The Ruby Rose and the Big Little Angels 3 Blog

Honest Mom, that's what happened.  Some guy opened the locked door and drank your Smoothie.  Honest

Since her arrival at Rainbow, Bridge Jazzy has spent most of her time either ghosting with her mom or visiting her in her dreams.  She carried her mom’s heartbreak with her every step she took.  Her friends gathered around Jazzy to try to cheer her up. She had all her energy back after the effects of a four-year battle with cancer had vanished, and sometimes we could get her to run and play, but then she would fly off into the sun to ghost with her mom. We all knew what needed to happen.  Her mom needed a new dog. We told Jazzy that she had to go into her mom’s dreams and tell her it was the time that she bring a new dog heartbeat into her house. Those who don’t understand missing a dog would say "it has only been two months since Jazzy passed,"  just as they say that one year equals seven dogs years.  That isn’t true.  But what is true is one month missing a pup equals seven months without a dog. Jazzy’s sister Star also was very worried about their mom.  Star had w

I have been writing about Rainbow Bridge for a long time and have used terms that some dogs who have just begun to follow my blogs may not understand, so I want to provide this glossary of terms. The River of Life :  This is the river that separates the mortal side from the immortal side.  When a soul runs of out of heartbeats, they cross the River of Life via Rainbow Bridge.  Souls can never use their Earthly form to cross back but can use other forms. Rainbow Bridge :  The Bridge we use to cross the River.  There are a lot of Rainbow Bridges connecting the two side of life, but they are all referred to as Rainbow Bridge.  It is called Rainbow Bridge after rainbows.  Rainbows are created when someone on the Immortal side is missing someone on the mortal side so intensely that it creates a Rainbow from the mourning soul across the River of Life to the soul they are missing. Enzo’s Escalator :  For a long time tired dogs, still in pain, had to climb from the Bridge to the high

I would like to take this time to say some thank yous. Thank you, to my parents for working on their dexterity.  I like to be scratched softly and slowly; River likes to be scratched firmly and quickly.  While dual petting my parents have trouble going fast with one hand and slow with the other, but thanks to hard work and some training they can now do it easily. Thank you, Kellyanne Conway, for bringing “alternative facts” into the mainstream.  We dogs, after something in our houses, become chewed, destroyed, or broken, have presented “alternative facts” blaming “sum udder dawg” for the carnage.  Now “alternative facts” are part of the public lexicon and our lives have become better. Thank you, not, to the Patriots, for going to another Super Bowl, which not only will give me a Sunday full of tension and yelling but will interrupt my viewing of Queen Victoria on Masterpiece Theater.  I take my English heritage very seriously.   Thank you, to all my friends who take the time

Mom!  The TV is busted again!

It is a good week when no friends cross Rainbow Bridge, although I have been flying many prayers up to the mountain for sick friends, or those facing operations, like Ruger, Enzo, Jasper, Maggie and much more. When I have such a week, I look for a Pup of the Week who can give our parents a feeling of joy, and let them experience another example of the love between dogs and humans. Some of these stories end with a dog being rescued and heading toward their forever home.  This story has seven such dogs.  But, I must warn, it is also a sad story because it is not just humans who need forever homes. Near Los Angeles rescuers found homeless dogs living by the river.  They were surprised that the dogs weren’t afraid of people.   That is when they met Wilma and Reuben, the two homeless humans who were taking care of the dogs.   They found Wilma when they heard a woman calling for her dogs.  The faithful ones ran to their mom.  This was when they met Wilma and where she was stayin

A little birdie landed on my window sill with a message from my good friend Angel Ladybug.  She invited me to lunch at the La Bridge Cafe.  I knew  I would have to get a makeover since Ladybug is the most stylish dog at the Bridge. I made an appointment at Angel Lovey’s spa.  She did my hair, my tail, buffed my nails, and put a beautiful bow in my hair.  I know, despite Lovey’s Herculean efforts, I could not hold a candle to Ladybug.  My suspicions were confirmed when I saw my friend sitting in her corner table.  Her hair was beautifully done, bright colors sparkled throughout her body, her wings were illuminant, and her halo glowed. Ladybug had already ordered a lovely buffet.   There was bruschetta with bacon, Canapes over kibble, Deviled eggs filled with sausage, and freshly cooked pigs wrapped in bison.  I grabbed a canape and watched Ladybug delicately eating a pig wrap.  She did everything with significant grace. “Foley, darling,” she said lightly damping her mouth w

One morning this week I woke and was very happy to find we were in the midst of a January thaw.  I got my driving cap, put a cigar in my mouth, got behind the wheel of my little convertible, and went for a drive . I drove down the street waving to girls who wanted to be me and the boys who wanted to be with me.  I was feeling hungry and decided to hit my favorite bar.  I pulled into the Petco parking lot and headed over to the treat bar to look at their selection of treats. I was helping myself to some faux chocolate chip cookies when I saw a cat being groomed in the salon.  I had never seen such a thing.  I hopped down and went into the salon, ignoring the associate’s pleas to extinguish my stogie,  I pleasantly inquired why the cat was getting a spa treatment. I was told my questions would not be answered if I continued to flaunt their no smoking policy.  I dropped my cigar, stepped on it, and slightly burned the bottom of my paw.  I howled in pain.  The spa manager

Hold on a second Mom.  You are blowing this pooping on the rug thing way out of proportion 

Buddy Boy, Luca, Sydney and Jamison.  That is a lot of souls passing between the end of 2016 and the beginning of 2017.  I think it is time for an uplifting story (tinged with sadness, every uplifting story needs to start sadly or there is nowhere to lift.) This is the story of a six-year-old non-verbal boy and a three-year-old deaf dog who formed the perfect bond. The boy is named Connor Guillet.  He was born addicted to opiates.  The newborn had to undergo a detox program.  Genetic testing determined that Connor would have special needs and medical issues including being non communicative.  Despite these challenges Chad and Brandi Guillet were thrilled to adopt Connor when he was 6 weeks old.   Connor did learn to communicate by sign language.  The family already had an eight-year-old Boxer named Chowda.  When they attended a Boxer Rescue event, they learned about Elle.  She was a rescue dog, available for adoption, who have been trained to understand sign language. Conn

Each morning I awaken, make my bed the way my mom taught me, have my bacon, chicken and egg breakfast, and check my emails to see how my mortal friends are fairing. I noticed an email from my Blogville friend Christmas.  I opened it.  He was informing his many friends that his buddy Jamison the cat had joined me at Rainbow Bridge.  He asked us all to send our condolences to Jamison’s family and to write a remembrance of this special cat. I always want to honor my friends’ requests.  Sadly, I have written dozens of loving tributes to friends and would have no problem writing one for Jamison and his family.  I only had one problem.  I did not know Jamison. So, before I could write, I needed to meet Jamison.  I trekked over to the cat side of Rainbow Bridge.  This took a great deal of ovarian fortitude.  Cats are known for their sarcasm and biting humor.  Many dogs avoid them because dogs have thinner skins than presidents in waiting.   I have always been welcomed by the cats.  I

When I awoke Saturday morning the skies were gunmetal gray, the air froze my paws, and I could smell snow.  Lots of snow. I begged my parents to stay home, mostly by pleading looks, but it was errand day, and mom and dad are hearty New Englanders, who do not let a little thing like a blizzard keep them from the Dollar Store.  Darn fools. I was put in my kitty condo, then in my crate.  River, my overly indulged sister, is allowed to wreck havoc on our small house in my parent’s absence and is provided a kitchen chair by the window so she can watch outside.  I am sure by year’s end she will persuade my parents to upgrade to a club chair while she watches and frets. As soon as they left, River started her constant updates mostly consisting of these words:  “They aren’t home, and it’s still snowing.  It’s definitely snowing.  Snowing very hard.  Too hard to be outside.  Definitely too hard to be outside.”  This continued until they arrived home three hours later, shaky, wet, c

Don't worry buddy, Mommy will be home soon

On holidays I like to venture over to the human side of the Immortal world.  Thousands of veterans gather to march in parades.  Everyone stands and cheers these brave men and women who gave their mortal lives for their country.  Some of them passed over the River saving their fellow soldiers.  Some succumbed to injuries after insisting that their friends receive treatment because the friend was hurt was more than they were, Sydney is that solider.  Her brother Moose suffers from Immune Mediated Hemolytic Anemia.  Rainbow Bridge has entire villages filled with pups who have passed from this dreadful disease.  I have many friends here who succumbed to IMHA.  Sydney did everything in her power to make sure Moose was not one of those pups. Sydney and I got back almost ten years.  We met on Doggyspace and became good friends.  Her human brother Jordan went to Iraq to fight in the war and our parents spent a lot of time talking about, and fretting over, his well being until he ret

I woke up to find Leo curled up on the foot of my bed.  I softly jumped down, so I didn’t wake him.  I opened the blinds.  Everything at Rainbow Bridge was fresh and shiny for the New Year.  I walked over to my pantry and removed several strips of my finest bacon strips.  I began cooking them in my flat skillet.  Soon my cottage filled with the smell of freshly cooked bacon.   I set up two plates, and two big glasses of milk.  The scent of bacon stirred Leo.  He yawned, looked around, then saw me by the table.  He jumped down, ran to me, and hugged me as he danced in a circle.  “They said it was time, and then I found him, they said it was time, and then I found him,” he repeated until we danced so much I got dizzy. “Who agreed to what and who did you find?” I asked.  I knew the answer, but I wanted him to stop spinning.  Chows have trouble talking and spinning. Leo stopped spinning.  “Foley, I have the most fantastic news,” he said, baring his teeth, his smile wider than it h

Wanted:  One Griffon Toucher. I, River Song, am in need of a Griffon toucher.  This is a person who would, when needed, touch, rub, scratch or hold me. The toucher needs not work after midnight.  That is bed time.  When it is bed time, I have two humans I can lie against if it I want to be touched.  Sometimes there is so much human touch I move to the center of the bed where I am untouched.  Even a dog who loves touching like me has to say “OK, enough with the touching,” at some point. The toucher would need to come to my house at 7:00 AM.  We rarely get up that early, but it does happen.  If we are not up, you can make yourself breakfast, watch TV, and do whatever finger exercises you need to do to prepare for your day of touching. At some point, we will get out of bed.  I don’t know why we get out of bed.   I would be in bed all day if I could.  I am like Grampa Joe from Willie Wonka.  He was in bed all day, and he was glad.  Then one day selfish Charlie drags him out of

Where the hell is that damn kid?

Buddy Boy Smith Occasionally there is the perfect match between dog and parent. Buddy Boy Smith and his mom were the perfect combination of unconditional love and devotion. I keep tabs on my human friends via Facebook.  His mom posted frequently.  Her favorite subject was how her big Rotti/Lab Buddy Boy.  We could tell by her sweet words, and the legion of pictures she posted, her love for Buddy Boy.  When we looked in Buddy’s deep brown eyes, we saw the love for his mom in her brown eyes. But we worried too.  Newfoundlands are not known for their long lives, and Buddy was getting older.  We dreaded the inevitable post that Buddy was showing signs of slowing down. We first saw one in the fall.  We prayed hard; we sent Buddy strength, but that heartbeat rule that I have written about habitually worked against Buddy.  On Christmas day Buddy came to Rainbow Bridge, under heavy clouds of his mom’s, and their friend’s tears. Buddy did not arrive quietly.  Even the hardiest York