The Ruby Rose and the Big Little Angels 3 Blog

Searching for intelligent signs of life in the universe

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 Mo

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

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.

"My precious. MY PRECIOUS!"

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:

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 bla

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 Dogg

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 situ

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

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 li

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

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:  Th

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

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

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 ha

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 s

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 o

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

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 arriv