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Searching for intelligent signs of life in the universe

Pup of the Week: Being Leo

It was a lovely Friday afternoon at Rainbow Bridge.  We were making plans for parades and barbeques to honor us because we are the ones recognized on Memorial Day.  Suddenly the skies filled with clouds.  Teardrops began dropping from them.  I ran over and tasted a puddle of tears:  They were my nom’s, mixed with many others.

My heart sunk to my paws.  I ran down to the River to look in the water where I could see my Mom on the mortal side below the surface.  She was reading her computer.  I scanned the words.  “Leo….sick….diagnosis….leukemia.”  

Leo?  Leukemia?  Leo?  Who visited me in my dreams while I lay in my oxygen tent during my last mortal hours so I would not be scared?  Leo?  Who, with his mom;s help, sends Pocket and River presents from me so they know they I know I will never forget them?  Leo?  Who had the wedding of the century with Hattie Mae?  Leo?  Who along with Lou ee has the best co-birthday parties?  Leo?  My brother from other parents?  Leo?  Muse to his Mom’s many beautiful paintings?  Leo?  Strong, kind, resilient, courageous, emphatic Leo?  Leukemia?

“No!” I barked.  And I heard many other angels barking the same word.  “No,” as if barking the word could make it not true.  It was a devastating truth.  And it was a slow truth.

A slow truth is a fact that takes a long time for the mind to accept.  Like a dull nail being forced into hard wood with a thin hammer.  Whack, whack, whack until slowly it is accepted.  Leo is sick.  Leo has Leukemia.

I had to see Leo.

I checked on him and saw him napping next to his Mom.  I popped into his dream.

He was curled up with his Mom but he and I were the only ones who could move.  That’s what it is like inside a dream.  He looked up.  “Foley,” he said.  He jumped down and gave me a hug.  I admit I left many tears on his Chow fur.  “What is wrong?” he asked wiping my tears.

“You,” I said.  “You’re sick.”

“Oh Foley,” he said, giving me another big hug.  “Don’t worry about me.  I was sick earlier but I am feeling more like myself now.”

“But I read you have Leukemia.”

“Yes,” he said softly.  “I guess I do.  My parents are very upset about that.   You have to promise me you will watch over her.”

“Of course,”  I said.  “But what about you?”

“I am going to have tests, and I am going to have treatments, and I am going to have good days, and I am going to have some tough days, but I won’t have any bad days, not as long as I am with my parents.  And I am going to fight with everything I have to stay with them as long as I can.  I can put up with anything as long as I can feel their warm hands touching my head and running my ears.  If it ever becomes too much for me, and I am going to try to keep that day at bay for many more years, I will come to the wall, and I will knock four times, and you will let me in, agreed?”

I was crying again.  All I could do was nod.  He hugged me again.  “I need you to go now Foley, I have a lot of angels who are lined up to visit.  I am blessed Foley.  I have the best parents and the most wonderful friends.  Don’t worry about me.  Just don’t forget my parents.”

“Never,” I promised.  Before leaving I made a dream date visit for me, him, and Hattie in Paris Sunday night.  I am going to need to go to the groomers.

I opened my eyes.  I was back on the river bank.  And I knew what I needed to do.

As I lay dying Leo was with me.  He didn’t ask questions, he let there be silence.  He was strong, supportive, and understanding.  He was the epitome of what a dog should be.

While I believe, and pray to be true, that Leo is a long way from the day where he will knock four time on the Bridge wall, I will, during his illness, become Leo:  I will be strong, supportive, understanding, and there for him and his family every single day, as he was for me.

If you want to help Leo then sit your sights on the highest bar:  To be like Leo.  If you do clear that bar and become like Leo then Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,

And---which is more---you'll be a dog, my pup!

Just like Leo.

Tails From Rainbow Bridge: Dream Visits with Odie and Scooby

Since arriving at Rainbow Bridge Scooby has proven himself to be extremely helpful.  He has opened a wing design shop.  Angels flock to him to get the beautiful wings he creates.  He has made Rainbow Bridge a much more colorful place.  The angels giggle when they see us together.  Scooby is a Great Dane with long legs.  I am a Yorkie whose entire body is smaller than Scooby’s head.  We are quite an odd couple.

Every Saturday night Scooby and I enter our siblings, Pocket, River Song, and Odie’s dreams, and we go on adventures.  We have gone to the North Pole, the Grand Canyon, Scooby’s mom’s fish tank, deep down the ocean floor and to the moon.  This week we had a grand time.

We went deep into outer space all the way up Uranus.  We stood on the surface and jumped on the first comet that passed by travelling at more than a million miles an hour.   Odie and Scooby wrapped their long appendages around the comet.  Pocket, River and I are all small and have to dig our paws in.  Pocket lost her balance and flew off.  I was able to snag her and pull her own to my comet before she floated out of our galaxy.

We steered towards the rings of Saturn.   We reached over and grabbed some ice balls. Then we popped them in our mouths.  They were so cool and tasted great.  

Then we headed for Jupiter where we filled our plates with Jupiter’s hot red cloud spices and red velvet cake.  The spices made our tongues burn.    Luckily Odie has saved us some ice balls to cool down our hot mouths.

We landed on Mars, and we took turns riding the rover all over the red planet.  The rover is like a space dog except it doesn’t poop.  Pooping at zero gravity can be dangerous.  If you move the wrong way post poop, it pops up and hits you on the face.

We bypassed Earth and went to the moon to pick up more of Smoochy’s dust in case we have a late winter.  Then we went to Venus, the planet of amore, for some love dust to sprinkle over our loved ones and finally to Mercury to gain speed so we could get back home quickly.

When we go on our dream dates, we always bring other friends and angels, so if you want to go adventuring next week let us know and go to bed early Saturday night.

Just don’t eat any of Scooby’s cake.

Pee Mail By River Song

I was born into the world of social media.  I have not lived a day without being able to g on the computer and learning about my friends’ adventures.  Pocket has lived an equally fortunate life.  But Foley, who became the queen of social media, was born into a world where dogs never blogged.  She had to learn about her friends’ adventures the old way:  Through pee-mail.  She passed this knowledge onto Pocket who did the same for me.

Every dog has certain spots on their walk where their friends stop and pee.  Our parents think that we are just marking territory, but we are getting more information than any 24-hour news channel.

We are lucky enough to have two spots.  One is located on a corner two streets from our house.  There is a big rock on the lawn, and it is popular for both boy and girl pees.  (A rock is the urinal of the dog world.)   The second spot is further up the same road by the brook.  There is nothing like the sound of a babbling brook to make a dog want to pee.

Pocket and I work together gathering information, and we use our super mental connection to exchange information: “Mocha is getting used to her wheels.  She came over to pee yesterday,” I say. “Orkie got an alligator flavored treat.  She liked it a lot,” Pocket says. “When Mr. Johnson goes to work, Mrs. Johnson has the Geek Squad guy over, and they got into the bedroom where there isn’t a computer,” I conveyed after a long sniff.  Pee-mail is where you can exchange information that you would not be allowed to do on social media.

Our parents rarely give us enough time to read our mail.  They are always pulling us to continue with our walk.  Big dogs have it easier but we smaller dogs have to dig in our paws to keep sniffing without scrambling any of our friend's messages.  Then we leave our message and move along to the next spot.

We dogs believe that someday all the fancy human technology will crumble, the Internet will collapse, and the world will spin backwards to a simpler time.

We dogs will continue to communicate as long as we have pee.

Glorious pee.  

Wordless Wednesday

Beat This Caption

"My precious. MY PRECIOUS!"

Dress Up For Whitley

Today were a dressing up for our friend Whitley, Blogville's biggest fashionista.  We can not hold a candle to Whitley's looks but here are some of ours:

Pup of the Week: Junior Johnson

My duties as a member of Rainbow Bridge’s Nightwatch continue.  We have sworn to only allow those dogs whose bodies have grown too tired to support their fiery souls through the wall at Rainbow Bridge.   All others shall be barred entry as long as their bodies can still contain their spirit.

Often in life, and in the afterlife, watching is not enough.  We members of the Watch have agreed to become personal angels to sick dogs.  Our duties include helping them heal and aiding their bodies to handle their souls.  I was lucky enough to be assigned one of my friends:  The handsome Mr. Junior Johnson.

Everyone enjoys a dog who brings smiles  and Junior is one such pup.  That is why I am lucky to be his watcher.  When he dances for his breakfast I giggle; when he pounces on a toy I grin; when he bounces after his tennis ball my tail wags with glee; when he sneaks candy and carrots under the unsuspecting nose of his Mom I send snozzle out of my nose; and when he rolls around in his blanket until he is covered I laugh so hard I pee just a little.

Everything was going swimmingly for Junior.  He had just turned 12 and along with all the good things birthdays bring they do bring one bad thing:  A trip to the vets.  But it was one of those ordinary check ups where there is nothing to worry about….until there is.

His doctor was doing the usual poking and prodding when he poked something that should not have been there.  It was a swollen lymph node.  That was the moment that Junior, his Mom, and their family climbed on the cancer train.  I have ridden that train.  It goes very fast, there are no rails, no known destination, and everyday you pray you can get off of it.

Junior’s cancer lead him from a diagnosis of possible lymphoma, to a biopsy proving lymphoma, to an operation for removal of the localized cancerous nodes, to scheduled chemo treatments.  

On Tuesday Junior went for his first treatment. He also got a shot, and got blood drawn, The chemo is a very dangerous drug.  If it leaks from the injection point it could damage Junior’s tissue.  His Mom has a list of symptoms.  If Junior shows any of these signs he is suffering side effects.  He has good days, and he has bad days.  Such is life when you are trapped on the cancer train.

I am determined to make sure that Junior does not breach our wall anytime soon.  He has so many people who depend on him for smiles and love.  He is a beautiful, devoted boy who is needed on the mortal side of life much more than he is needed on the immortal side.

This month Petco and Blue Buffalo are raising money for pet cancer awareness.  You can make a contribution at your local Petco or by going to

And if you would like to help Junior and his Mom with his expenses you can make a contribution at his gfundome site:  https://www.gofundme.com/2t7g8vnj

And if you would like you to help local Angel of the Watch keep saying prayers that all dogs have healthy days forever and anon.

Tails From Rainbow Bridge: Lucky Number Seven

On Monday we will celebrate the seventh anniversary of the web site I founded called The Tanner Brigade.  I remember that day clearly.  Many of our friends were refugees from a site called Doggyspace.  We were homeless, but temporarily gathered at another Ning site, which was public, and soon bad dog came into our playground and chased us away.

It was a Saturday morning.  Tanner Bub had gone to the Bridge the night before.  Our friends had scattered throughout the Internet.  We needed a home.  My dad was on his computer.  I jumped on his lap and told him that someone needed to create a new home for my friends.

Daddy asked Mom, who was in the kitchen making breakfast, and she agreed, a new home was needed.  We went on the Ning site and clicked to set up a new playground.  The first thing we did was put a big lock on the site so no bad dogs could interfere with our play.

But what to call this site?  I am not one to name things after myself.  The reason I was on the run from Doggyspace was because I protested when my friend Tanner had been removed from the site.  And Tanner had just gone to the Bridge.  So naming the site after Tanner was an easy choice.

But what good is a park without friends?  We invited our dearest friends and were very grateful when they accepted.  Soon our little group was gathered together under the banner “Freedom to Bark.”

We were told that a site where all dogs were given to bark their minds would soon degenerate into arguments, hurt feelings, and rapidly dwindling numbers.  But the opposite was true, except for a few isolated incidents, seven years later, thanks to our long time friends, and those new members who joined after Doggyspace collapsed, we are stronger than ever.

The reason is that dogs are loyal, and we inspire loyalty in our parents too.  Many of our original members, including me, are at the Bridge.  There is a new generation of dogs, like Tommy and Chloe, who are still pups, but will carry the banner of “Freedom to Bark” into the second quarter of this century.

We know there are other close knit groups of dogs, like the collection of independent pups gathered together under the independent title of “Blogville,” who are sweet, loyal an supportive.  

Our lives changed forever and for the better when the Tanner Brigade was formed.  We have survived so much together it is hard to imagine anything tearing us apart.  

Long live the Tanner Brigade.

Helping River Go Drug Free by Pocket Dog

I do my best to be a good girl.  My sister, on the other hand, is a schemer.  She tries to draw me into her stunts but I struggle to remain neutral.  Unless her plans can benefit me.

Our parents have concluded, on the basis of scant evidence, that River and I are too excitable and in need of treatment.  River believes that we are adequately excitable.  Our issues are with those who parade by our house; walk on our roads, or sit outside their homes, during our daily constitutional; close car doors within earshot; and their pets, who sit in their houses, or yards, and mock us with their overly trained calmness.

River has reported on the my parents experimenting with an herbal substance that is spread on our fur and gave us Don King hair.  When that failed out parents tried a well recommended treatment:  Rescue Remedy.

I appreciated the naturally soothing effect but River felt that is was suppressing her right to experience emotion.  This was a real Captain America Civil War situation brewing between us but I folded like Squirrel Girl.  (Real Superhero:  Google it.)  I agreed to help River trick my parents into discontinuing the Remedy.

If I have a super power it is my stomach.  My tummy can affect my parents entire day.  They examine my poop like CSI technicians studying bomb residue.  (Coincidentally I call my poop “bomb residue.”)   First I produced a bad poop.  Then I don’t eat.  River instructed me that no matter what my parents do: Beg, cajole, render garments, speak in tongues, worship false idols, I was not to eat.  With such shenanigans going on during breakfast who could eat?

The consequences of my actions were not predictable but still beneficial.  Instead of blaming what my friend Freddy refers to as “snake oil” my parents blamed their decision to bind my crate to River’s to block her escape plans.  River’s only means of escape was to squeeze through an inch wide gap in our crates.  I knew this was impossible but River does not believe in impossible.  She clawed, pushed, and bit my crate trying to escape.  It was not conducive to rest in the slightest.

My crate was placed in the living room, far away from River’s calculated prison break attempts.  As an added bonus my kitty pyramid, pictured above, fits in my crate.  I hate my little jail cell but now that my little pyramid is enclosed,  I can enclose myself in the pyramid, and there is no crazed Griffon burrowing into my crate I am calmer.

It took a tremendous amount of persuasion by River to make me continue with the squirrely poop and intermittent hunger strikes,  but I did, and now we are no longer remedied, I am back to a full belly and tootsie roll poops.

Plus River and I have been drug free for a week.  Can’t wait to get my one week kibble.

Wordless Wednesday

Beat This Caption

Don't judge me:  I am trying to put myself through law school

Pup of the Week: Cocoa Puff

I am happy to report, as a captain of the Night’s Watch, the angels who try to keep mortal dogs from passing to the immortal side, that we have had no friends breach the wall this week.

Next to me on the Watch are Tanner Bub and Ruger Ru:  Brothers who never stepped paw together on the mortal side.  Ruger came to live with Tanner’s family after Tanner passed to the Bridge.  Sadly, Ruger was given only a few precious heartbeats and came to the Bridge much too early.  Despite not meeting until both were angels Tanner and Ruger are as close as brothers can be.

Like all brothers they worry about their family.  Recently they have become concerned about their sister Cocoa Puff.  To Tanner she was the annoying little sister who grew up to be a beloved ally; to Ruger she was the big sister who taught him how the be a family member.

Tanner Bub and Ruger Ru are angels.  They never age and they never change (although we angels can change our appearance to look like any age in our time line like a mortal person changes clothes.)

Thier sister Cocoa, still in her mortal coil, is aging.  Age gives gifts to the young and steals gifts to the old.  Recently age has been rapidly taking from Cocoa.  

Cocoa has slowed down, she has seizures, and now age has robbed her of her eyesight.  But age has not robbed Cocoa of her strength and dignity.  

We dogs are much better at adapting to the loss of eyesight than humans. Our other senses are superior to sight.  Our ears hear sounds that no human could ever notice.  Our sense of smell is a much more reliable guidance system than our eyes.  If we lost our sense of taste life hardly would be worthy living.  But loss of sight we can overcome.

Especially with moms like Cocoa’s Mom Aunt Trudee.  We have watched her be knocked down:  Losing Tanner, losing Ruger, conquering cancer, dealing with family strife, and now Cocoa losing her vision, and she always bounces back.  She will do whatever it takes to make sure that Cocoa is safe and has clear and consistent paths throughout the house.

Plus she will stay with Cocoa:  To make sure Cocoa hears her lovely voice, smells her delightful smell, tastes her hands with soft licks.

We dogs don’t need vision.  We really don’t need taste or smell either.  The only sense we need is love.  Every dog in a shelter would trade their love, their taste, their sense of smell for love.

Cocoa will be just fine because she has a life filled with love.

Tails From Rainbow Bridge. Dear Enzo: About that Snow

I received an urgent message from my mortal friend Enzo on Tuesday.  He lives with his Mom and Dad in the mountains of Colorado, also known as the land that spring forgot.  Enzo told me of their cold quandary.  The calendar said it was the middle of May, but the weather said it was the beginning of February.

Enzo suggested that our ice making machine was leaking over the Rockies.  He knew we had been partying a lot recently.  I did not find this to be a fair accusation.  Yes, we did have a big Cinco De Mayo celebration, followed by Sixto, Sevento, Eighto, Nino, Harpo, Zeppo and Chico De Mayo.  It was not our fault.  If Trump becomes President, there is going to be no Mo De Mayo.

But all parties must end, and ours did, when we ran out of ice.  Angel Tanner Bub agreed to follow the water line from the ice machine to the Rockies.  He was delayed a day because he needed to check on his mom and sister in Idaho.  He reported back that there was no leakage over the Rockies.

While I felt good that we were not responsible for the Rocky Mountain freeze that still did not help us solve our friend’s frozen problem.

I made myself a Foleytini, sipped it, and thought.  Angel Tanner and Angel Scooby were doing mathematical equations searching for an answer.  I still had a nagging thought that the freakish weather could be Angel related.

Then it came to me:  I told Scooby to bring me Angel Smoochy. With his aid, I could confirm the answer

“How do you know?” Scooby asked.

I put down my glass and quoted a man who I believe has reached the heightened form of a Yorkie in man’s form:  “That’s what I do.  I drink, and I know things.”

Tanner brought Smoochy to me.  I showed him the snow.  “That’s odd.  Snow in May,” he said.  I smiled at him.  A realization crossed his face.  “Oh no,” he said chagrined.  “Are we in trouble?”

“Of course not Smoochy, what we did we did out of love, and when you do something out of love it is instantly forgotten.”  I told him I would explain everything to Enzo, and he would be happy with the explanation.

So, Enzo, this is your explanation.  You don’t have snow.  You have moon dust.  It looks like snow because it comes from the moon so it is cold, and it traveled through clouds so it is wet, but it is our moon dust, caused by us crashing into the moon.

Please, Enzo, treasure our moon dust.  It is a sign of our love and devotion.  It won’t be there forever, just like none of us are forever.

But we all need to be treasured while we are here.

River Song Introduces the Dog Anus for Humans

ATTENTION HUMANS:  Have you ever taken your dog outside to poop and envied the simplicity of your dog’s discharge system?  Dogs do not have to wipe, do not have to cleanse, they poop and run.

            In this busy world who has time to sit on the toilet, wait for discharge, wipe, clean and perhaps repeat?  Would you rather walk, drop them, go, bag it, and continue on with your day?  You will exercise more!  You will save time!  What is not to like?

            That is why I am here to off to you for a limited time, the Dog Anus for Humans!

            Here is how it works:  You buy one of Dr. Pocket’s patented Dog Anuses for a one-time payment of 350,000 kibbles or twelve easy payments of 100,000 kibbles.  You go to one of our certified proctologists.  He removes whatever you have up in there which I don’t want to talk about or even thinking about and he inserts a dog anus.

            You never have to wipe again, and that is our guarantee.    

            But wait:  There’s more.  Act now and you will get your very own fold up pooper scooper and wrap around thigh carrying cased.  No more worrying about forgetting your bags.  With the thigh wrap around scooper waste disposal is at the end of your fingertips.

            No more rushing out of meetings to use the restroom.  No more twisting yourself into pretzels in your car as you scream at the traffic desperate to get home.  No more embarrassing evacuations in public restrooms.  Still undecided.  Your answer may depend on our next selling feature.

            No more Depends!

            Your life will change with your brand new Dog Anus.  Tired of those dating sites like Match.com or Tinder?  With the Dog Anus, all you have to do is give your potential love interest a butt sniff, and you will know they are for you!

            Don’t be late.  Order one today!

            Warning:  Side effects might include the sudden need for butt scooting on rugs, the need for frequent anal gland expression, a strange need for a cupcake after you do your business outside like a good boy, and shame if you go inside the house behind the love seat.

Wordless Wednesday

Beat This Caption

"Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth so help you God?"

Waves and Wags to Forrest

We did not know Forest that well but it seems like he had a big impact on the community.  We will post our wagging and waving pictures for Forest. May he romp in peace until he is reunited with his family happily ever after

Pup of the Week: Whitley the Westie

After a week of meetings, the Angel committee decided to rebuild the wall with a beautiful door in the middle.  The door is for dogs who are suffering on the mortal side of the river because their tired bodies can no longer support their mighty souls.  I was on watch, standing by the door when I heard a soft knocking.

“Who is it?” I asked.

“It is I, Whitley the Westie,” the voice on the other side of the door said.

I sighed, leaned my head against the wall, and reluctantly let my little, white, furry friend into Rainbow Bridge.

I am lucky enough to have friends across social media:  On the Tanner Brigade, on Facebook, and among the wonderful independent bloggers in Blogville.  Whitley is one such blogger.
I wish more of you knew Whitley on the mortal side.  She is a cute, spirited, sassy little dog who was known for her homemade dresses and being a fashionista.  Many of you know my good friend Hattie Mae.  She and Whitley never crossed paths on the Internet, but they could have been sisters.  With their magnificent outfits and striking poses, they would have ruled the world together.

In her later years, after living in the Northeast, Whitley moved, with her mom, to Florida.  There she found the life she deserved.  Whitley rarely left her mom’s side.  Her favorite spot was the pool where she would either sit with her mom on a float or sit on her floatie.  Whitely and her Mom lived in paradise together.

Whitley’s soul shined very brightly.  Her body began to break down long before her soul was diminished.  Her legs failed her first.   The back ones stopped working but her Mom knew that Whitley’s inner strength and beauty were resilient.   Whitley’s Mom used a sling to help her best friend walk, she bought her wheels so she could still play on the grass, she purchased a stroller so Whitley could go on walks with her Mom and her best friend Finley, and Whitley spent hours floating in her pool.

If Whitley’s indomitable spirit could have kept her on the mortal side then she would have lived forever.  But her soul was too big for a small body to carry.  Earlier this year Whitley’s front legs stopped working.  Her essence was still willing, her eyes still sparkled, her love of accompanying her Mom on a walk in her buggy and resting on her floatie unabated, but it was becoming clear:  The day was approaching when her body could no longer contain her spirit.

This week her mom, unable to watch this great soul suffering from an uncooperative body, took her baby to the veterinarian.   The news was not good.  He diagnosed Whitley with degenerative myelopathy.  The diagnosis confirmed what she and Whitley’s friends knew.  The body could no longer enclose the spirit.

Her Mom knew that Whitley’s fabulous song, which included verses about her coast to coast travels, her scratches and rubs from the rich and famous (Supreme Court Justices, football players, and Senators)  and hundreds of dresses and parties, was concluding.  The next day Whitley’s Mom freed Whitley’s spirit from her failing body and soon she was knocking on the Bridge door.

Whitley went through the formalities of becoming an Angel.  She was polite and full of spunk, wholly enjoying her four working legs, but her spunkiness was undercut by anxiety about her Mom.  Tommy Tunes invited Whitley to his mansion to watch her Mom on one of Tommy’s several big screen televisions, but I had a better idea.

I led Whitley by the paw down to the River.  Tied to the dock was her new floatie and at the head of the floatie was a window through which Whitley could watch over her mom every day.  Whitley got on her floatie.  I handed her a cool drink.  She pushed off the bank and began floating down the River.

Tails from Rainbow Bridge: Max and Tupper Find a Macy

I had not seen my friends Max and Tupper running in the mountains nor playing by the river nor eating popcorn at Tommy’s nor ice cream at Otie’s for days.  Their seclusion concerned me.  I needed to investigate.

I knocked on their door, but no one answered.  I could hear movement inside. I opened the door.  Their house was a mess.  There were papers and folders strewn across the floor.  On a bed on the far side of their house, Max and Tupper slept snuggled together.

I softly called their names.  The both leaped out of bed. 
 
“Foley!” Tupper said.  “Sorry about the mess, we have been very busy.  We have been interviewing dogs.  Mom finally decided to get a new family member.  We had to find the perfect dog.” 

Max got down on the floor.  He began moving papers around with his paws.  Printed on the paper were descriptions of dogs.  Tupper and Max had scribbled notes on the reports.  Max found the paper he was looking for and pushed it towards Tupper.

“Macy!” he said, showing me the report.  “This is the dog we decided was best for Mom.  She is a rescue.  Her first mom had dementia and was forced to surrender Macy.  We think she is perfect.”

“How many dogs did you interview?” I asked.

“Eight thousand,” Tupper responded, yawning.

“Eight thousand dogs?” I asked stunned.

“Yes,” Max said.  “We wanted to do more, but Mom was getting anxious for a pup.”

“And how long did you interview them?” I asked.

“Six hours,” Tupper said.

“Six hours?  Eight thousand dogs?” My eyes were bugging out of my head.  “That’s,” I tried to do the math and gave up.  “A long time.”

“Well, we are here for eternity,” Tupper reminded me.

“You must have interviewed that many dogs when you found River,” Max said.

Sure.  I had interviewed Eight…..Teen.  Maybe.  I meekly nodded.  “I am glad you found the right one,” I said.

Max sighed.  “I hope so.  Do you think there could be a better dog out there?” he asked Tupper.
A look of concern crossed Tupper’s face. “You’re right.  Maybe there is another dog.  Hop into Mom’s dreams.  We need to keep looking.”

I hopped between them.  “Boys!” I said holding up my paws.  “You have done your job.  You have gone above and beyond your duty.”  I picked up Macy’s picture.  “Look at her.  She is beautiful.  And she is going to make your mom happy.”

They grumbled.

“I have this friend,” I told them.  “His name is Michelangelo.”

“The turtle?” Max asked.

“No, the painter.  He painted the Sistine Chapel.  It is considered one of the greatest works of art ever.  He told me he looks at it and wishes he had done something different.  I think you have found the Sistine Chapel of dogs.  So relax.  You have found a masterpiece.”

Tupper put his paw on my shoulder and thanked me for my kind words.

“But how hard is it to paint a Chapel?” Max asked.  Before they began looking for more dogs for their mom Tommy and Otis, also worried about our friends, appeared with popcorn and ice cream.  They kept the brothers occupied long enough for their mom to bring Macy home where Macy is building a brand new chapel in her mom’s heart.

So please relax, Max and Tupper.  You did a great job.  Your mom knows how much you helped her, and Macy will be a great dog.

Now have some more ice cream my friends.  You deserve it.

Pocket and the Public Restroom

We have all had it happen.  We are with our parents in a store:  There are so many sights and smells, we become immersed in the scents, and we begin relaxing our muscles.  And then it happens.  We leak, or worse; we leave a butt deposit.  Chaos quickly ensues.

Our parents frantically begin looking for a clean up station.  The stations are always hidden around an inconvenient corner.  If our parents are together one of them must stay with us.  They are embarrassed and repeating the same lie all parents say in this situation. “He/She has never done this before.”  Oh, if we could talk:  “Sure I have, yesterday at Home Depot, right by the gnomes.”  If our parents are alone, they yank us across the floor in search of the clean up material praying no one steps in our gift to the shoppers.

When they reach the clean up station, if they are not empty, they find small, skimpy bags that barely hold my five-pound body’s poop, and thin, non-absorbent paper towels.  It takes 64 or these towels to clean up my pee.  If you are a normal sized dog, it takes a roll and a half.  When the parent is done, they bring over an orange cone, large enough to warn people of a sinkhole the size of Nicaragua, to warn people that I had a secretion, doing no good for the people wandering around with my precious bodily fluids on their shoes.

Thankfully there has been a breakthrough in dog poop and pee abatement.  Forward thinking businesses, like JFK airport in New York, have created doggy restrooms.  They come with a stretch of fake grass and a fire hydrant.  There are poop bags and a hose to clean the area when the dog is done.

I had to try one.  I had mommy drive me to the airport.  We got out and went right to the doggy restroom.  I looked around:  It was beautiful.  Then I assumed the position.

“Excuse me!” a large man with a badge stopped me mid squat.  “What is your name?”  I told him my name was Pocket.  “I am sorry Pocket, but this is the ladies’ dog restroom.  The men’s dog restroom is down the hall.

“But I am a girl!” I insisted.

“Do you have an original copy of your dog license?” the man in the suit asked.  “Pocket sounds like a boy’s name, and we can’t let boys and girls go to the same restroom.  It wouldn’t be right.”

“But we pee on the same rock in the park!” I said.

“What you do in the park is your business sicko but here at the airport we have rules.”

I told him I did not have a dog license.  “Then you are going to have to roll on your back and show me,” he said.

Who was the sicko here?  I refused to be humiliated because I had to pee.  I told him I would not use his precious bathroom and walked off in a huff.  Before I left, I peed on the people mover.  It was the closest I could come to peeing all over the airport.

Listen to me my friends:  If they want to make you show your privates, or your license, just to pee:  Go on the floor.

Wordless Wednesday

Beat This Caption

Mom! How many time do I have to tell you! Knock before coming in! Please...just leave

Pup of the Week: Rain, Clyde, Quincy and Matilda

When it rains, it pours.  When it rained at the Bridge on Friday, it poured for a long time.  The rain was caused by the arrival of my friend Rain.  The rain that fell was created by tears that were shed by those who loved Rain.  Then came the deluge.  The deluge caused by those who followed Rain.

      

I blame myself for the deluge.  Friday morning I received word that Rain would be arriving in the afternoon.  Rain is my wonderful friend from Mexico.  Here at the Bridge, we try to ignore the pointless chatter that crosses the River from the mortal side.  Chatter caused by humans ruled by hate and fear; not love and compassion.  Chatter that led me to conclude that the last thing Rain should see before being welcomed to the Bridge was a big wall blocking her way.
            Every morning we build the wall to keep our friends from crossing over, and when we go to sleep at night, the Big Guy knocks the wall down.  We start again in the morning.  But, on the morning of Rain’s arrival, I ordered work on the wall to cease.
            Rain’s Mom was at the vet’s with her.  Rain had developed a tumor and could not breathe.  The same thing happened to me on the mortal side.  Believe me:  Breathing is something you take for granted until you can’t do it anymore.  I paced back and forth in front of Enzo’s Escalator waiting for my friend to rise to the Angels.
            She rose, and her Angel friends gathered around her.  We comforted her, reunited her with old friends, and fitted her with her wings.  Then the rain came.  Big clouds filled with human tears after Rain’s passing.  We gathered up our loved one's tears to help our gardens grow.
            Then I heard soft paws on the grass.  I turned to see my little, white furred friend Clyde.  He was not on my schedule.  “What are you doing here?” I asked.

            Clyde said he had a tumor on his spleen. The tumor burst, and he began to bleed into his stomach.  There was nothing anyone could do.  His parents made the only decision they could.  For the second time, we reunited an angel with old friends, had wings attached, and comforted Clyde.  Then more clouds came:  This time filled with tears for Clyde.
       The rain ended, and the magnificent terriers appeared. They were led by Brooklyn, Mckinsie, and Promise.  Their gathering could only have one meaning:  A member of the Magnificent Seven, the world’s greatest collection of Boston Terriers, would be arriving on this tragic day too.  I turned to see little black and white Quincy leaping off the escalator landing and running to his sister Brooklyn.  They jumped in the air, hugged, and danced overjoyed at the prospect of their reconciliation.

    Then they stopped and waited for the cloud of their Mom’s tears to wash over them.  It was a very dark cloud bursting with tears.  Their Mom, Miss Judy, had lost many dogs in the past few years, and now she had lost the friend she called her “bright light.”  Her little comedian who made her laugh every day. I wondered how a Mom could survive having her heart continually broken but then I realized that she is always surrounded by Terrier love.  She also has many angels who love her and watch over her every day.  Then again, looking at the puddles of tears on the ground, I knew how much her heart hurt.
            That is when I realized the wall was still down.  Clyde, Quincy, and Rain could be the beginning of a deluge of angels.  I frantically asked the angels to begin reconstructing the wall.  A giant shadow covered me.  I thought it was another cloud.  I turned and saw Moses, a huge Newfoundland looking down at me and shaking his head.
            Moses was the first angel I ever met.  When I joined the online world in 2007 Moses was living his last days on the mortal side.  He had cancer.  I can still remember reading his blogs.  Everything I learned about love and compassion I learned from Moses.  When I came to the Bridge, he continued to be my teacher.  There were four words I learned in 2007 and they are as true nine years later as they were then:  Moses is Love.
            Moses’ Mom’s heart was broken when he passed.  But it was healed, as all hearts are, by a new baby.  Her name was Matilda and I watched her grow up from a pup.  “By now she must be,” I thought to myself, then looked at Moses.  “No!” I said.

             Moses nodded to the escalator.   Matilida had arrived at the Bridge.  I began to get angry.  Moses was very young when he passed, and Matilda had not even had a decade of life.  I should confront the Big Guy. Then I felt Moses’ giant paw on my shoulder. “No Foley,” he said.  “This is the way it has to be.”  He could see the guilt on my face too.  “The wall wouldn’t have made a difference.  It was Matilda’s time, it was Rain’s time, it was Quincy’s time, it was Clyde’s time, it was your time, and it was my time.  We only get so much time, and then we come here where we have nothing but times.”
            He stood over me as more clouds came and then tears for Matilda poured down upon us.
            The clouds kept coming with tears for Quincy, Rain, Clyde, Matilda and every angel gathered at the Bride.  One new angel makes every Mom of an angel remember the passing of their baby.  Four brings lots of bad memories.
            The next morning I stood amongst the rubble from the collapsed wall.  I picked up a stone and put it in place.  Then another.  Then another.
            It may have been an act of futility but if it could prevent a quadruple arrival day it would be worth it.