture, and put it on a plaque, with the words below, or in your own words, that would be appreciated too.

So, not as grandly as I planned, here is my Tommy Tunes DS Hall of Fame Plaque

June 6, 1997 to August 28, 2014

The Ruby Rose Report: The Crate Door

  My parents had a cookout to go to on the Fourth of July, one that I was neither invited to nor barred from. My participation was fully at...