Wordless Wednesday

Beat This Capti

You guys go ahead.  I will stay here and guard the gate

Can you please vote for our friend Enzo

If you could please vote for our friend Enzo in a photo contest it will be appreciated.

If you have a Facebook account then follow this link  When you are on the Facebook page ask to be friends.

After your friendship is accepted follow this link  and like Enzo's picture.

This is Enzo

We both say thank you

Pups of the Week: Luci and Carly

Nigel was sitting up in bed.  His small arms were crossed over his chest.  He was wearing his bulldog face.  It’s a face that I can’t tell if it’s happy, sad, nervous or content.  It’s just bulldog.  But, his bottom left paw tapped on the bed.  He was nervous.

On his Parent Vision television, Nigel is watching a car, being driven by his dad, with his mom in the passenger seat, going south down the Jersey Turnpike.  In the back seat were their two bulldogs, the newly christened Lucy and Carli, ages six and seven, riding to their new forever home with Nigel’s parents.

It had taken Nigel months to find a dog to help rebuild his parents’ hearts, which were destroyed when he passed in late June 2015.  He interviewed hundreds of dogs before realizing he would never find a single dog to cure his parents.  Only a bulldog pair would do.  

Finding a pair of Bulldogs ready to adopted together was like trying to find a chicken at the turkey farm.  Nigel spent days flying unseen through the mortal world looking for the right pair.

Earlier this week Nigel was lying down on a hill overlooking Rainbow Bridge.  He was exhausted and discouraged.  He put his head down on his paws and sighed.  Suddenly there was a poof of smoke in front of him.  Our good friend, and top flight secret agent, Tommy Bond appeared.

“I have found them!” Teddy announced with great fanfare.  “In New Jersey!”

“New Jersey?” Nigel said, his stomach turning.

“That’s right.  Their mom got this terrible disease called lymphedema.  She is going to need a tremendous amount of medical care, and she can no longer take care of two female bulldogs.  Their names are Nola and Girlie, but I am sure something can be done about that.  Anyway, fly into the sun with me, we will visit these girls, and you can decide if they are right for your parents.”

Nigel followed Teddy into the sun and came out near a cage holding Nola and Girlie.  He knew from his first look that these were the dogs for his parents.  He talked to them, and they were anxious to meet their new mom and dad.  Teddy visited his mom’s dreams and told her about Nola and Girlie.  Unaware of the reason way, Teddy’s mom was compelled to look on Facebook where she saw Nola and Girlie.  She informed Nigel’s mom who called about them.  Meanwhile, Nigel had asked us angels to discourage two other prospective parents for the Bulldogs, and the rescue agreed to give Nola and Girlie to Nigel’s parents.

On Saturday Nigel’s parents drove up the Jersey Turnpike, (the name comes from the Indian term “Road of Despair.”  Once you tire of counting the refinery towers, it is a boring ride.  It took them eight hours, but the trip was worth it.  Nola and Girlie became Lucy and Carli, and they started their journey home, and life,  together.

After an exhausting day on the Road of Despair, the happy family returned home.  Nigel was right.  It did take two dogs to rebuild his parent’s hearts.  Lucy and Carli have made an excellent start of it.

As soon as his parents got home, Nigel finally nodded off to sleep.  I had not seen him sleep so soundly since arriving at the Bridge.

Tails From Rainbow Bridge: Watching Ruger Ru

This week we reluctantly welcomed two friends, Rabbit and Presley, who arrived at the Bridge before their time.  Nothing is sadder than a young dog robbed of his mortal days.

When we angels wake up, we choose the age we want to wear like humans decide what clothes they want to adorn.  I have 13 different years to pick from.  My favorite is seven, right in the middle, when I was full of sass and nothing hurt.

Sometimes, if I am feeling vibrant, I choose puppy.  When I am wearing puppy, I run, jump and play.  Honestly, I can only wear puppy for no more than an hour.  It is quite an exhausting sartorial choice.

When young dogs arrive, they have fewer years to choose from.  No dog I know has fewer ages to wear than my dear friend Ruger Ru.

Ruger joined us after a very short time on Earth.  His mom loved him with all her heart, but he got sick, and she could not let him suffer any longer. He has been here four years living with his brother, Tanner Bub, the mayor of Rainbow Bridge.

The problem is that Ruger does not have many years to choose from when he gets dressed.  He only has young years and young years are full of energy which means Ruger never stops moving.  

Tanner does his best but watching Ruger always moving and begging to play is tiring.  That means we each have to take time Ruger sitting.

I must say it is invigorating to watch Ruger playing like a pup.  And if I am wearing my young clothes I can keep up with him for about ten minutes.  If I am wearing my old clothes I just watch until my rapid eye and head movements make me drowsy and I find another friend to watch our forever young angel.

Throughout the day we work as a team to observe Ruger as he tries to burn off his never ending energy.

Truth be told, we do love Ruger’s running and playing.  A young dog is rare here, and he brings the same smiles to us that he brought to his parents.

I just wish they had more time with him.

Bed Time Fun Time by River Song

I love the bed.  I am the most bed loving dog in the world.  I would spend all day there if I could.  When daddy comes with the leash in the morning to hook my harness and take me outside I roll over and my back to make my removal as difficult as possible.

The bed is soft and warm, and both my humans are in it.  They are so very warm and comforting to lay against.  When it’s cold out, there are all sorts of blankets and comforters to get between.  

Occasionally, on very special days, when we are taken outside to do our business, we get back in bed.  In the winter we snuggle down but in the summer it’s play time.

Pocket and I like to play together, but the opportunity is limited.  We prefer to play on something soft and our house, except for the front room, is hard floor.  The door to the front room is often closed so getting in there is a rare treat.  When we do we tear back and forth, and roll around together.

But the bed is our special play spot.  We nip, bite, and scratch.  We circle, jump and growl.  Sometimes it takes us time to get synchronized.  Play usually begins when one of us gets on our back leaving our bodies exposed.  The other is supposed to scratch, sniff, and begin play.

Unfortunately, while I am lying on my back in bed waiting for the action to begin Pocket has her head buried in her who-who pleasuring herself.  I roll back over, walk to mom, and get some scratches while Pocket, satisfied, rolls over and wonders why I am sniffing her belly.  Bed synchronization is hard.  

If our lack of coordination lasts too long daddy will flip one of us over, guide the other’s head to the belly, and he hopes the magic happens.  If it does, we leave him a kibble as a tip.

Playing in the bed is a small dog privilege unless large dogs have really big beds.  I am sorry if you are missing out.

Now I am closing my laptop and headed to bed.  If you were smart, you would do the same.

Wordless Wedneday

Beat This Caption

You are going to work? For eight hours? And you are leaving me alone?  How can this be?  

Pup of the Week: Presley

Two years ago, this very week, my dear friend, Raider joined me at the Rainbow Bridge.  His mom Gina and his dad were heartbroken.

Raider set his mind on a single goal:  He needed to find another dog to help rebuild his parents’ heart.

He soon found Presley.  Raider managed to bring them together, and then he rested.

Two years later, under sudden, and tragic circumstances, Presley has joined Raider at the Bridge.

It takes five minutes to fall in love with a dog.  It takes 50 years to stop mourning a dog’s passing.  It seems that, after falling in love in five minutes, and facing a lifetime of mourning, a parent should get more than two years with a pup.

When I first arrived at the Bridge and was confronted with a dog’s passing, too tragic, and too soon, like Presley, I would fly up to the top of the tallest mountain to confront the Big Guy.  He always had a reason:  Dogs age given only so many heartbeats; when Romey passed too young he told me that every soul’s passing is unfair; when Tupper became and Angel, he told me men were made in his image so if man was fallible so was he;  when Cooper’s mortal journey ended the Big Guy said life should be measured in love and not days lived;  Angel Apollo, when his sister Shakira joined us, told me to never question the Big Guy’s motives; and when Logan passed Big Guy ordered me to mourn the bad but remember the good.

I didn’t visit the Big Guy after Raider and Presley were united here at the Bridge.  I don’t know if I had heard it all, or if I didn’t want to hear any more.  Maybe all these passings had caused me to lose faith in his wisdom.  

The next day, when Rabbit arrived, after eating a mushroom, another foolish, useless death, my belief in the Big Guy’s reasons faded even more.

I would like to tell you that my faith has been restored.  Right now that would be a lie.  Presley’s mom’s tears, coming after the tears for Raider have barely dried, and the tears for Rabbit have washed away my faith.

But I still have a belief that I will rediscover my faith:  When a rescued dog licks his parent for the first time, when prayers are answered and a sick dog is healthy again, and when a human and a dog stare into one another’s eyes, and the love is so strong, I can feel it in my heart and makes me feel like it will burst.

I hope that Presley’s parents and that Rabbit’s mom can find their faith too.  

Faith is a terrible thing to lose.

Almost as bad a losing a beloved pup.

Tails From Rainbow Bridge: Welcoming Cotton

Since I arrived at Rainbow Bridge it has been my duty to welcome all pets who have crossed the River of Life and become angels to their new life a immortal souls.

This week Cotton, a very pretty cat with a huge M on this head, who belonged to the parents of my good friends Angus Mac, Maggie and Stella Roe, arrived at the Bridge with a note in her paw.

I took the letter.  I expected it to be a letter of introduction, or maybe she wanted me to sign her autograph.  I looked down to see the Big Guy’s handwriting.  Cotton had been appointed to greet all kitties who arrived at the Rainbow Bridge.

“Hey Foley,” Paco said, slyly looking over my shoulder “is not that your job?”

I felt my skin burning under my hair but I did not want to show that the letter had any affect on me.  I folded it back up and handed it to Cotton.  “Just a standard communication.  Cotton is going to help me in greeting our friends when they come here.  I have asked for help and Cotton here is the perfect choice.”  I tried not to look anyone in the eye.  I knew my eyes  would betray my lack of truthfulness.

Cotton was then overwhelmed with family and friends.  She was carried off triumphantly.  I was glad that she go such a reception but I did not envy her.  Cats can be quite difficult to help transition to the Bridge.  She would probably need lots of help.

I gave her a few days to get her paws wet then I asked Paco and Odie to accompany me to a hill where we could watch Cotton greet new kitties at the Bridge.  A cat I did not recognize had just crossed over.  “Good luck kid,” I whispered.

Cotton hugged the new cat, and, unlike my offering of kitty hugs, it was gratefully accepted.  Cotton then brought out a bottle of champagne.  It was poured and all the cat’s friends toasted the new arrival.

“Why don’t we dog get greeted like that?” Odie asked.

“Oh, it just showy!” I said, not caring if my jealousy was apparent.

Then came the plates of salmon, tuna, and caviar.  The cats and their guests had a feast to greet the news angel.

“Why don’t we have feasts like that?” Odie asked.

“We don’t need them right Paco?  Paco?”

“Paco is down there eating caviar,” Odie said.  

Paco!

I went back to my house.  Who did this new kitty with her big ideas think she was.  I was in a foul mood.  I put some crushed kibble in my pipe.  Usually a good smoke calmed me down.  Then I heard a soft knocking on my door.

I opened it to find Cotton sitting on my welcome mat.  She asked is she could come inside.

She climbed up in one of my chairs.  “I don’t know how you do this Foley,” she sighed.  “It is hard, everyone is so sad.  I try to make it a joyful reunion but I don’t know if I am helping.”

I knew that feeling all too well.  I climbed up on the chair and sat next to Cotton.  (I know, a cat!)  I took her paw and told her that she was doing a wonderful job.  I admitted I had seen her celebration and said it was as fine a welcome as I had ever witnessed.  I told her how sure I was that her family would be beaming with pride if they knew how she was spreading joy to those at their lowest point.  I promised that Leo would teach her how to fly into the sun and visit her family because I knew they loved her and missed her a great deal.

Cotton asked me for any advice I could give her to help her when greeting her friends.

I looked her in her eyes. “Of course I can,” I said.  “First, where do you get the champagne?”

A long, hot summer by Pocket Dog

It is scorching outside.  It is even hot when it is dark which is worse because you can’t see it.  I don’t like the heat.  

My paws sizzle when they hit the pavement.  

We barely walk now because River has a compressed face and begins panting quickly.  My outside activity is limited.  I am concerned.  I might have gained an ounce or two, which is concerning.  If I weighed 160 pounds I would have gained four whole pounds!

I have to look out the window to see what is happening in my gardens.

The birds at our feeders don’t go to them now.  They order takeout by employing some nestless birds to take the food from our feeders and bring it to their nests.  If the servers do not get a tip, they do a somersault out of the tree.  Remember if you don’t tip your servers someone will flip you the bird.

The squirrels don’t hunt for food either.  They set up a stand on the side of the road and sell their roasted nuts.

River and I have switched roles with Daddy.  In the winter we don’t pant, and he wears pants, in the summer we pant and Daddy makes the neighbors look away in shame.

The heat often brings thunderstorms.  I don’t care for them at all.  I am usually good when the lights are on but when they are off, and the lightning flashes momentarily illuminating the room, I become nervous.  When nervous I move for higher ground which means Daddy’s head, even when he is sleeping.  He woke up with me sitting on his face.  When he realized, he was not having a college flashback he walked around the house with me until I settled down.

I am hoping for some cooler weather soon.  We need our walks.  I am sure our neighbors miss our incessant barking disturbing their peaceful mornings.

Here in the Village of the Pruned, it has been a hot and quiet summer.

Wordless Wednesday

Beat This Caption

Please look over this lineup Mam and see if you can identify the pug who peed on your shoes

Pup of the Week: The Funny Dogs

It had been a quiet week here at the Rainbow Bridge (Thanks Big Guy!)  We rebuilt the wall and not dog has crossed over in our district.  Dogs in other districts are discussing following our lead.  The entire Bridge may be covered by a wall soon.  Until someone knocks it down.  (Thanks Big Guy!)

These are some dark and depressing times.  What we need know is humor and fun.  This week I would like to honor some dogs who make our lives happier and more joyful.  To recognize those who take out mind off the worst of time.

In the wonderful world of Blogville dogs have been competing in the Blogville Olympics.  There is basketball for those who can hold a ball or has a basket; there is TuneFul farting, there is boxing, there is synchronized napping, and so much more.  There have been days of fun and we are looking forward to days more.

Then there are the merry pranksters from our own Tanner Brigade site.  Enzo is always ready with a funny sketch, a witty joke, or a tail of woe about life on Enzo mountain.  He is a very busy dog  who runs his own garage but he still has time to post pictures of old cars to keep us guessing.  Keeping us guessing keeps us from worrying so the more we guess the better.

Then there are two of the greatest mischief makers Freddy Girl and her brother Angel Tommy Tunes.  They have been entertaining us for nearly ten years.  Tommy has a vault filled of videos of him talking with his partners in crime, most famously Morgan the Miracle Maltese.  Tommy and Freddy also like to share their collection of historical pictures.  You would not believe the places they have gone and the events they have seen.  Lately they have been playing games with us. They post pictures and we are supposed to figure out a phrase based on the pictures.  It is a fun game that keeps us all guessing and our friend Cinnamon’s guesses are better than the pictures.

Finally there is Molly.  Not only is she a master of photo manipulation making beautiful pictures enchanting, but she has started stories by writing three words and then letting others contribute three words to see where the story goes.  They have gone to some strange, but always funny spots.

In these days of madness and sadness, both here and the mortal side of the River, we need more dogs who make us smile and for a short bit of time make us smile.

So here is a tip of the tail to the fun dogs.  We would be lost without them.

Tails From Rainbow Bridge: Tommy's Testicles

Boys and girls are different.

When girls have their ovaries removed, they never care if they see them again.  But when boys arrive at the Rainbow Bridge they always inquire about their testicles.

        Well, I have some good news for the boys.

Recently our puppy friend Tommy had his testicles removed.  As soon as they were chopped off, they sprouted wings.  They flew out the doctor’s office and all the way to the Rainbow Bridge to await their owner.  Thankfully Tommy’s testicles cleared the wall.  There is nothing worse than hearing a pair of testicles splat against cement.

When the testicles reach us, it is our duty to catch them, put them in a jar, and keep them safe for the eventual reunion.  But testicles like to have fun.  They dart and dive, rise and fall, to keep us from being able to catch them. Testicles yearn to be free.

Tommy is a beagle, so his testicles were especially playful.  At some point, I could not find them. Then I say Brody with his mouth shut and a guilty look on his face.  I could see a testicle wing fluttering in his mouth.

“Brody!” I yelled.  “You get Tommy’s testicles out of your mouth right now!  You don’t know where they have been.”

Tommy spit the testicles out of his mouth, and they flew off again.  I ran after them, barking at them to get down.  But they kept flying higher and doing loop de loops.  Let me tell you, Tommy; you have some energy packed testicles.

Paco picked up a net and tried to catch Tommy’s testicles.  Having recently been reunited with his own Paco knew how much Tommy would want them.  But even he could not net the nuts.

Finally, Tommy’s testicles became tired and landed on a bush as pretty as a butterfly with balls.   I put the balls in a jar and brought them to the Great Hall of Testicles where they await Tommy.  

So cheer up Tommy.  When you look down, you may think you will spend eternity looking between your legs and seeing a vast emptiness but your little friends await you.

If they are not if Testicle Hall look in Brody’s mouth.  Everything ends up there eventually.

The dog in the window by River Song

I have become the happy face in the window.

It has been a long time since there was a happy face in the window at my parents house.  When they lived in their condo, and their son was living in Florida, Foley was let roam the house freely.  But then the son moved back home, and my parents never trusted him with complicated duties, like closing the front door, so Foley was put on her blanket in the bedroom.

When they moved to their new home here at the village of the pruned Foley was left in the bedroom when my parents went out, happily curled up on her red blanket. Pocket stayed in her crate, the same one she uses today.

After I gained my parole my parents thought I would do more damage if I was put behind a closed bedroom door.  So I was given run of the entire house (honestly, with four rooms, two baths,and laundry room it is more of a jaunt than a run).

While I gained the joy of freedom, my parents gained something of equal value.  They gained the face in the window.

Any parent with dogs in the house know that look.  They return home being drained of whatever dramas travelling beyond the boundries of our yard causes.  They hear a bark, look up, and see a big, smiling face.  No dog or person has ever looked happier to see someone.  Each time a dog sees their parent return home they look happier than the last time.

I have to work harder the dogs who merely stand in the window.  I need to stand on my back two legs with my paws on the sill.  When they, on their return, see my smiling face, and make eye contact, I begin to bark.  First I bark looking at them, then my head goes back and I bark towards the moon that my parents are home.

I move to the door where I jump up to the window while they fumble their keys and finally get inside to scratch my head and say hello.  It is almost worth them leaving.

Then they let a barking Pocket out of the crate and things go downhill.

I am still a rookie at being the dog in the window. If you have any suggestions please let me know.

Wordless Wednesday

Pup of the Week: Dot

The Big Guy knocked down our wall again.  

We don’t know if we have the strength to rebuild it.

Odie came, and we fortified; Leo arrived, and we built it higher; Paco appeared, and we built a moat around the wall; Dirty Harry landed, and we fortified more.

When Dot came, we realized that maybe walls aren’t always the answer.

We thought the wall was working for Dot.  She was a senior dog who battled cancer.  And she kicked ass.  When we questioned if building the wall was worth it someone mentioned Dot, and we nodded.  It is working for Dot.  She is spending time with Mama Michelle.  

Cancer is evil.  It sits back and patiently waits. Often, as it lurks, the doctors can get it and chase it away forever.  And sometimes they can’t.

Dot fought very hard to keep cancer in check.  She loved her mom, maybe even more than her mom loved her.  That kind of love is hard to measure.  No one has invented something that can measure that much love.  If love were enough, we would live forever.

But love isn’t enough.

When cancer lies dormant emotions abate.  We think Dot is all right, so our prayers wane, our worries abate.   That is what cancer waits for, that moment when we start to believe.

Then it strikes.

It struck Dot this weekend.  Her cancer moved into her throat.  Swallowing became too painful.  If we can’t swallow, we can’t eat.  And if we can’t eat, well, there isn’t a wall strong enough to keep you from the Rainbow Bridge if you can’t eat.

In the span of a day, Dot went from holding cancer in check to the Bridge leaving her poor mom Michelle devastated.  Her little, constant, faithful, companion of a decade and a half would no longer be by her side.

At least in physical form.

If the wall doesn’t work, we have learned to find another way.  Thanks to Leo finding the path back to our parents we have honed our skills.  Dot arrived, was welcomed,counseled hugged, licked, listened to, and when she was ready, she was fitted for her wings and Leo was leading her back to Mama Michelle.

I saw wish you knew she was there Mama Michelle, but she is, especially when you are at your lowest.  She wishes she could snatch the pain away.  Pain is cancer’s cousin.  It lies in wait and the latches on to you when you are the most vulnerable.

We are going to have a meeting about rebuilding the wall.  Maybe we will think of something new.  

Our goal is to try to take just a touch of mourning all parents feel when their babies go their final home.

We will never stop trying, Moms and Dads, we promise.

Tails From Rainbow Bridge: My Minions

Occasionally you may have heard me mention my minions.  After being appointed a Judge at Rainbow Bridge, I was given several minions to do the grunt work that neither my angel staff or I have the time to perform.

Recently the First Lady gave a speech where she described her house as being “built by slaves.”  As a civilized society we know having indentured servants do their owner’s bidding, for no pay, and not being allowed to stop working, is abhorrent.

But what of my minions.  Am I as guilty as slave owners?

I think it is important to understand how minions are created.  Anyone who mistreats people breaks the law and hurts others, become minions to human angels.  Anyone who abuses and mistreats dogs or other animals become minions to dog angels.  

And that is how I got my minions.  On the mortal side, they treated animals heartlessly and cruelly and when they reach their immortal side they are left to the whims of us dog angels.

I hope I am nice to my minions.  They are very small, smaller than even me.  They are very attentive to my needs.  So attentive I have to wonder what is the fate of those evil humans who refuse to be minions.

One day I took them all down to the River to set them free.  I put them all on the ground and told them to run free.  I turned and began walking home.  I stopped and looked at me.  My minions were following me, all in a row.  I couldn’t shake them.  When I got home, I felt like I should ask my mom if I could keep them.

I do my best to keep my minions happy and well fed.  And when I feel guilty about having them I remember what they did when they were mortal.

For every dog abused by a human, be patient.  Someday they will be your minion, and then you can determine how they should be treated.

What River Song Really Does When She is Home Alone by Pocket

Oh, let us rejoice in River Song being released from her crate, and being allowed to roam free, while my parents are out.

Her only requirement is to be a good girl while my parents are gone.  Apparently not peeing or pooping on the floor, chewing furniture, or standing on tables equals being a good girl, as well as being the only qualifications you need to win the Republican Presidential Nomination.

If my parents really knew what was happening in their absence River would be back in her crate with no chance of parole.

I prefer to be safely in my crate, which contains my triangular kitty condo, where I can relax in peace when left alone.  With River on the loose, relaxation is elusive.

When left alone River is not sitting by the door patiently waiting for my parents.  She is constantly watching Game of Thrones.  She watches the first episode, then starts another, gets confused, and watches the first one again.  I have seen that show 12 times.  It’s driving me crazy.

When she is tired of watching television, she puts on her Irish dance music and begins dancing in front of my crate.  I bark at her that “River Dance” does not mean her dance.  But she keeps sliding and leaping around to the world’s most grating music.

Then there is her meditation and yoga sessions.  She spends lots of time in her downward facing human position chanting:  “Arf, arf, arf, arf.”  It is so annoying!

My Mom usually leaves her I Pad home.  River sits and it and takes selfies.  I don’t know why.  I think she is giving herself a rectal exam.

I know if my mom reads this blog River be put back in her crate but at least I will get some peace and quiet and I can get caught up on Downton Abbey.

Wordless Wednesday

Beat This Caption

Hey! You think you're better than me!  Well it's go time!