Tails From Rainbow Bridge: Don't Believe Every Blog - All Dogs Do Go To Heaven

There are many names for the place where I live.  Some call it The Bridge.  Others call it Heaven.  Some call it the checkout line at Arby’s.  Those people are usually reassigned.

There is a dog side where people can live, a people side where dogs can live, a people side where no dogs can live, and a cat side where the cats decide who they want around them and shun the rest.

I don’t know what side you will decide to join but I do know if you were loved you will be here and if there is something you love it will be here too.

But there are some who try to teach otherwise.

Which brings me to Dominic Lynch, a recent graduate of Loyola University who writes for The Federalist,  Among blogs recently posted there was one stating that the Jedi were really the villains in Star War because the Empire was trying to preserve law and order.  I can’t make these thing up.  If I did I would be reassigned myself.

Many leading theologists have written that dogs are indeed allowed into heaven.  But they, unlike Lynch, are not political bloggers, which, as we know, is the closest to the Lord someone can get, according to 99% of political bloggers.   Lynch spends a long time explaining the words of Thomas Aquinas, who stated that dogs do have souls, but not eternal souls and therefore we are not allowed into heaven, a conclusion Aquinas never reached.  I know Thomas Aquinas.  I see him nearly every day.  Nice guy.  He gives me a treat.  Here in heaven.

Lynch maintains that when a human reaches heaven they will have no need for dogs, or anyone else, since reaching heaven brings you to a state of euphoria.  So to Lynch heaven is  meth.

Mr. Lynch and I have a lot in common.  We are both bloggers.  We both have opinions.  I have a lot of opinions about politics.  But I don’t blog about them because I don’t know much about it.  Being an angel in the afterlife I do know a lot about what happens when souls cross the River of Life.  I wish those souls who have never crossed over wouldn’t write about it.  

Perhaps you don’t believe me.  Perhaps you even think that there is a human sitting at a computer writing this instead of me.  To believe it’s me is to have faith.  To believe in God, heaven, afterlife is faith.  To believe that your beloved pet is waiting for you is faith as well.

Why would anyone crush someone’s faith?  I guess for the same reason Mr. Lynch and his ilk write many of the things they write about.

Take the word of a pup who has been there, never lose faith, and always believe.

An Autumn Walk By River Song

I do loving walking this time of year  I was born snoutless so walking in the hot weather is hard.  Since I am from Florida I would prefer being a snow dog which means I could fly down to Florida during the winter.  Mom doesn’t want to go so I am stuck up here  But that doesn’t mean I am going to walk in the wet cold winter weather either.

Spring is great with the new flowers and smells and I get caught up on my tree mail from my friends.  But autumn is the best.  The weather is nice and cool and there are less bugs.  Plus nature lays before me a smorgasboard.  Leaves, twigs, acorns, mulch washed into the road:  It is all you can eat.

On Monday after garden day, which is now down to pull stuff out of the ground day, the four of us went for a walk.  Pocket I and got our business done quickly. Mommy and Daddy don’t do their business outside.  I think it is against park rules.

As we approached our house we saw a nice woman who had one of those machines that vacuums the leaves. It is bad enough that humans vacuum the inside now they are vacuuming the outside.  This is why we have to unionize.

Anyway Pocket and I do what we always do when we see someone.  We react like two members of the Uruguayan rugby team after scaling the Andes and seeing the green fields of Chile.

We have two different techniques when approaching humans.  I run to a person, lick her hand, jump a little, and get head scratches.  Pocket lunges at the person, barks, and then backs up when she gets scratched.  Then she wiggles so much in excitement she almost tips over.  I know why Foley complained about her being unprofessional.

Needless to say my way works a lot better.   While Pocket is running and jumping and barking and darting I get my scratches and rubs  And when she is getting scratches I eat the leaves and twigs.  The only things that goes wrong it that my beard betrays me and one of nature’s edibles ends up lodged there.  After Mommy and the woman got done talking we moved on, with Pocket barking and me savoring the taste of smoked leaves.

Yes, I do love an autumn walk.

Wordless Wednesday

Beat This Caption

Mama June's new boyfriend

The Three Little Pugs are our October 25, 2015 Pups of the Week

I have three wonderful friends in Blogville. They write the wonderful  Three Little Pugs blog. Their names are Stella Rose, Angus Mac and Maggie Mae and man do they have troubles.  

I know we all have troubles but the Pugs’ troubles have not just come in threes they have affected three generations of their family.  Let’s begin with the youngest.

This little cutie is Macey-Elizabeth Jean.  She is seven years old and she is a hero.  She has a rare illness called Lymphedema which only affects one in 740,000 children.  The condition causes fluid retention and tissue swelling in her legs.  The swelling can be painful and it interferes with some of her activities but she still dances, cheers, and proves that, with the right attitude nothing keeps you down.

The Pugs’ Dad worked in the warm weather out on the highway.  But in the cold weather he moved to what the pugs called “The factory from hell.”  The factory from hell indeed.  While I have never been able to uncover the exact details the pugs Dad had an unfortunate encounter with a 450 pound object which left the L-5 and L-1 vertebrae in his back broken and the L-3 shattered.  

As you can imagine these injuries were very severe and the Pugs dropped from Blogville for a short time while their Dad recovered, moving from intensive care, where he gave everyone quite a fright when he developed, and successfully fought off, pneumonia, and then to skilled care where he received a brace he will have to wear for three months and extensive physical therapy.  As you can imagine all of this made their Dad quite crabby and when a human is in the hospital they tend to take out their frustrations on whoever visits them the most which, in the Pugs Dad’s case was their embattled Mom.  She hid her tears and put on her amazon warrior costume when she was with him.  She said she was hiding the fact that she was a mouse but she really seems like an amazon to us.  

The days with their Dad in the hospital stretched onward.  The physical therapists tried to get him to climb stairs because he had to do that before going home but his pain level was too high.  The pugs thought they could put their Dad in a sleeping bag and drag him up the stairs but their Mom said no.

Their Mom had to order a walker, a shower chair, and a hospital bed, amongst other items, and get a room ready for their Dad’s return.  

This week their Dad returned home.  He was slowly helped in the house by their Mom and put  in his chair where Angus immediately broke the no jumping on Daddy rule.  Dad was only allowed a short time in the chair before it was back to bed.  It will take up to six months for their Dad to be back to normal and he is going to need lots of prayers to get there and the Pugs’ Mom is going to need lots of prayers to help him without killing her.

I know you are thinking that no family could possibly bear any more pain but the Pugs’ family has more to endure.  Their Mom’s Mother, their Grandma, had been diagnosed with breast cancer.  She had an operation, took lots of drugs, went through treatments, went through cat scans and it looked like she was cancer free.

But the doctors examined 21 vials of her blood and they showed that she had high cancer markers which meant it was likely that the cancer would return, not just in the breast, but in the liver, brain, or any other vital organs.  The treatment plan for Grandma was followed to the letter.  Doctors promised that Grandma would be fine.  Of course there was a sight chance….there is always a slight chance.  And this time the slight chance paid off in all the wrong ways.  I could explain to you how this made the Pugs’ Mom feel but I will let her tell you in her own words:

“Tomorrow she starts her first round of chemo.  We really don't know anything more than that.  And if we did it probably would be incorrect...that is what I have finally figured out when it comes to cancer and the person we love.  Nothing goes by the book, nothing goes by what the doctor tells you, or the internet, or the pamphlets..................cancer is powerful awful stuff, and we are scared.  It’s our Mom and at her age, we want to protect her and make promises, that could turn out not to be the truth.   And then somehow we will have turned into the very things I am so mad at.  The liars.  Please pray for my Mom.”

Since then her Mom has gone through chemotherapy, and mother and daughter even went shopping for a short time, but Grandma soon became tired and had to return home.

There isn’t much us friends can do when multiple tragedies strike but our friends Hailey and Zaphod decided to gather some blogging friends together to send the Pugs some hugs using this picture.  If any of you would like to do the same go to http://stellroselong.blogspot.com/. and post the hugs image below on one of their blogs.

We all have our crosses to bear but right now the Pugs and their Mom, and their Dad, their Grandmom and Macey-Elizabeth seem to be bearing a lot of crosses.  Luckily they have some brave and true Pugs on their side who have brought them lots of hugs and prayers.  Hopefully you will join in and bring health and peace to this wonderful family and their little dogs.

Tails From Rainbow Bridge: The Last Picture Show

When I was a mortal pup I hated having my picture taken.  Sometimes I posed but mostly I bobbed and weaved so my Mom could never get a good shot.  This is a growing concern amongst dogs everywhere.  People used to have to own a camera to take a picture.  Now they can take it with their phones, their watches, and, I believe with glasses.

It is harassment by camera.   Our foredogs Moms used to have to say:  “Oh look, she’s doing the cutest thing.  Oh honey get the camera!  Hurry get the camera!  She’s still doing it!  Hurry!  Get the lens cap off.  Focus!  Focus it!  Oh crap, she’s not doing it anymore.  Maybe next time.”  And we would win.

And we were gland.  But along came Steve Jobs.  People say he was a genius but he was just a guy trying to get a picture of his dog playing with a stuffie.

He created a phone that you could take pictures with because people were more apt to carry a phone all the time than a camera but by the time humans got the phone out of their pocket we had stopped being cute.  Then he made a phone that humans could text on so it would be in their hands more often.  But it wasn’t in their hands all the time and when it was in their hands we stopped being cute.  Then he put a computer on the phone, it was in human’s hands all the time, and we couldn’t stop being cute fast quick enough.

Twenty five years ago a dog may have his picture taken ten times.  Now we get our picture taken 10,000 times.  It was very frustrating when I was on the mortal side of the the Bridge but now that I am on the immortal side I realize I should have made myself more available for posing because once you arrive here your parents will never have another picture of you.

All of us dogs here have parents who keep that one last picture of us.  Sometimes they knew it was the final picture, sometimes they didn’t.  But every time the look at it they know that’s the last one.  

Mine was after I had left for the Bridge.  It was at the doctor’s after I was gone.  My body was still in my Mom’s lap.  My little tounge out like it always was.  It looks like I was sleeping.  Just sleeping that’s all.

There are two other pictures:  One of me in my oxygen tent, on my back legs, begging to be taken out, even though, if I had, I would have crossed over in less than a minute, and one before that, of me and Pocket on the steps.  That’s the one that bothers my parents the most because they look at it and see how much my fur had changed, the pain in my eyes, the things I had hidden from them through my illness.

But the rest are happy pictures.  It is like they could reach into the picture and once again stroke my soft fur,

So next time your Mom turns the phone/computer into a camera try to keep being cute.  Because like heartbeats, there are only so many pictures they can take of you, and someday those pictures will mean the world to them.

Hugs for Deb and Butch

We are joining our friends in sending healing hugs to Deb and Butch, Mom and Dad to Stella Rose, Maggie Mae and Angus McConnell

From your friends Angel Foley, Pocket and River Song

Astra's sad tale makes Pocket realize how lucky she is

Foley taught me lots of things that have been very useful in my life:  How to snuggle on Mommy’s lap, how to chase a squirrel, and how to social network.  This may have been the kindest service she did me, and the unkindest.

I have made the greatest friends in the world on social networking.  Dogs and their parents across the world know my face and my stories.  Twenty five years ago a dog could not possibly live the life I am living.  But social networking is a double edged sword.  Sometimes you read things that are too hard to bear.

I lead a very quiet, reserved life, but Foley has ordered me to produce blogs every couple of weeks.  I am not as adventurous as Foley, or a mischievous as River, so I worry my blogs will be boring.  Because of that I sometimes research dog stories to see if there is something interesting I can write about.  But I didn’t find anything interesting, only very sad.

I read a story about a pit bull in New York City named Astra.  She has had several foster homes but none of them have worked out for her.  The last foster home was on the 18th floor of an apartment building.  Everything was fine until Astra got on the elevator.  She showed aggression issues with other dogs in the confined, moving, beeping and buzzing spot.  A pit bull with aggression issues in an elevator cannot live on the 18th floor.

Poor Astra was returned to the rescue.  She was placed in the front seat of a car and she watched her foster family walk away, then she realized she was once again being left alone.  She let out a wail, began to cry, and sunk down in her seat.

I felt so bad for her.  I can’t blame the family that returned her.  If Astra had let her aggression issues overtake her and attacked in the elevator she, and her family, would be homeless.  Who know what horrors Astra suffered in the past that causes her aggression?  There is no one to blame.  

The rest of the night I could not stop thinking of Astra and dogs like her.  While Astra was back in a kennel at the vet’s office which is now her home I was being carried outside to do my business.  I was getting my teeth sprayed with dental foam, which I hate, but know is done because someone loves me; while I was standing on my Queen sized bed with my sister Astra was alone in a cage; while I got rubs and scratches before I settled down Astra was alone; while I fell asleep on a big, comfortable comforter she slept on a cold, hard crate; and while I woke up snuggled next to me Mom Astra woke up alone.

I would like to end this blog with a smile.  I like making people smile.  But there is no smile here.  No report that Astra was adopted by someone with a big farm in Connecticut.  Astra is a pit bull with elevator issues in a city here most people need to take an elevator to get outside.  I don’t know if Astra will ever get a home.  I pray that she does, but I don’t know.

But I do know how lucky I am, and how lucky we all are.  Whenever something doesn’t go your way, when you have a bad day, when the kibble is slightly overcooked, look around and see the warm loving home you are in, with your wonderful parent(s) and remember no matter how bad your day is, you are the luckiest dog in the world.

Wordless Wednesday

Beat This Caption

Louise, get us to damn Mexico.

Monday Question

What household item freaks you out?

Pocket:  I don't like the stove.  I don't like the beeping noises it makes and the sounds of pots of pans being placed on top of it  I'm not crazy about the smell either.

River Song:  Mom has one of those long, extendable grabber things.  When they point it at me and the things jaw opens and shuts I run from the room

Angel Apollo is our October 18, 2015 Pup of the Week

“Aroooooooooo!”  I heard this just outside my window.  I was snuggled in my bed and hoped the Aroooooooooo was not meant for me.  I rolled over.

“Aroooooooooo Foley!”  I opened my eyes and sighed.  I got out of bed then put on my slippers and robe.  I stoked the fire.  It had started getting cold here at the Bridge.  “Aroooooooooo Foley!”  

“I am coming!” I said, trying not to sound grumpy even though I knew I was a bad-waker-upper.  I opened the door and Angel Apollo nervously entered my house.

“Arooooooooo Foley I need to go visit my Mom and let her know everything will be OK but I can’t find a butterfly, a hummingbird, nothing that will let me borrow it’s body.  Aroooooooooo what am I going to do?” Apollo asked pacing across my floor.

I curled up in my favorite rocking chair.  “Apollo, you need to calm down,” I told him.  “Tell me what is wrong.  And stop starting every sentence with Aroooooooooo.”  (He did this when he was nervous.)

“Aroooooooooo,” he said.  (He couldn’t help himself.)  “It’s my Mom.  She has too much going on.  You know she is one of the greatest rescue Moms of all time.  I try so hard to help her find homes for all these pups.  And my Dad is still at the rehabilitation facility to get him healthy again.  He has hardly been home since spring.  Mom sliced her hand open earlier this summer and last night she had a really bad asthma attack.  it is because of all this stress.  My wonderful pack:  Bishop, Napa, Munchie and the others stayed with her all night to make sure she was comforted but she needs to see me.”  He collapsed in a nervous heap in front of my fireplace.  

Poor Apollo.  He has been here longer than any friend I have had but he has never rested in peace.  He is always moving:  To get his Mom dogs who need rescuing; to find those rescued dogs forever homes; to watch over his Mom his Dad, and his pack.   And he has a very strong connection to his Mom.  He knows when he is needed.  But the weather has turned cold and it was hard to find a flying creature who would let their body be used for Apollo’s trip.

(For those readers not familiar with Rainbow Bridge and the Immortal World it sits just on the other side of the River of Life.  You can cross Rainbow Bridge to the Immortal side but you can’t cross back to the Mortal side. Flying creatures can wing their way across the river and they often let us use their bodies to visit our families.  Birds and butterflies are our favorite choices but when the weather gets cold they won’t let us use their bodies.  They complain we return them too cold.)

I told Apollo that I, being a former lawyer and now a judge, was sure I could talk some flying creatures into letting Apollo borrow their body.  We climbed high up into the hills where the birds were chirping in the warm sunshine.  Apollo begged, and I used my most persuasive arguments, but none of the bird would acquiesce and the butterflies doubted they would survive.

Then a wasp landed on Apollo’s nose and said he would do it.  I told the wasp to buzz off.  Wasps are dirty annoying bugs and for Apollo to fly all the wall from Rainbow Bridge to his Mom’s house on wasp’s wings would be very taxing.  It was possible he would not make it back at all.  But Apollo immediately said yes and I could not persuade him otherwise.  He switched bodies with the wasp who immediately used his Apollo body to devour a steak.  Meanwhile Apollo fluttered those little wings hard and flew to his Mom’s house.

No dog has ever had as big a heart and as strong a will as Angel Apollo.  He flew,and flew, and flew, until he reached his Mom’s window where he could clearly be seen against the blue sky.  He narrowly avoided serious injury when his brother Bishop wanted to squash him but his Mom stopped him.  She could tell by the wasp’s glow, it’s vibe of kindness, the connection that they have always had, that this was Angel Apollo coming to check on her and she knew if Apollo could travel so far then everything would soon be OK.

I nervously waited on the hill for his return.  It began to get dark.  The Bridge can be hard to find in the dark.  Then I saw a small, dark figure moving towards me in the sunset.  It was Angel Apollo in wasp’s clothing.  He fluttered on his his own side, now occupied by the well fed wasp, and flung the wasp from his body, then slept the next two days while the wasp spent the night dashing in and out of the fire I had made trying to warm itself.

When he awoke Apollo told me the trip had been worth it.  He would have flown twice around the world to let his Mom know she would be all right.  They have a connection that not time, distance, or the inability to touch will ever break.  And there is nothing on either side of the river that will keep him from letting his Mom know she will be alright.

We all have that bond with our Mom but it is the special ones like Apollo who never let it fade.

Tails from Rainbow Bridge: Greta and the Breast Cancer Pin

The summer and fall of 2007 was not a fun time for our family.  Something moved into our house that changed us in a profound way and not for the better.  That was Pocket coming to live with us.  That was also the year that Mommy got diagnosed with breast cancer.  You don’t so much get diagnosed with cancer as you get overwhelmed by cancer.  It goes with you wherever you go.  It sits in your living room, it eats at your table, it sleeps in your bed, it calls shotgun on car rides.  It is relentless and never leaves until the doctor tells you it is gone.

For poor Pocket this was her second time dealing with a parent who had cancer in her first three months.  Her breeder Dad also had cancer.  In fact Pocket was not meant to be created.  While her breeder Mom was taking care of her husband  Pocket’s parents got it on behind the shed and Pocket entered the world.  Unfortunately shortly after Pocket’s birth her breeder Dad passed away.  Then, shortly after coming to live with us Mommy got breast cancer.  We immediately began to wonder if this two pound dog caused cancer.  Thankfully through prayer, the grace of God, and my nursing skills Mommy was cured and has been cancer free since,  Like many survivors she has tried to make sure that someday no one will have the same disease and she likes supporting people who share those efforts.

The Mom at  http://idahopugranch.blogspot.com/ is one of those people.  When she lost Hazel, a very young pup, last year, she decided to take those two tragedies and try to make some good come from tragedy.  She made pins for survivors of breast cancer with Hazel’s picture on them.  This year my Mom was lucky enough to receive one and she wears it with pride as both a breast cancer survivor and a Rainbow Bridge Mom.  The least I can do to repay Hazel’s Mom for this kindness is tell her about how Greta is doing at the Bridge.

When you come to Rainbow Bridge as a puppy you are perpetually a puppy and perpetually a little handful.  Greta is all that and more.  She runs and runs and when she gets tired of that she runs some more.  Up in the mountains, down in the valley, along the river, that’ where you will find her, always chasing something.  We all watch over her because she is young and is bound to get in trouble, although there really isn’t any trouble to be found here.  When she is done running she curls into the cutest little ball and that is my favorite time to watch over her.   But as soon as their is a noise she is up and running again.  She misses her Mom, her Dad, and her siblings very much, and sometimes I think she is trying to outrun missing them, but she always has a smile a mile wide and her tail is always wagging as she stays a few steps ahead of sadness .

And don’t worry Mom.  We will always be watching over her.

Licks Not Kisses by River Song

I am a girl who loves to give kisses.  Mommy usually allows a single kiss then tells me enough but Daddy will let me give him multiple kisses.  This might mean that he has some emotional issues but I don’t care.  River needs her kissy time.

But there are other times I am not in the mood.  Actually that is most of the time.  When someone comes to me to give me a kiss I turn my head.  Then I begin to bob and weave.  I keep turning my head hoping that I can screw it right off.   I have my personal space and it shall not be violated.  

As for the personal space of others?  I don’t care about that too much.  As good as I am at bobbing and weaving from puckered lips I am also good at avoiding a hand that is trying to block my sweet kisses.  There is a difference between my kisses and theirs.  My kisses are sweet and lovely  Theirs are gross.

When I kiss Daddy I use my whole tongue and after I am done it looks like someone threw a bucket of spit on my face.  Then I go over to Mommy, sit with her, put my face on her leg and leave a big wet spot.  What could be more beautiful than a beard full of spit and a big wet spot?

Plus humans don’t kiss right.  To kiss you don’t put your lips right on someone.  That is gross.  You get really close then stick your tongue out and let your tongue do the walking.  I don’t want an entire face pressed on me.  Plus their sloped noses end up on top of me.  So unpleasant.

So when it come to kissing remember:  The question is not tongue or no tongue. It is tongue only.

And I should know.  I was, after all, and unwed teenage mother.  Who knows more about kissing than me?

Wordless Wednesday

Paco is our October 11, 2015 Pup of the week

Seven years ago I met my good friend Paco.  He was two years older than me.  Two years after I made my journey to the Bridge Paco is still going strong.  Yesterday he celebrated his 17th birthday with his Mom at his home in Bologna Italy.

Paco is another miracle dog.  His heart has been failing for a long time.  His vet didn’t think he would make it to 17.  But Paco’s Mom has had a very hard year including the loss of her Mom and Paco has judiciously metered out his heartbeats so he can stay with his Mom for as long as possible.  

Paco is one of my all time favorite dogs.  I enjoy using obscure pop culture references in my writing which usually pass right over poor Paco’s head because he was raised with proper culture and etiquette.  He politely asks me to explain the joke and then laughs even when he doesn’t think it is very funny.

Kind, supportive, compassionate and loving Paco is truly one of the best friends any pup could have.  If you asked any of his friends they would tell you the same.  Our love for Paco leaps over that tiny ocean like it was a puddle.  There is not a day that goes by that he isn’t in our thoughts and prayers.

Seventeen years ago Paco was born to Robinson and Sara two dog friends of Paco’s brother Snoopy who had crossed over the Bridge before Paco’s birth and now runs a wonderful Italian Bistro on a beautiful cloud named “Snoopy’s.”   When his Mom and grandma saw Paco for the first time they fell in love with him.  But, as often is the story with dog and Mom love there were obstacles.  Paco was promised to someone else and went to live with another woman.

It didnt work out between Paco and his first Mom.  No one knows why but I think it is because Paco knew he was not with the right Mom.  When the right Mom found out that the wrong Mom was looking for someone to take Paco she stepped right up and a decade and a half love story began.

Paco was a Pocket sized dog when he moved into his house.  He used to disappear up his Mom’s sleeves when he was scared.  He was named for a brave, sweet dog his grandma admired in a book.   Soon Paco found his energy and could play all day long.  His Mom took that energy and harnessed it towards competitions.  Soon Paco was winning agility competitions and awards for being obedient and pleasant.  When he won his final agility competition he got a big write up in his local paper.

Now in retirement Paco lives life like a good Italian dog enjoying ricotta or mozzarella cheese and ham, even if these treats do have pill in the middle of them.   He still misses his Grandma very much, and she is with us at Bridge waiting for the day, far in the future, she hopes, when Paco will join her.  Until that day arrives Paco and his Mom stayed snuggled together loving  and supporting one another.

it would not surprise me at all if they were still sitting together 17 years from now.  Paco and his Mom are unbeatable team.  Unbeatable at loving one another.

May they have many more years.

Tails From Rainbow Bridge: The Great Train Robbery

Pocket and I rode our stallions over the crest.  We were wearing bandannas over our snouts and not just because they looked pretty.  They kept us from choking on the prarie dust kicked up by our steeds.  The sun was setting to our left and we could see the white steam against the orange sky then we heard the train whistle.

We were sitting on our horses necks holding their reins in our paws.  I dug my claws into my rides’ side and it took off for the tracks that lay before us.  I steered my horse on to the tracks gambling the conductor would break upon seeing a Yorkie on a horse.

My ploy paid off.  The train screeched to a stop.  I rode over to the conductor and told him to get the car with the safe open or my partner would open fire.  I nodded to Pocket who was trying to hold the guy with one paw, the trigger with the other, and not fall off the horse.  The conductor scoffed when suddenly Pocket fired several shots at him.  “All right, I’ll do it!” he said climbing down with his hands in the air.  Only Pocket and I knew she didn’t mean to fire and had lost her balance.

I rode behind the conductor.  He opened one of the doors to expose the safe.  There were two mens holding guns and they turned to me.  I ducked my head down to my waist, pulled my gun out with my mouth, and fired the gun with my tongue knocking the rifles out of the guards’ hands and to the ground.  “That’s pretty impressive,” one of the guards said.

“Fastest tongue in the west,” I said tipping my hat.

“If a Yorkie can get a pistol than I think it is time we discuss gun control!” the other guard said.

I spit on the ground.  “Damn train guards and their liberal agendas,” I said.  “Two Yorkies are robbing a train and you want to turn it into a gun control debate.  Your socialist views are not hijacking my train hijacking.  Too soon!  Now give me the good stuff.”

The guard began to gather the gold bars.  I looked at Pocket and she scoffed then began falling off her horse and scrambled her paws against it’s brown side to regain her balance then looked down as I glared at her.  A Yorkie train thief is never off her mount.

I looked back at the guards.  “Not the bars,” I said.  “The good stuff.”

The two guards looked at one another.  “Don’t treat me like I’m some kind of fool,” I said licking my trigger.  Their shoulders sunk.  They went behind the safe and pulled out two 60 pounds bags of kibble.  “Put them on the horses,” I said.  They lay the bags on the back of our mounts.  “You fellows have a nice day,” I said.  We then turned and rode off into the sunset as Pocket dug in her paws for dear life.

We rode into town and shared the kibble with all the hungry pups.  We left the food behind before they had  chance to thank us.  

But the legend of The Foley Monster and Pocket the Kid would continue to grow.

Wordless Wednesday

Jingle Jangle Jangle Jingle by Pocket Dog

Jingle jangle jingle jangle.  It is a sound every dog knows.  The sound of our tags clinking together.  I have avoided this annoyance most of my life.  My parents never found a reason for me to wear my tags.  They were attached to my leash so when I went out I was legal.  But I didn’t have to wear them inside.

That darn Internet betrayed me.  Mommy started reading story after story about dogs who disappeared,  some from their home.  And then she decided to have us chipped.

The chipping wasn’t bad although I hated going to the vet.  I figured once I was chipped I would never have to listen to those tags.  But then Mommy got something in the mail from the Chipping company.  It was a tag.  Why does a company that makes chips to track dogs have to send out tags?  Isn’t the entire point of chipping to avoid tags?

This must have been a deal made with Bag Tag.  Big Tag was losing business and made the Chippers give out tags.  And since the Chippers are all powerful in keeping us dogs safe our humans believe if the Chipper sent them then we ought to wear them.

I still had one chance.  My Dad’s inability to put the big tag on that little ring and then getting the little ring on my harness.

It took him several tries, lots of swearing, and even a little blood but he got the tag on the rings and then the rings on our harnesses

And know wherever we go jingle jangle jangle jingle.  Holy heck it is enough to make my little head explode.  I move, I hear the sound, I stop, I wonder what the sound is, I move and the sound starts again.  So I am chipped and tagged like wearing a belt and suspenders but only if the belt and suspender jingled and jangled and jangled and jingled.  If that happened with humans then men would walk around with their pants on the ground.  (Why they still do that I haven’t a clue.)

So if you head jingle jangle jangle jingle don’t be alarmed.  It is just Pocket and River Song.  Two victims of Big Tag

Hattie Mae is our October 4, 2015 Pup of the Week

Last week I wrote about my friend Morgan from the wonderful world of Blogville whom many of you met for the first time.  I am very glad you got to know her.  I feel bad that so many of my friends don’t know these great dogs.  But the same is true the residents of Blogville:   They don’t know our great, caring friends from Tanner Brigade and Facebook.

And who is better or more caring than Hattie Mae?  It is hard to imagine a world without sly, beautiful, witty, emphatic, generous, inspiring Hattie Mae.  But for a time we will have to experience that world.   Hattie Mae has gone on sabbatical.

Hattie’s Mom is having some issues that keep her from the computer and all we can do is pray that it is for a very short time.  We have had to flail our way through the vast Internet without her before and we didn’t like it.  She was the first dog to leave DS and without her the site’s tone changed.  Many followed her out the door.  When we first began the Tanner Brigade Hattie, having been burned several times on different sites, was reluctant to join but thankfully she finally did and she completed our site.

Now what are we to do with her gone?  Who is going to make us smile every day with the perfect photo of her or her sister Jessie in beautifully tailored outfits worn so confidently and with great panache?  Who is going to post a silly picture of Hattie or Jackie Lynn giving their Mom the “I am so fed up with the modeling” look?  Who is going to instigate the structure of the perfect few lines to make us smile when we are sad, or make us feel less alone and a lot more loved?

I think of all the words I chose to describe Hattie inspiring is the most apt.  She has inspired so many dogs to share their stories and their lives.  She has inspired so many dogs to dress up and show their beautiful sides.  And she has inspired all of us to always give love and show compassion.  As for her generosity I can certainly attest to that.  I had, and have passed on to Pocket and River, an entire closet of Hattie Mae original dresses she gave to us when they shrunk in her closet and became too small for her.

It is Halloween.  This is one of Hattie’s favorite times of the year.  She loves to dress in costumes and she hosted her own Parade of the Horribles.  Jessie and Roscoe’s Mom is hosting a Halloween party on DS2015 and I would like to see everyone post, either there, or on their own blog pages, or on TB, pictures of them dressed in their scariest and most horrible costumes.  We know it would make her smile.

So dress up and celebrate Halloween and everyday for Hattie Mae and pray for her to return to us soon.  We live in a much less perfect world without her.

Tails From Rainbow Bridge: A Time For Kindness

I have an old grandfather clock on my cloud.  It has hands, a chime, and a cuckoo that comes out occasionally to say hi.  But it doesn’t tell time because here on the immortal side there is no time.  An eternity is too long to keep track of.

But on the mortal side there is nothing but time.  “What time is it?  Do we have time?  Do you have the time?”  Life and time are intertwined.  Humans seem to think they have plenty of time but in truth there is no time.

Time is something you never get back.  As you read a tiny sliver of your life is fading away.  So what to do with this time?  How about spending it on love and kindness.

I know humans get mad at one another.  Mommy has too many people in her life mad at her.  And she has lost time with them.  No matter how often she has reached out to them they don’t have the time for her.  And someday her time will run out and no one will have time with her.

So if someone takes the time to extend a paw of kindness to you find the time to take it.  There is always time for anger.  But there is never enough time for friendship.  Take the time to forgive.  Take the time for friendship. There will be time enough for anger later.

I no longer have the time for negative comments.  When Pocket and I created this site we did so under the banner Freedom to Bark.  But we can no longer let negative comments hurt our friends.  We have no time for them.  If you feel the need to post one instead of doing it take time to do something positive.  There is never enough time for the positive.  So please stop devoting time to the negative and hurtful.  Love, kindness, forgiveness and mercy:  Those are fine ways to spend time.

Thanks for the time.