The Ruby Rose and the Big Little Angels 3 Blog

Life can be cruel.  But even in the cruelest lives, there are moments of joy.         When Shanna Niehaus gave birth to her son Kainoa five years ago, she had the expectations that all young mothers have:  Years of love and affection; of watching her little man grow up surrounded by friends and family. But Kainoa never showed love nor affection.  He could not hug, snuggle or touch freely, nor could he wash or dress himself.  Her son was diagnosed with autism.  They were desperate to see a sign of the loving boy they knew was trapped inside their son.  They raised $15,000 in hopes of getting an Autism Assistance Dog for Kai. Meanwhile, at the 4 Paws for Ability facility a golden retriever named Thunder was born.   Thunder was bred to be a service dog.  From the moment of his birth he and the other dogs born at 4 Paws are trained to enrich the lives of children with disabilities or veterans who have lost their limbs or hearing during contact.  It takes 12 to 16 months for a

A toy to play with, some new chew bones Would make your wishes come true When your family has come and gone I’ll say this poem just for you So what becomes of the unrescued dogs Who never find a home They’re sleeping alone tonight In a shelter over there Kibble poured from a bucket Water out of a pail Will there be a visitor tonight? To let me out of this jail So what becomes of all the unrescued dogs Who never find a home They’re sleeping alone tonight In a shelter over there Looking out the window, wishing upon a star Tonight the cage next door is open It’s occupant left today, happy, in a car A palace made of solid gold Can never beat a person and dog as a pair Tomorrow the cage next door will be filled In a shelter over there A dog’s made for playing catch, running in the rain Begging for bits of Daddy’s supper Never letting a human bring you down again From the window a bird sings, ready to fly who knows where High, free

Last year I got Lymes.  I thought it was going to be great.  I love fruit.  I figured I would lay them like eggs.  But every time I squatted it was the same old s**t.  They say I still have traces of lyme but I have given up on producing anything. Last week was a very busy week for my parents.  It was one of those weeks when our parents say “we can’t possibly fit in one more thing.” On Tuesday we had a groomer’s appointment.  When our parents came to pick us up the groomer’s announced “River has a yeast infection!”  Geez, sister, don’t you know what happens at the salon stays at the salon.  The last thing I needed was them announcing what’s going on inside of me to the outside. When we got to the car daddy called the vet.  He told the woman who answered that the groomer had diagnosed me with a yeast infection (Man, why don’t you just put it on Twitter!) and he wanted to know if I needed to be brought in or if he could just get the medicine. “Are you asking if River can avoid

I told you the little bastard was eating my kibble.  But you said "Oh no, not Anthony."  Well what do you think of Anthony now!

When Pocket and I made the decision to break away from Doggyspace and start our own social network, called the Tanner Brigade, in 2009, we invited many friends to join us in our experiment to give dogs a place to play and have the Freedom to Bark. One of our first friends to say yes and set up a profile without having any idea if the site would work or be fun were our brave Yorkie friends Chelsea and Ashton. We had been friends for two years before we began the Tanner Brigade.  That makes nine years of friendship, longer than many dog’s lifetimes.  While we loved all our friends, we had an extra bond with Chelsea and Ashton because only Yorkies truly understand Yorkies. We lived quite similar lives.  Our moms were both retired.  We lived in retirement communities.  And one of our packs was illegal. Both places only allowed one dog per owner on their sites.  Mommy and Chelsea’s mom convinced the management to give them permission for a second dog.  Both mommies would rather b

One of the most torturous ordeals an angel can experience is to watch their parents mourn them.  While we have the advantage that we can still see our parents our ability to make them feel better, except for a few fleeting and forgotten moments in their dreams, has disappeared.. It can take months for our parents to find another dog to fill their home with understanding, compassion, and unconditional love.  There are many different reasons for the delay.  A new dog needs much more attention than an established dog.  New dogs cost more money, take up more energy, and if a parent’s health or finances are in dire straits getting a new heartbeat in the house is not feasible. Also, there are some parents whom, after going through the ordeal of losing a pet, can’t find the heart to replace them, feeling it would be disloyal to the friend they loved so much. In some instances, the time goes much quicker.  It was only three weeks after I came to the Bridge that circumstances clicked

We have become a family of nightwalkers.  Our daily constitutional has become a nightly ritual.   Here in the Prune Village where the number one job is being retired people don’t walk at night and seldom come outside after sunset.  The sound of lawn mowers and weed whackers begin at the crack of dawn, but a hush comes over our neighborhood at dusk.   When the restaurants stop serving the early bird special, it is bed time. The biggest reason for our switch is that Pocket is obnoxious. If there is a person walking down the street, she barks.  Same is true of dogs, cats, squirrels, leaves and abnormally large bees.  I bark as well, but my barks are communications to Pocket that she needs to stop barking.  Sometimes I prematurely bark to keep Pocket from barking.  But I never bark at just anything.  I am a good girl.  Since everyone is getting ready for bed after sunset, there are few cars on the road and since the speed limit is ten mph we can out run any wayward motorist.  Th

I demand a DNA test before I pay a dime in child support

It seems like there are so many dogs that some of them, even if we are friends, or following them, we never got to know them.  That is true of Rory, from the Rory and Stella blog, who joined me at the Bridge this week.  I never got to know him while he was on the immortal side, and I regret it very much.  Now that I have met him I know I missed out on a wonderful life. He had a long list of medical problems in his five years of life.  He fought them all off but the last one, a large mass in the stomach, sent him here to the Bridge much too early. Us small dogs leave huge holes in our parent's hearts and houses.  When you are a huge dog like Rory your absence truly leaves a big hole.   His Mom misses his faithful footsteps behind her, her having to squeeze by him, and him being a big, goofy, snuggle baby.  His sister Stella misses Rory very much too   They are supporting one another and hopefully will help each other through this terrible time. I have to take more time to g

Finally, humans have started using medical research to do something besides making daddy’s little soldier to stand up longer. They have turned their attention to one of life’s most important endeavours.  Making our lives longer.   Let me tell you about rapamycin.  When I was first informed about it, I thought it was a clever name for a Hasidic hip-hop artist, but it is a drug discovered on an island called Rapa Nui, better known as Easter Island, where primitive humans built big giant heads convenient for male dogs to pee on.   The drug is created by a bacterium that is found in the soil of Rapa Nui.  The island’s indigenous people believed that the living and the dead had an ongoing relationship, even more sophisticated than today’s relationship of blogging from Rainbow Bridge.  The famous heads built at Easter Island were in tribute to the dead. Is it any surprise that in this soil was found a drug that could not just create a relationship between the living and the dead,

Pocket Dog, your intrepid reporter, is always ready to follow a lead when humans intrude on our peaceful world. My assignment took me to a luxurious apartment in New York City. I found Miranda C. Cat sleeping on a chair in the fading afternoon sunlight. I hopped up in a chair near her.  She awoke, yawned, stretched, and asked me if I was Pocket the Reporter.  I confirmed that was my identity.  She agreed to answer my questions. “It is my understanding that on the afternoon of May 14, 2005, when you were two years of age, the owner of these towers, a Donald Trump grabbed you without your permission.” The cat licked her paw.  “Yes, it is true.  I was lying here asleep when I was picked up by what I thought, because of the hand size, was a child, but was, in fact, a large orange man.  He snatched me right up.  I said ‘excuse me, sir, I do not appreciate being grabbed without permission and he told me he was a huge star and touched unsuspecting kitties all the time.  So I scr

We fill this pup with Beef-A-Rino, he farts, and I fly

Only my Blogville friends know Ciara.  I feel a little jealous of my friends who weren’t aware of her this morning.  Their tears were not part of the clouds of tears that opened up above Rainbow Bridge shortly before her arrival. She was a resilient, brave, tough dog who fought off seizures as long as she could, but finally, the seizure won. I hate seizures.  Luckily I never experienced one.  But my first sister, Blake, had many seizures.  They are frightening to everyone involved.  To our parents seizures are like a terrible spirit that has taken over their baby and is ripping her apart from the inside.  Whether they last for seconds or minutes, every moment is filled with fear and dread.  All the parents want is their sweet baby back. Blake told me,  as a dog who suffered from seizures, that, while they were occurring, it was like a bad dream, but one where everything that you physically experienced in the dream still affected you when you awoke.  And then there was the look o

After all the excitement of Miss Vicki’s arrival, I was exhausted.  I went back to my quaint cottage.  I poured my Mommy’s tears into my garden and watched my beautiful flowers open and grow stronger.  I pulled some weeds then went inside, made myself some tea, climbed into bed and drifted into a much-deserved sleep. I wasn’t asleep five minutes when I was awakened by a great bang, and a puff of smoke filling the room.  Had I forgotten the flume?  No.  Teddy Bond, secret agent angel and founder of Acme Dog Gadgets that have been aiding dogs on escaping crates, counter surfing, and other feats that leave parents scratching their heads about how their dog accomplished whatever impossible task the dog did in their parents’ absence, stood at the end of my bed. “I finally have a successor!” he announced as proud as I have ever seen him. I wiped the sleep from my eyes.  “A new successor?  Has your sister Gracie finally decided to carry on your business?” “No,” he said with a touch

It was a very normal, everyday Thursday.  Daddy was working.  Mommy took Pocket and me out to pee.  We put on our leashes and went out the back porch door.  When we go to the grass Pocket, always trying to be the rebel, got on my back, and rolled around on the cool green grass. I know I should not get on my back, spread my legs, and roll around.  That is the kind of behavior that made me an unwed, teenage mother.  But someday you can’t help yourself. You have to get on your back, spread your legs, and roll. Mommy made me flip over and get into position (for peeing, geez people.)  After some searching, I peed, and we began walking back in the house.  Every few feet I would stop and sit down.  Mommy told me to move, and I would, but then stop again.  When we got back inside the porch, I sat down and wouldn’t move. Mommy picked me up and began searching.  That is when she found a bee on my butt.  (It wasn’t in my bonnet, but it was too close to my bonnet for comfort.)  She didn’t

Hold on! Hold on! It wasn't me! It was my brother. I swear. We are only two weeks old. You can't tell us apart.

My friend Blazer came tearing through the front door of my cottage and then right out the back.  As I slowly got out of bed, he ran through the house again.  He had a case of the zooms. His next time through  I stopped him and asked what was wrong.  “My Mommy is coming, my Mommy is coming,” he yelled, his tail wagging furiously.  I asked him to explain.  “Something happened to mommy; I don’t know what, all I know is that she is coming.”  He ran out the door, then came back in, wet his paw, and patted down the hair on his forehead.  “You look beautiful,” I told him.  He scooted out the door.  I followed, after patting down my hair with my licked paw. I was happy for Blazer; there is nothing more beautiful than a parent and pet reunion.  But I also knew there would be very many sad humans.  A cloud of their tears burst over us as I ran behind Blazer.  I made a note to collect my mom’s tears to help my garden grow. My mom knew Blazer’s mom better than she knew any online friend