Friday, April 29, 2016
The dawn’s early light rose above the mountains that stand just beyond my house on Rainbow Bridge. My friend Bazier, who many of you know as Blazer, and I crawled towards my bed. We both climbed in and covered our heads with the blanket. Both of us were exhausted. With some minor assistance from me, Bazier had finally accomplished his goal.
On the mortal side of the River, in the bedroom of a house in Portland Oregon, two souls slept. It was Bazier‘s Mom Miss Vicki and her new pup: A nine-year-old mini poodle named Degas.
Upon his arrival at the Bridge, Bazier had been looking for the perfect dog for his Mom. It was an arduous task. Bazier’s passing had broken her heart. Not only did he need to find the perfect dog but he had to get his Mom to accept another dog in her heart: A dog who would not be him, who would not be perfection.
How do you replace perfection? It is a problem all angel parents face. But it was especially bad for Miss Vicki because she has no family, and lives a very private life. Her pets have been her world. When Bazier had to leave, she was alone. Alone is a very powerful and painful word.
Bazier visited his Mom in her dreams, and once even while she was awake, trying to mend her heart to a point where she could accept a new baby. It took several months but, working together, Bazier and his Mom got to a place where she could accept another dog.
Miss Vicki was contacted by Bazier’s veterinarian. The vet told Miss Vicki she had a customer who needed to rehome a “problem” dog. Miss Vicki has always taken in problem pets, Bazier himself was a biter, and she thought she was up for the challenge. Bazier went to interview the dog. After the interview he came to my house.
“Oh, Foley. This dog is way too active for my Mom. He will wear her right out. I don’t know what to do.”
Several weeks later she learned of another dog, who was also a biter. The biter was still with her Mom, who could no longer abide the biting issues. The mom seemed conflicted about surrendering her dog. Bazier told me he was worried his Mom would be hurt again. I told him it was time for him to find the perfect shelter dog.
Bazier went to the shelter and found a dog who would be an excellent companion for his Mom. He is a poodle named Degas. He had been abandoned. Degas was severely abused. He had several open sores on his body. His poodle fur had to be shaved because it was severely matted. He was estimated to be 11 and a half years old. Finding someone to take in a senior dog was unlikely.
Miss Vicki fell in love with Degas at first sight. Within minutes the shelter director knew she had found their angel on Earth. Miss Vicki said that Degas deserved to live out his life in a loving homes, and she would provide the home. After a long process at the shelter, Miss Vicki took Degas home.
During the entire process, Bazier and I watched over his Mom. Bazier wanted to make sure Degas went home with his Mom, for her sake, for Degas’ sake, and for Bazier’s. When Degas entered Bazier’s former home tears fromed in Bazier’s eyes. He was so happy. His Mom’s heartbeat was no longer beating solo. It was beating in rhythm with a dog his Mom instantly loved.
Degas has many issues: His sores have to be treated and he has a fever and a cost, but he also has one of the best moms, and angels, in the land.
I watched over Bazier in his sleep and gave him a kiss on his head. “Good job my friend,” I told him before putting my head down and joining him in a well-earned sleep.
Thursday, April 28, 2016
My parents are under the mistaken belief that I am stressed out. The final straw occurred when my parents found blood droplets outside my crate. They think I cut my gums chewing the bars. I refuse to respond to these allegations because my mouth hurts.
My parents decided I needed something to calm down. Mommy went to the Amazon to look for a highly rated pet anxiety treatment. She found a treatment called “Pet Relief.” Mommy liked it because it was a liquid that she could rub on my tummy. She ordered us a bottle.
A few days later a big package arrived from the Amazon. Daddy sliced the package open. He pulled out several connected, inflated bubbles, some paper, and a teeny tiny bottle. Make a note: If you order something from the Amazon, and the first thing that pops into my mind is a monkey, it is going to come in a gigantic box.
That night daddy opened the bottle. It smelled lovely. He poured some on his hands and then, per the directions, he began to rub it on my face.
Let me pause in this narrative to note that we never do reviews of any kind on this blog. I have received permission from Foley to do our first product review.
The Product: Pet Relief
The Review: It’s crap.
The Description: The oily, smelly goop, once applied, caused my hair to stand straight up, and my eyes to water. I saw, through teary eyes, Pocket have her hair styled too. I witnessed Pocket having a similar reaction to mine. I ran over to the mat by the door and began rubbing my head on the mat. I rubbed so hard I ended up with my butt in the air.
“River, come here!” I heard my dear sister bark. “You can get this crap off your head if you rub it on Mommy’s couch.”
A capitol idea. I jumped up on the couch and we both rubbed our oily heads all over Mommy’s couch. Her first instinct was to tell us to get down but then she realized she could steam clean the couch easier than steam cleaning our heads.
Then Pocket and I got on the floor and began to chase each other around the house. Not quite what my mom hoped for when she bought anti-anxiety medication.
Mom checked the paperwork that came with the medication. It stated if you a positive review on the Amazon you would get half off your next shipment. I guess that explains the reviews. We won’t be leaving a good one. In fact, we will be leaving a quite bad review.
Now I am worried my parents are putting Rescue Remedy in my food. Clever, clever, humans.
Please message me immediately if I look any less grumpy.
Tuesday, April 26, 2016
Sunday, April 24, 2016
I have so many friends who have been ill; I have flown so many prayers up to the Big Guy; I have even welcomed my friend Smoochy, and through it all I have never lost my “temper” or thrown a “tantrum.” Dogs do get older, they do get sick, and they do go to the Bridge. That is part of the deal we make when we are born. But when a young dog gets sick? I do not understand why young dogs take ill.
It has been more than a year since Angel Greta arrived at the Bridge: She was just a puppy. She ate a mushroom. She got sick, and she could not recover. It was so terribly sad. I promised I would never let another young friend cross the River of Life because they innocently ate something.
One of the world’s very best dog Moms, Mrs. Barbara, has been dealing with her beloved Josie, who had to have surgery to remove a tumor that had perforated her digestive system. The surgery saved her life. The doctor sent an eight-inch sample of her tumor to the lab. That is when life played one of its cruel tricks. The lab mislabeled Josie’s sample. The result of the test, a fast moving cancer, was incorrect. Sadly the vet does not know what type of cancer Josie has and until that is determined he does not know how to treat her.
But this is not about Josie. It is about her brother Moo. We have known Moo since the day he and his brothers Huck and Elvis were born. Collectively known as the Three Stooges, we have watched these little boys grow into house wrecking, barnstorming clowns. Through all the sad times we could always turn to the Boys for fun antics and a good laugh.
And then Moo ate a plant. A hydrangea plant to be exact. I love hydrangeas. Hobo Hudson’s parents sent my parents one after I went to the Bridge. It is the most beautiful plant in my memorial garden. It is also something else: Poisonous to dogs.
My parents were unaware that the plant is deadly to dogs, but neither Pocket, River Song, nor I bother with plants. But Moo did. He ate most of the plant. Then he became very sick. He would not eat; his poop was bloody, and the doctor was working desperately to get the poison out of his system.
I flew so many prayers up to the Big Guy for Moo that I was exhausted. But I still had a reserve of strength. A reserve to use if the doctors could not get the poison out of him. A reserve to rail at the Big Guy for letting another dog get sick doing what we do best: Eat. I went over what I would say to him. How I would convince him to heal Moo and keep him on the mortal side of the River of Life.
Thankfully I did not need to rail. The doctors flushed the poison from Moo’s system. He is home. He has lots of pills to eat, but that shouldn’t be a problem since he does eat everything.
We got a little miracle for Moo. Now we need a bigger miracle for Josie. Keep those prayers coming for Josie and all the baby dogs: Give them the wisdom not to eat the things that make them sick.
Pray for the Big Guy too. Because he does not want to see a railing Yorkie.
Friday, April 22, 2016
The day Smoochy joined us at Rainbow Bridge was very draining. I was looking to sleep late the next day. It was still dark when there was banging on my door. I got out of bed and stumbled forward. I opened the door catching Smoochy in mid-knock.
Being awoken by an angel on their first night at the Bridge was not unusual. I had spent many a night comforting them. But Smoochy was not there to be comforted. He grabbed me by the paw and pulled me into the crisp night air.
“Foley’s here!” Smoochy announced. Standing in a circle were Hershey, Smartie, Reba, Willie, Brody, and many other angels.
“Let’s go!” Smoochy yelled, and the group of dogs took off. I began running as fast as my little legs could carry me. Then they jumped and began to fly. I fluttered my wings as hard as I could, and I lifted off.
My friends were far ahead of me, but I caught a gust of wind and, being the smallest of our clan, caught up with them. I maneuvered next to Smoochy and asked him where we were going. He smiled a big Labby smile and said: “Up!”
And we went up. Higher and higher. Higher than I had ever gone before. We passed through a dark haze and then we were no longer flying through the night.
We were flying through space.
I realized where we were going. “Smoochy, we can’t do this!” I said.
“We have to,” he said flying straight ahead. Above us, it grew brighter and larger. Our destination: The moon.
I called Smoochy’s name several times, but he and the rest of his flock were determined. Then the moon appeared and began to pull us towards it. We couldn’t stop. We were going to:
We slammed into the moon’s surface. A cloud of moon dust surrounded us. I couldn’t see a foot in front of me. I felt a big paw grabbing the scruff of my neck. Smoochy pulled me up and urged me to flap my wings. We headed back home. This time, instead of crashing in the dust, we splashed down in the River of Life.
We climbed out, soaking wet, but clean of moon dust. I asked Smoochy why we had flown to the moon.
“Look at it Foley,” he said. “You see that ring around it. That is from the dust we created. Now when my Mom looks at the moon and sees the glow, she will know I created it, and that I love her, to the moon and back.”
I was wet, still a bit dusty, suffering a headache from my moon crash, my wings ached, and I was very tired. But I was also proud to have been invited on this quest. Now all our parents, when they look at the sky at night, will see our message and know we love them.
To the moon and back indeed.
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