Beat This Caption

Oh my God!  I think I just had a baby!

Monday Question

Do you wear anything on your feet, or put anything on your paw pads to help with the winter cold and ice,

Our answer?  Nope, not us.  My parents tried in on Foley once.  They put boots on her feet and she pranced around like a pony.  They never tried again. 

Petey Finds His Mom a Lily-Rose

 My dear friend Petey lived with his mom for more than 20 years.  They were a perfect pair. Petey had his special ways. He could be aloof with strangers.  Living two decades does that to a dog. But to his mom, he was perfect.

When Petey passed to the Bridge a year ago, we didn’t know if his sweet mom would ever get another dog.  She and Petey were like peas and carrots; they went together perfectly. Finding a pup who measured up to Petey was going to be hard. 
Petey began searching for a new pup for his mom soon after he arrived at the Bridge, but he never found a dog who met his criteria.  He used the Goldilock standard. He was searching for a dog neither too sweet or too mean, too hard, or too soft.  

This dog would also need to have the proper attitude.  Petey knew after 20 years together; it would take a long time for his mom to let another dog into her heart.  So much of the joy in her life was triggered by specific things Petey did. No dog could do the same and if they did, they would just be a pale imitation of the original. 

Petey decided he needed to find a dog who had never been loved.  He spent time in the saddest places, the backyards of people who overbred.  It was there that Petey met Lily-Rose, an exhausted pup who had been used solely for breeding purposes.  While Lily had never known the touch of a kind human Petey recognized a sweetness in her soul. 

Lily-Rose was rescued from the heartless Kentucky breeders.  There are countless numbers of these despicable businesses in the commonwealth, but it is a place where the governor pardons child rapists, so what are you going to do?  Breeders are low on the list of Kentucky's biggest problems. Lily-Rose got placed in a foster home. She had never known grass, or a house, or love. Her foster parents had to start from scratch like she was a new born.  Thankfully, they did a fantastic job, and over time Lily-Rose was ready to become a family member. 

Petey was tasked with the most difficult part of the endeavor.  He had to convince his mom that she was ready for another dog. At first, she balked, but with each dream visit Petey wore her down, mostly by insisting that, even if she didn’t want a dog, she is a fantastic pup mom, and that is what Lily-Rose needed.  Saying no would be selfish and Petey's mom has never been selfish. He wanted her to do it more for Lily than for herself.  

Petey’s mom was told to find Lily-Rose on the internet and inquire about her. which she did.  After that Petey and the angels made sure that Lily-Rose went to Petey’s mom, who would become Lily-Rose’s mom, even though, in her mind, she will always be Petey’s mom.

So now a mom who isn’t sure she has more love to give is with a dog who has never known love.  They might be a match made in Rainbow Bridge. Only time will tell. 
As for Lily-Rose, her life has never been better, and she has never been happier.
She has the best mom in the world

Petey would agree. 

Soup Goes to Jail

My friend Soup had quite a week.  He got lost, then he went to prison, and later he got paroled.  Here is his story. 

I couldn't find him anywhere, and then I saw a mile from where he ran off the Alabama State prison. He couldn't possibly have gone to jail.  Regardless, I decided to check. There in the middle of inmates playing basketball was Soup barking and dancing around, delighting the men. 


When he was done frolicking, he was given a place to lie down and some food.  Soup curled up and went to sleep after a hard day's play. I went into his dreams and told him his family was frantically looking for him.  He was excited to hear this but didn’t want to leave his new friends. He asked me if his pals could visit him at home. I told him it was possible, in about five to ten.  

I made sure, through a dream visit, that Soup’s parents discovered he was doing time at the state pen, where he was very popular.  The inmates loved playing with the rambunctious dog. He brought a rare bit of sunshine to their dreary prison lives. I explained that the prisoners were hoping to extend his sentence. 

Both the prisoners and the guards were disappointed when Soup’s father contacted the prison and arranged for Soup to get early parole. The inmates were happy he was getting out.  But they would miss him. 

 There are a lot of wonderful reunions that take place outside the prison walls, but none more than when Soup saw his dad again.  Dogs love pleasing every human they meet, but there are always a few humans that dogs are born to bring joy to, and for Soup, that was his family

Soup’s Dad has promised to bring him back to the prison to visit his friends.  He might even invite them to the house when they finish their sentences. A dog like Soup is the best reason to want to get rehabilitated.

Now he has to get better at call and response, so he does not end up in the hoosegow again.

Pocket Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus and the World Will Never Be the Same

I know it is essential that we go to sleep on Christmas Eve and not see Santa. This Christmas, I saw him by accident and inadvertently caused the biggest Christmas controversy since Rudolph and the lamb. 

I was tucked in bed, snuggled between Daddy and River Song when I heard Mommy giggle.  I am a naturally curious animal, so I got down and walked into the living room to see what was so amusing.  That is when I witnessed Mommy kissing Santa Claus underneath the mistletoe. I decided to go back to bed and pretend it was a dream.  
The next day I tried to keep it a secret, but that was impossible.  I had seen Santa! I wanted to bark it from the rooftop. Finally, I broke down and told River, but she didn’t believe me.  “I did it!” I insisted. “Mommy was kissing him under the mistletoe last night!”

“How’s that?” Daddy said.  

Of all the times for him to start listening to me, it had to be now.  Daddy looked at Mommy. “Pocket says she saw you kissing Santa Claus last night.” 

Mommy blanched.  “Did you want him to kiss you?” Daddy pressed. 

“Not really, but he is Santa, so I thought I had to.”  I knew Mommy was lying, but it was one of those little white lies about cheating on your husband that is harmless and soon forgotten.  The rest of the day, I could tell Daddy was upset. I tried to sit with him, but not even I could cure his agitation. He opened his laptop.  I caught a glimpse of the screen. It was a Santa review page called Ho! Most of the comments were from kids who did not get what they wanted.  But Daddy wrote something different: 
“Last night, Santa forced himself on my wife and made her kiss him.  Has anyone had a similar experience?” 

He sat back and watched the comments pour in, mostly from husbands whose wives told them they were forced to kiss Santa too.  There were several damning comments from T. Grinch @Mount Crumpet. Within an hour, #Santatoo was a trending topic in the United States.  

Poor Santa!  People were starting to question him.  Why was he showering gifts on strange women?  Why did he think it was alright to sneak down the chimney and into people’s houses in the middle of the night?  And who watches you when you are sleeping? It was creepy.  

Santa made a rare appearance on the View.  He said kissing women was his way of thanking them for the cookies and milk.  “Just because a woman is kind enough to give you a cookie doesn’t give you the right to grope her!" Whoopi yelled.  "Have you ever kissed a man for giving you his cookies?"  

"Once in the 60s," he replied. "but it was a different time back then."

“I hear you keep a nice list,” Joy Behar said in a voice dripping with disgust.  “Is this how you judge women?”

“Let me clear this up,” Santa explained. “My nice list is composed of little girls.”  The crowd gasped. “Oh no,” he tried to correct himself. “There are little boys on the list too.”  The boos grew louder. 

Debra Messing, who was the guest co-host, asked if she would be on the nice list.
“Of course not,” Santa said.  “You’re a jew.” 

Oh, Santa!  He was in big trouble.  He went to the North Pole in disgrace.  People were speculating that he was Roger Ailes in disguise.  Mrs. Claus moved out. Women were getting restraining orders against him. What had I started?  




I hope this all blows over by next year.  I don’t want to be the dog who ruined Christmas.

Wordless Wednesday

Beat This Caption

I am telling you the little on the left touched my butt!

Monday Question

What do you want to find under the Christmas tree this year?

Pocket:  Something warm and soft like Mommy's lap so I can lie on it all day long

River Song: A chicken

Suzy and the Christmas Miracle

  It is officially the Christmas season when magic appears, and what was impossible becomes possible.  It is a time to take chances, no matter the odds. 
Few things in the world face longer odds than a starving abandoned dog.   I got a fragile prayer request from one roaming the streets of Philadelphia. I flew down and found the depressed pup taking her last breaths.  She had given up so many heartbeats to combat the cold and hunger she had very few remaining. 

I had determined to sit with her on the cold sidewalk and wait for the dark angels to come when I saw, in the distance, a sliver of light.  I walked closer, and there was a pretty house where someone had left the door open a crack. usually, I would have ignored it. Little good can come from a strange dog wandering enter a house unwelcome. But it was Christmas, the time for miracles.  

I told the dog to go in the house.  “It is warm in there, and there might be food and water.”  The dog told me she could not break into a house. “You have nothing to lose.  You can either go to the Bridge on this sidewalk, or be inside a warm home, and possibly see the dawn.  It is Christmas. Believe." 

As the dog slowly trotted into the house, I saw a man walking down the street.  I rustled some leaves, and that made him look at the home. Being neighborly, and there being Christmas magic in the air, he decided to take it upon himself to close the door behind the dog. Now she was inside for the night and couldn't change her mind. 

I suppose I could have gone into the home owner’s dreams and told him that there would be a strange dog downstairs who needed care, but that was too on the nose.  I hoped that the person was kind-hearted, knew about Christmas miracles, and would help the sweet dog that was now under his roof.  

Emily Jokinen went downstairs to find a pacifier for her daughter and saw the cold, wet dog in her house.  All the windows and doors were closed. It was like the dog suddenly appeared. (It wasn't until she viewed the security footage that she saw how the dog got inside. Her husband, Jack, had left the door open after walking their dog Jorge Pawsada.  She also saw her neighbor shut the door minutes before she awoke.) 

She awoke Jeff, and they stayed up all night researching what to do when a dog magically appears in your living room.  The repeated answer was to call Animal Control.  

Animal control said that they would check the dog for a chip. They gave no assurances to what would happen afterward.  Jack and Emily didn't like the sound of that. They determined to take what they assumed was a puppy to the emergency vet.  Before going, Jack posted on Twitter about the magical pup. The responses were nearly unanimous. Whether he knew it or not, it was his dog now.  You don't turn a Christmas miracle over to animal control. 

The vet told them the unchipped girl was in a sorry state.  She was a severely malnourished adult dog between seven and nine with worn footpads, fleas, and bad teeth.  If they kept the dog, it would cost a fortune in medical fees to get her back to good health. But it was Christmas, the time of miracles and giving.  When Jack announced on Twitter, they were keeping the dog; money began to flow into their Vinemo account for her care. 

They named the dog Suzy after YES Network announcer Suzyn Waldman. Suzy is thriving in her new home.  She loves their one years old daughter, and Jorge has welcomed Suzy to the family. She is the best Christmas gift they could receive. 

Usually, a hungry and flea covered dog would have gone to the Bridge abandoned and without love.  But at Christmas, with so much magic in the air, anything is possible.


Suzy is proof.

Foley Explains How Dogs Will Take Over the World

The time has come for we dog to stand up and assert ourselves.  For years we have only aided the humans in our family. But the Guild of Dogs has decided we need to help our communities.  Soon a single dog will be assisting humans worldwide. The timeline has been accelerated because we have seen what humans have done to the planet, and we know we have to take over before Earth is destroyed. 

We are starting small, and that means with children.  They are open to the possibility that pups are good for more than playing and companionship.  When we demonstrate how we can help them cope with the world now, they will seek our guidance as they navigate through the complications caused by adulthood. \
We decided that rural America would be the best place to begin our ascent.  Adults don’t pay much attention to these areas. If a city can’t host a Real Housewives show, then it is ignored.  

One of these places is Muskegon County, on the west coast of Lake Michigan.  Buddy, a Maltese/Shih Tzu mix and a certified therapy dog, was recently hired by the school board. When a young female student could not focus after she returned to class following Thanksgiving break, none of the teachers could reach her, so they turned to Buddy. 

It only took a few minutes for Buddy to use his superior dog skills to help the wayward child.  The young girl began petting Buddy’s head. He spoke with his eyes and told her it was okay to say what was bothering her.  A traumatic event had occurred during Thanksgiving vacation and triggered her poor schoolwork. Once Buddy made her feel safe enough to tell the humans what was wrong, she returned to being a productive member of the class. 

Many of the students who attend the school fall below the poverty line.  Children from these families can suffer from behavioral issues and have outbursts.  It has been proven that dogs reduce the feeling of stress and isolation that some of these students experience, and we improve communication and literacy skills.  We are better than Ritalin!  

I admit, it strains credibility to believe that dogs can be so successful where people are not. We have been living with humans for centuries, and they rarely see our full power.  It is because we have never been needed more than we are now. The world has become angry and hate-filled. It needs to become as cheerful and content as a dog in the sun.

We have wisely partnered with children who now pester adults to allow us into places where we were previously shunned.  The students were the ones who suggested to the principal that they get a classroom dog. After Buddy's arrival, the teachers immediately saw improvements in test scores and attention spans.  

The children weren’t the only ones who Buddy helped.  The Principal brought him home. She had been suffering from the after-effects of a concussion for months.  When Buddy moved in with her, she saw how intuitive the little dog was. Buddy helped keep her mind sharp and stopped her from falling into an emotional abyss. 

Buddy goes to work each day, even if his new mom doesn’t.  He assists students in their reading by being a captive audience; he helps them concentrate during tests; he cheers up anyone who seems sad and walks with the ones who are afraid to go to class until they relax enough to attend.  If every school had a dog, big pharma for children would go out of business. 

Slowly we are taking over the world, but don’t worry; we are making it a better place.

River Suffers More Abuse at the Groomers

This week after dieting for almost two months, I  returned to the groomer who, on my last visit, called me chunky and inspired my parents to put me on a kibble green beans and carrot diet. 

I was anxiously looking forward to the visit like a human who went on a diet before their class reunions and wants to show off her new body. 

The Fates attempted to stop me from my triumphant return.  For two days before my appointment, it did nothing but rain.  The good news is that the snow was washed away. I am a delicate Floridian by birth.  I hate doing my business in the snow. I checked on my iPaw and saw there was no wintry precipitation in the forecast, then went to bed with a smile on my face anticipating my victorious groomer visit and green grass to poop on.  

When I woke up, I was stunned to find two inches of snow on the ground, and it still falling rapidly. Daddy had to dig us out so we could get on the road,  While he shoveled I nervously waited inside. What if my appointment was canceled because of the inclement weather? I was like Cinderella on her way to the ball, only to be stopped by sewer construction.

`The road was angry that day, my friends.  We traveled slowly, occasionally slipping and sliding. A mixture of HBO and non-Lutheran words exploded from the front seat.  Foley must have been an angel on our tailpipe because we made it safely. 

The owner greeted us, and mommy asked if she noticed how much weight I had lost.  She said she did. That made me feel good. Triumphantly I began my spa session. 
While we were being groomed, the weather cleared.  Like my disposition, it was sunny. When my parents arrived, the woman who had said I was chunky brought me out and remarked how much better I looked.  I smiled as much as a frowning Griffon can. Then the groomer said, "but she smells yeasty." 

Yeasty?  Who are you calling yeasty bitch?  You're not precisely a tropical rainforest down there, and I didn't say, Jack Frost.  First I'm fat, and now I'm yeasty you feckless Edward Scissorhands wannabe? Sisters don't be calling each other yeasty biatch.   
My parents asked if anything could be done.  The groomer wondered if there has been a change in my diet. My parents said I was eating green beans and carrots with my kibble.  "That's it. Don't let her eat carrots. Too much sugar." 

Don't let me eat carrots?  Why do you think it was my idea to eat slimy orange carrots?  I did it for humans like you to make you happy. No one wants to eat carrots except for that manic Bugs Bunny who, when he isn't down in his hole, mainlining Adderall is strolling right up to hunters like Elmer Fudd and Yosemite Sam because he's too damn high to realize he's in danger the chattering big-eared coat liner. 

My parents could see I was getting agitated, and they paid, scheduled my next session of abuse, then brought me out to the car where I stewed in my yeast. 

It was until I got home that I calmed down and realized that not having carrots was a good thing.  Now, if I can convince them that the green beans gave me a kidney infection, I'd be back to eating The fat food I like.




Signed neither fat nor yeasty River.  

Wordless Wednesday

Beat This Caption

All those years you thought Santa had left coal in your stocking.   Now you know it wasn't coal and it was not left by Santa

Monday Question

Do you have a Christmas disaster story?

Pocket::  Several.  We are having one right now.  We ordered 60 cards from SnapFish.  We began addressing them today and discovered they only sent 43.  (I looked down River's throat, and she had not eaten them.)  I called the number on Snapfish's website, answered a preliminary question, and good news!  I was getting a new Life Alert bracelet.  I called the number again and bad news! I am getting a second Life Alert bracelet.  Unless I am reborn, the second bracelet seems superfluous.  I finally contacted someone online, and they said they would send out the missing cards, and they will get here...December 23.  We will try to get the missing cards out that day, but don't be upset if they arrive in your mailbox after Christmas and never buy your cards from a fish.  

Lost and Found: Bishop and Keno's Bad Weekend by Foley Monster

The scariest, most upsetting thing happened this past weekend that caused every angel at Doggyspace to search for two of their favorite mortal dogs, Bishop and Keno. 
Their brother Apollo is a great and well-respected angel.  He was one of my first Doggyspace friends who went to the Bridge.  When I was mortal and Apollo, an angel, he helped me immensely, as he would do again when I became an angel. 

Apollo’s momma Kimberli has devoted her life to dogs.  She always has foster pups in her house; she travels hundreds of miles to find homeless dogs and then trains them to be family pets.   Once they are ready, she finds good homes for them, often taking the dogs to stores for adoption events. 

Momma Kimberli has had neighbor problems.  A decade ago, a nearby resident had tried to poison Apollo.  Thankfully they were unsuccessful. This weekend her pack again suffered because of the ignorance of foolish neighbors. 

On Saturday, Momma Kimberli had taken two of her rescues, Harper and Takaanii, to an adoption day.  Bishop and his siblings, Keno, Napa, Grizz, and Thunder, were in their fenced-in yard where they usually spend their time when Momma Kimberli is away.  Two months ago, the neighboring children kicked a soccer ball over her fence. The ball sat there either because the kids had lost interest, or they were too intimidated by the dogs to retrieve it. 

On Saturday, for some unknown cosmic reason, the boys wanted their ball back.  They went on Momma Kimberli’s property and opened the gate.  

An open gate is like a black hole to dogs.  They get sucked out often without realizing the consequences. Keno, Napa, and Apollo found themselves on the wrong side of the fence. The children got their ball, left Momma Kimberli's yard, and closed the gate, so Grizz and Thunder could not get out, nor the others back in. 

When Momma Kimberli arrived home and saw Napa on the front lawn, she knew something terrible had happened. She got him in the house and checked the backyard.  Grizz and Thunder were still there, but Bishop and Keno were gone, as was the soccer ball. It didn’t take long for her to deduce the children had been in her yard, and her beloved dogs had run off.  She quickly put a missing dog’s post on Facebook and began her search. 

The Facebook angels alerted us that Keno and Bishop were missing.  Angels never panic, but we were all on high alert. We loved both pups.  If we needed a smile, we would eavesdrop on Bishop’s conversations with Momma Kimberli, watch him manage his charges as they attended his doggy classes learning how to be proper pets, and witnessed his care for his beloved fish. 

Apollo located Bishop within minutes of learning he was missing.  But the damage had been done. Bishop had an altercation with a car and ended up on the losing side.  At best, he had a broken leg. Apollo didn’t know if there was internal damage. He told Bishop to stay still, then zipped to his mom and guided her to his wayward brother.  

A relieved Momma Kimberli rushed her little man to the doctor.   He took x-rays and determined Bishop needed emergency surgery to save his leg.  Meanwhile, all the angels were looking for Keno. He wasn’t located until later that evening.  Apollo led him home and told the pup to wait in the front yard. That is where Momma Kimberli found him when she awoke. She gladly let her prodigal son inside.

Momma Kimberli got a call from the doctor. He was able to save Bishop’s leg, and the pup had no other injuries. Soon everyone was back home.  Except for their mom, no one was more relieved than we angels. 

Now, we are praying that Bishop’s leg heals.  He has been injured before. He knows how to pace himself.  And, his mom is an excellent nurse. Considering what could have happened, it’s not a bad outcome.  Everyone is home safe and mostly sound. 
Now Apollo and I are sending out a bunch of big birds to poop all over those terrible kids to make sure they never go in Bishop’s yard again. 

Sam and the Rainbow Bridge Reunion by Foley Monster

Sometimes, a parent’s passing can be as hard to accept for a dog as it is who is for a parent when they lose a dog. I got to know a dog named Sam, from Bethel Acres Oklahoma, last February when he frantically began praying when his dad didn’t wake up.

I immediately flew down to see why his Dad was not responding. Sadly, I found that her dad had passed to the Bridge.  I told Sam that her dad was gone, but the sad dog did not accept it. I left him alone with his parents. He needed more time to understand that he, an only dog, who had only one parent, was alone. 

Sam stayed on the bed, fervently trying to wake up her dad.  I stopped by a neighbor’s house like a ghost and whispered to her that she had not seen Sam or his dad all day, and she should call the authorities to find out why.  When the first responders arrived, they had to physically remove Sam from the bed before they could tend to the body. The responders called a dog rescue: The One Day ranch, to take Sam.

The loyal dog howled and cried all the way to the rescue.  They put Sam through a battery of tests and determined that she was 20 years old!  Sam had been called to the Bridge on repeated occasions, but she kept begging and trading for more heartbeats because she did not want his Dad to experience the pain of losing him.  She acquired so many heartbeats she had a surplus. When Sam’s dad passed, she planned to follow him into the dark. But now, she was too healthy for the Bridge. Knowing that she was unadoptable, the organizers at the One Day Ranch decided to let Sam live out her remaining days with them.

Everyone expected that Sam would only last day without her dad, but she defied the odds by outliving her dad by 279 days. She was treated like a Queen.  She was fed hamburgers and french fries; she got to be a mom to a giant breed of puppies, she met pigs, goat, horses, llamas, and chickens. She quickly asserted herself as the alpha and never relented.  

Last week the heartbeats expired.  She was helped to the Bridge by the workers at One Day Ranch.  I was there when she joyfully ran across the Bridge without a moment’s regret.  Her dad was waiting at the top of the steps, and when they were reunited, they hugged to ten minutes straight.  Both were young again and were able to play like they never had before. It is not often that we see joyful reunions at the Bridge with no tears, but when we do, it fills our all hearts with love. 

Sam doesn’t know, but his for 279 days, her dad sat at the top of the Bridge waiting for Sam.  It was a long wait, but when he saw his little girl crossing the Bridge to be reunited with him, it was all worthwhile.


A dog passing seldom brings joy.  I was glad to witness when it occurred.

River Tries to Finally Broker a Peace Deal with the Cat Under the House

Sometimes, it takes a Griffon to stop endless wars.   Since I arrived at our house six years ago, I have undertaken a ceaseless battle with the feral cat who lives under the porch. There was the battle of the air conditioner duct,  the litter of kitties skirmish, the building of the indestructible wall, the destruction of the indestructible wall, and the great slat struggle. While Pocket and I suffered defeat at each of these junctions, we still claimed victory because we have access to a computer. Those with a keyboard write history.

  We were gleefully expecting a pussy free winter.   I personally inspected the outside of the house. The brick wall around the HVAC unit was impenetrable.  The slats were tight except in one area, by the Silcock where Private Daddy had separated them to reach under the house and turn off the water.  He could not get the pieces, one an original 30-year-old slat which was partially under the steps and suffering the ill-effects of many winters exposed to the elements, and a newer model to connect.  There was barely enough room to slip a piece of paper between them. I was not concerned about penetration. (I used pussy, cock, and penetration in the same sentence without making a dirty: That is excellent writing.)

One morning this week, we walked down the front steps, and I noticed that the small space between the slats was open several inches.  I stopped and put my nose in the gap. I took a deep breath and smelled an unmistakable scent. Kitty was back in town. We were facing a winter of discontent.  

I decided to be the bigger small animal and put a stop to the madness. One night I slipped out of bed and went to the kitchen heat grate, which was above the porch where the kitty slept.  “You up?” I asked. 

“Of course, I am up. I am a nocturnal animal. I sleep during the day.  At least I try. The upstairs neighbors are too noisy. Whenever a car goes down the street, they go berserk. Some days I don't get a minute’s sleep.”

This was a gross exaggeration.  We only bark at the cars we see.  Sometimes we go a whole minute without barking.  The peace negotiations were not starting well.

“I want to call a truce,” I said.  “We have decided to let you sleep under the house, at least for the winter.”

“Why would I make a deal with you? I come and go as I please, and there is nothing you can do about it," the cat hissed.

Honestly, feral cats are the worst.  Also, he had a point. He was going to do what he wanted regardless of what I said.   “So, we can’t make a deal?" I asked dejectedly.

“As far as I can tell, you have nothing to offer.”

I was about to go back to bed, defeated when  I got an inspired idea. "Duct tape!" I barked.

“Duct tape?” the kitty asked.

“Yes, I could tell ask my sister Angel Foley to go into Private Daddy’s dreams and say to him to duct tape the space between the slats to keep you out.  And, when it snows, he will leave a pile in front of your gap. I could make it very difficult for you.
I don’t know why the kitty chuckled when she agreed.  Cats are inscrutable.  

When I went to sleep, I visited Foley in my dreams and told her about my "no cat attacks for Mom while allowing the kitty to sleep under the porch" peace deal. She called me a putz and gave me a nightmare where I was in a cage; a foot was a bag of fried chicken just out of reach.

I checked my online Yiddish to English dictionary and was heartened to find out that putz meant penis, short for a peacemaker. 

I knew she was saying I did well because “Blessed are the peacemakers for they will be called the children of God.”


Now I just have to wait for word from the good people at Noble.  I brought peace between cats and dogs. I am a shoo-in. 

Wordless Wednesday

Beat this Caption

Hey, baby!  Wanna check out my ornaments?

Monday Question

Do you have a special Christmas ornament or decoration?

Thor the Police Dog Arrives at Rainbow Bridge

Every dog who comes to the Bridge is unique, but some dogs are more special than others.   We angels have tremendous respect for dogs who have served the public. While we were curled up on laps or laid by the fireplace, they are outside in horrible weather, putting their lives on the line to protect us.  This week we had one of these remarkable dogs join us at Rainbow Bridge: District Four.
  
Thor served as a member of the North Yorkshire Police, along with his handler, Officer Martin Gayles.  Last year he retired to live out his days in his adoptive family home peacefully. Unfortunately, it was not for long.  Thor only patrolled the Earth for seven short years.

For nearly half a decade, tranquil Yorkshire was protected by Thor, who assisted in arrests, used his nose to locate property and suspects, and missing people of all ages. Noble causes all. 

For 80 minutes, Thor pursued a subject who had smashed a restaurant's windows.   The man grew fatigued and was apprehended by Thor, whose four legs proved to be more valuable in a long chase than a human's meer two.  In 2018, during another foot pursuit, Gayles fell 15 feet and broke his leg. Thor dutifully waited with him until help arrived. On another occasion, a man attacked Gayles with a Samurai Sword.  Thor protected his partner and helped subdue the man.  

Retirement meant that Thor had to leave his partner.  He was given a family to love and a life of leisure to enjoy.   The lifestyle never seemed to fit the former police dog, which may be why he slipped away to the Bridge shortly after surrendering his badge. 
Upon learning of his partner’s passion, Gayles summed up Thor thusly:  “Thor was my very first police dog, and we learned everything together. He was always there for me when I needed him, and he was a part of my family at home. I am very proud of Thor and what he achieved during his career, and I will never forget him. He was loved by his new family and thoroughly enjoying his retirement. His sudden passing is devastating for them, and they will miss him deeply. He was and always will be my big lad.”

When officer dogs arrive at their final forever home, the officers, who preceded them line the Bridge,  the stairway, and beyond. When Thor appeared, the officers stood at attention. Each dog crosses the Bridge differently:  Some run, some move cautiously, some dance, some savor each moment. But, officer dogs always walk upright with a slow cadence.  It shows respect for the shield. Even as an angel, they never stop serving their people. They begin providing a different sort of protection. Like Jedi Knights, when they are struck down, they become more powerful than ever imagined.  They protect via advising dreams, by using angel energy to ward off danger, and by making sure their people's prayers are answered.

Thor is living with many of his fellow angel officers enjoying their rest.  He has an angel tablet nearby where he can watch over his family. At the first sign of trouble, Thor springs into action to help them. 

Thor's family and co-workers mourn his loss.  But they should take comfort in knowing that he has not abandoned them.  He is still on patrol just above the clouds, and they are perpetually safe.

Stonewall Fought a Vacuum and the Vacuum Won

 Dogs have insisted for years that vacuum cleaners are the enemy.  We know, if given a chance, the vacuum will attack us. Our parents think it is cute when we bark at the vacuum.  Little do they know they are operating a puppy attacking machine.  

Stonewall, a 14-year-old Shih Tzu lives in Ballwin Missouri.  His days of being a rambunctious little boy zooming around the house are over.  He spends the majority of the time laying on the floor and remembering the sweet summer days of his youth. 
When he was young, he barked at the vacuum, warning it not to trifle with him. He had never had a problem since.   He had been confident that the loud machine would not attack him because his mother was operating it. Then something happened that would change him in a deep and profound way.

His parents got a robot vacuum which is no different than having a driverless car in the house.  It is simply dangerous. I could see having a robot do the cooking, cleaning, or dusting, but not vacuuming.  It's just moving quickly and sucking. The New York Giants do it every week.

This past week Stonewall was on the floor dreaming of catching a catfish in his mouth on a sunny summer day when he heard the low, steady rumble of the robot vacuum. He didn't pay it any attention. He no longer had the energy to bark. Simply ignoring it took all his strength. Stonewall had watched the sucker for years.  It was well trained. It never sucked where he was.  

The awful robot had slid pass Stonewall when it encountered the Shih Tzu’s trademark big, fluffy whitetail. The machine made a mistake.  The robot thought the long hair was merely debris and sucked it up. Surely a human would have recognized that the tail belonged to a living soul.  Robots have no such capabilities. What happened to Stonewall was Orwellian.   

Thankfully the machine realized it’s a mistake and shut down, but not before Stonewall's tail was caught in the gears.  He did not enjoy having a robot on his ass, and he rolled around, trying to get it off but failed. His mom saw him, and the robot flopping around on the floor and realized her baby’s tail was stuck.  She tried to pull it free to no avail. Unsure of what to do, she called 911.

The responding officers determined that the subjects needed to be separated for both to survive. To do so, they had to use the rarely deployed hair cutting scissors.  A specially trained EMT who studied at the prestigious Supercuts University was brought in. After three seconds, Stonewall was freed from the suck of death. 

His thankful mother snuggled Stonewall.  He fully expected the horrible monster to be removed from the house and shot.  Instead, the monster was unpunished, and Stonewall was told he could not be in the same room with the robot when it was working.  Talk about blaming the victim. 

At least now, thanks to Stonewall’s brave actions, we have proof of just how dangerous these vacuums are.  I hope this is the end of those roving suckers of death.

River Doesn't Like the new Christmas Tree and Other Holiday Thoughts

It’s back:  The big, green, lighted and decorated tree is in our living room, and I hate it.

I think it is a replacement tree because it is bigger and fuller than last year, and the chances are slim that would occur in the shed.  Also, a week before my parents brought a big, long box, that barely fit in their compact car, onto the porch. It smelled like fake pine.

Also, I had heard Mommy saying she wanted a bigger tree this year.  I surmise they went to the artificial tree forest, where the stuffed squirrels and garden gnomes came to maturity and found one they liked.  This is the first time since I have been living with my parents that they have a new tree. Rumor is the Daddy’s Mommy was someone who could never find an artificial tree she liked and kept buying ner ones until she had an artificial tree farm in the basement.  

I am glad we have an artificial tree.  Real trees make me sad. They remind me of when humans are told to bring a loved one home to die.  Within a month, both of them are on the street having expired. Bringing something into your house weeks before it goes to the Bridge, and dressing it up in bright lights, baubles and ribbons do not seem fair to me, unless we are talking about Roy Cohn, then it is justice.

The tree does take up more room than last year’s model.  The house may have shrunk, or the universe is collapsing, but I think I would have noticed that before the tree went up.  There used to be room on the northwest side of the living room for my bed and toy basket. Now there isn’t, and they are on the other side of the room.  People often forget about the dog bed when they are purchasing a tree.  

The decapitated Santas on sticks have been put back in the front garden.  Mommy says they are decorations. They light up at night. I think they are a sharp warning to Santas everywhere, not to visit our home.  Between them are Frostys without a torso, similarly spiked. They don’t bother me as much as Santas. I am not interested in Frosty visiting me.  All he brought to the children he visited was heartache and misery. He abandoned them like a wayward father to go hang out with his friend Santa at the North Pole.  He ended up stuck in the yard open to the elements. Santa tried to bring him inside, but Mrs. Claus said: “You ain’t bringing another one of you nasty ass friends to live here.  I just got done varnishing the floors, and his carrot nose ain’t dripping on my floors. Put him the yard next to the mutant rednosed reindeer who keeps me up at night flashing that damn nose.”

On Monday, we did the Christmas card photos.  They must have taken 870 pictures. I hope they found one.  In the middle of the session, I fled, and it took a lot of coaxing to get me back to the photoshoot.  I am a bit of a diva. 




I wish you are a very Merry Christmas Day because I know the run-up to it will be an icy hell. 

Wordless Wednesday

Beat This Caption

I'm sorry, didn't you say you wanted to transplant this shrub?  I dog a new hold and everything.  

Monday Question

What is your favorite treat?

Duncan's Long Way Home by Foley Monster

Helping dogs can be hard, especially when they are scared.  I had a heck of a time trying to get a fearful dog back with his family after he ran off at the veterinarian's.
The dog’s name is Duncan.   He was purchased by a family who wanted a beagle.  It wasn’t until they brought him to the vet that they found out he was a foxhound. 

I first became aware of Duncan through my sister Blake, the patron angel of seizure dogs.  One morning Duncan had a seizure. His parents brought him to the doctor’s, where he has a second one in the parking lot.  When he recovered from that episode, he was disorientated and scared. He pulled so hard on the leash he broke his collar. He ran away and didn’t stop.

Duncan had been a couch potato with no survival skills.  Confused and scared, he took solace in a place where people have gone to escape their troubles:  The mall.  
Duncan’s family was desperate to find him.  They put flooded the area with flyers and created a Facebook page. Soon the calls began to pour in.  Duncan was outside the mall. Several people had approached him, but he was too scared to go to them.

His parents became frequent visitors to the mall, even spending hours at night walking around it, but they did not see Duncan.  One day they brought Quinn, Duncan’s puppy brother, with them. Quinn suddenly began barking and pulling on his leash. Forty yards behind them, Duncan was following them.  His mom tried to approach, but Duncan ran.  

Duncan’s flight instincts had fully taken over.  At night, huddled behind a dumpster, he prayed to be back home.  I visited and told him his house was in a subdivision right behind the mall.  All he had to do was walk there. Duncan wanted to go, but when he started, fear overtook him, and he retreated to the mall.  I had no idea how I could help him.

I took a fly around the area and found what had him spooked.  There were coyotes in the woods behind his parents’ house. It was too dangerous for him to make the journey.
His family was desperate to bring him home safely.  They put a trap with food inside, where he was most frequently seen.  But Duncan never went in it. After that, he disappeared from the grounds.

He was seen walking in an area covering 12 miles.  One night he wandered into a family friend’s yard. They called Duncan’s people.  A new trap was constructed, with his favorite jerky treat hanging inside. They also put trail cameras up so they could watch the trap.  

Duncan began walking around the trap.  I flew down to advise him. He was scared to get the treat sensing something was amiss.  I repeatedly told him that going inside was the best decision he could make. Finally, he did, and the door closed behind him.

His parents had watched it all unfold on their cell phones. When Duncan was secure in the trap, they hurried to him.  At first, Duncan didn’t react when he saw his parents, but then he noticed his human brother Greg, and he began to howl.  They opened the trap door, and Duncan licked the tears from Greg’s face.

After 53 long days, Duncan was back home, sleeping on his couch as if nothing happened. His parents wished they could forget the ordeal as quickly as Duncan had.
They took Duncan to the vet where, despite losing 14 pounds, he was in good health.  There was still no answer to why he had the seizures, and his parents are going to keep a close watch on him, but for now, all is right in their world.




Never count out a dog.  Given a chance, they always find their way home.

Foley Take Exception to the New Way a Dog's Age is Calculated

 I read another study by people who know nothing about dogs but pretend they are experts. This one had the most scurrilous claims ever made against nature's most perfect creature.  The report pontificates that dog's age much faster than people realize. In fact, when dogs turn two, they are actually 40 in human years.

I know why these researchers have advanced this convoluted argument.  Humans have a completely different view of aging than dogs do. We don't pay any attention to the calendar.  Worrying about time passing is wasting time, and we don't have time for that.

Humans mark off each day like they are completing a prison sentence.  Dogs only measure time by meals. We consider the space between eating as an entire day, especially since we spend so much time sleeping.  When we bother our parents to feed us, we are telling them the alarm didn't go off, and they are LATE. We are worried about their missing work or an appointment.  It's not that we are just hungry. Honest. We aren’t obsessed with eating. We wish to keep you on schedule.  

Every person has rejoiced in watching a two-year-old dog play.  We are so full of life and energy. So, when they turn 40, people keep themselves from thinking they are aging by saying, “how can we become old, we are the same age as that spunky little dog?”  Ratcheting up our age so that humans can feel better about themselves is just wrong.

 I have discovered an addendum to the research that states when we turn three; we are considered to be 50 in human years.  We are not yet elderly, but we are putting some kibble away for retirement, checking out property in Florida, and if we are intact, asking our vet about a little blue pill that will help us keep up with those one-year-old bitches.

According to the study, when we are four, we are 72.  After that, we start aging one year at a time.  

Humans should adjust their ages, so they are in line with the traditional way that dog years are calculated:  Baby, child, adult, middle-aged, and crap shot— the five ages of man. It will save on you having to buy a new present every year, attending office birthday parties, and leaving with unwanted calories and a sugar rush headache.

Age would not be measured by date, but by accomplishment, when a baby becomes toilet trained, they are now a child. When they move out and start paying rent or mortgage, they become an adult  (if they fail and move back home this period is known as a second childhood, and there is no party when they run out again.). When the final child moves away, or the last bit of hair turns gray, middle-aged is reached.  When you lose your car keys for the tenth time or pee in your pants more than just a little, it's a crapshoot.

While the last two events are dispiriting, at least as the unfortunate events unfold, people can look forward to a party and presents afterward. Be wary of Grandpa peeing himself just for the party.


So remember good people as another year hurdles to a finish you are not another year older you are just closer to crapshoots.

Pocket Recounts Her Parents' Thanksgiving from Long Ago

Happy Thanksgiving, my friends. 

This is my lucky thirteenth turkey day, and with each one, I find more reasons to be thankful.

When I was a young pup, Foley and I hosted Thanksgiving at our house.  It was filled with family and the best of all babies. Oh, how Foley and I loved babies!   They are humans in the purest form. Everything we do delights them. Their small, soft hands are perfect for petting.  And, they always dropped delicious food on the floor, which we happily scoffed up.  

When mommy had her knee surgeries, the grown children decided to rotate the holidays at their houses.  That was the death knell for the big family get-together. Once Thanksgiving is held at the kids’ homes, they began to wonder why they had to invite their brothers, sisters, and their obnoxious kids.  Gradually the holiday becomes just the immediate family until the mom can’t cook any longer, and then it gets split up between their children’s houses, and the pattern begins again. Years after their mother last lamented her kids not getting together at the holiday; the children realize why she despaired.

My parents look back fondly on their youth when they were crammed into their grandparents’ tiny houses, or, as they were called at the time, houses.  There were aunts and uncles wrapping their nieces and nephews in uncomfortable, hugs, and distributing wet kisses. The girls would either try to help in the kitchen, where their efforts were not fully appreciated, or find a bedroom where they drew, colored, played, and were reminded why cousins were better than friends.   The boys went into a crowded room where big men sat on small chairs or crammed onto couches to watch football. Every five minutes, one of the uncles would ask their nephews to get them a beer. There was a refrigerator in the basement stocked with Narragansetts. The boys would walk down the crooked, uneven, cellar stairs into the musty basement, take one more beer, then they could confidently carry from the stash, climb the stairs, and like a nervous dog playing fetch, bring the beer to the rapidly intoxicated uncles.  

Every year, precisely at halftime, dinner was served.  The kids sat on mismatched chairs around a card table. They had to remember to keep their feet on the floor.  If one inadvertently swung and connected with the wobbly table legs, everyone would be wearing soda. There was a hierarchy at the kids’ table.  The oldest was in charge, and they practiced for when they would host the holiday. This consisted of telling their younger peers not to kick, hit, reach, or talk with their mouths full. This was good practice for the younger children, especially those who would someday be eating holiday meals in prison. 

The adults gathered around a long table too small for the group.  Sometimes there would be two tables of uneven height covered by one table cloth.  A pair of unfortunate souls would have to sit where the tables met and find a place to rest their feet around the two table legs, both centered on their crotches while balancing their plates on the uneven surface. If your place was set with your back to the wall, a trip to the bathroom before sitting was necessary because you would be trapped until the last pie was cut and served.  

Dinner progressed slowly.   By the time the first dinner had completed their meal, the last was being served.  Seconds were forbidden until firsts were served.  
There was plenty of extra food unless you were trapped with your back to the wall.  Then you were reduced to personifying Oliver begging for more.

After the tryptophan kicked in, the kids were anxious to go home.  The adults gathered in the living room, traded stories of what happened the past year, and reminisced about growing up in “The Village.”  There were no phones, no computers, no Instagram: Photos were things you brought with you in a small, thick album. The spouses tried to join in, but with each story, they were more excluded until they retreated to the kitchen to nibble on leftovers and lament their designation as “the others.”  Sleeping kids would be jolted awake by an aunt with a camera and flashbulb emitting the equivalent of a nuclear flash. 'You were so cute sleeping," the photo-taking Aunt said. The question "why didn't you just let me lie here," would go unanswered.

Finally, the family went their separate ways.  The trip home was interrupted by a stop at the Fotomat to drop off the film with the hope that a couple of the shots would be good enough to be shared the following Thanksgiving.  

Today Thanksgivings are supposed to be better, as is everything in the modern world.  But, with the people so connected now, there are no new stories, no unknown occurrences, no pictures unseen, no mysteries photo of a guy in military uniform with his arm around your mom.  Now every picture is identified with hashtags and links to more pictures of the subject.

Just as I would like to go back to when we had a house full of babies, I think my parents would like to go back to those simpler, crowded Thanksgiving.

At least we have our memories.  

Wordless Wednesday

Beat This Caption

Oh no!  I just went Brexit on my pillow

Monday Question

What are your chances of getting some turkey Thanksgiving?

POCKET:  We might get some deli turkey but my parents are going to my skin sister's so no food on the floor

Bentley Sir Licks a Lot Comes to Rainbow Bridge

Earlier this month, a little white fuzzball full of kisses came bounding across Rainbow Bridge with tears in his eyes.  His name is Bently, but to his family, he is Sir Licks A Lot. The Bridge had finally claimed him after years of trying.

By the time Bently surrendered to the dark angels, his body was spent.  He had given every ounce of his devotion. His parents had seen him rally remarkably from the brink of passing before, but we only can recover so many times before the deficit becomes too steep to mount.

  When he was eight years old, Bentley suffered paralysis.  His doctor told his mom there was no hope. The vet suggested that Bently be sent to the Bridge.  When his mom looked at her dear boy, she saw a dog that was not ready to give up. She took Bently home and became his physical therapist.  Within six months, through determination and love, Bently was running again.

Bently would become paralyzed when his body failed again.  Once more, love and determination would triumph as Bently regained the ability to walk and then chased off the bad Bridge angels that were after him.

Following that, Bently was diagnosed with a herniated disc. When you walk the world on four legs, your back takes a pounding.  A dog who develops a spinal issue encounters unbearable pain. But Bently powered through his setback for longer than any human believed possible.  The little dog exhibited the heart of a lion.

Bentley had a special relationship with his mom. He was a trained service dog who helped her survive the harsh world.  It takes a lot of patience and training to become a service dog. I certainly couldn't have done it. The reward is you are never left behind, and you help your parents in ways we ordinary dogs only dream about.  You become like a part of your parent’s body. When you pass to the Bridge, the parent not only loses their best friend but their most trusted appendage. It is devastating.

When Bentley was overdue to arrive at the Bridge, the bad angels sent illness after illness to him, and he was able to fight them all off until finally, a simple cyst ended his mortal existence.  When it burst, Bently’s body began to shut down.

He lost the ability to walk, to control his bodily functions, and to stand. He stopped eating and drinking.   His parents tried everything. They spent a fortune on medications. But nothing could hold back the inevitable. On November 2, Bently went to the Bridge.

From the time he put his first paw on the Bridge, Bently enjoyed his pain-free existence.  He was suddenly overcome with an intense case of the zooms. He ran up the steps and past me, through the town square, around the theater, and back to us. His tongue was delightfully curled.  Before the end of the day, there would be time for sorrow, for longing, and regrets. There would be lessons taught about to visit his parents in their dreams, and in ghostly forms. There would be reunions and meetings with the other pets who were lucky enough to share a mom with Bentley’s mom. 


But for now, Bentley enjoyed his healthy body and being able to run faster than the wind itself once again.

Foley, Conan, and Canine Seal Heroes

As you are well aware, all dogs are heroes, and we save lives. Occasionally, a dogs’ bravery will be publicized, and the country revels in their achievement.  That happened in October when a dog helped the military capture one of the world’s most wanted terrorists, Abi Bakr al Baghdadi, known to his Isis friends as Kirk,  and throughout Syria as the host of the game show: The Qirsh is s_ˈɪ_ɹ_ɪ__ə.  

I am not a political dog.  Politics is frowned upon at the Bridge.  It is the hobgoblin of mortal minds, and we angels don't need it.  We are free, as long as we don't break the Big Guy's commandments. If we do, we are turned into minions and forced to do manual labor until we are back to thinking correctly.  The United States is still months away from establishing that type of order. 

I do take exception to the President, stating that Baghdadi died like a dog.  I had an image of US special forces entering Baghdadi's home and ordering him to stand, only to find he was unable to do so.  After a brief discussion with a doctor who accompanied them, the special forces wrapped Baghdadi in a blanket, held him tight, told him how much they loved him, then gave him a shot so he could slip away to the Bridge.  No, this guy blew himself up. No dog blows himself up, at least not on purpose. The way he died could not be any further from how we pass, except he was surrounded by his family, even if they were screaming and desperately trying to get away from him before he blew them up. 
  
These brave dogs, some of whose names are classified, for reasons I don’t quite understand because it’s not like people are going to look their name up in the phonebook and then seek retribution, took the lead in the raid.  They put their lives on the line to run down and corner the most wanted terrorist in the world. All dogs put aside their safety for the concerns of humans, but they took their fidelity to an entirely new level. 

These brave dogs, some of whose names are classified, for reasons I don’t quite understand because it’s not like people are going to look their name up in the phonebook and then seek retribution, took the lead in the raid.  They put their lives on the line to run down and corner the most wanted terrorist in the world. All dogs put aside their safety for the concerns of humans, but they took their fidelity to an entirely new level.

We dogs don’t want humans to know everything that we do for them.  If they found out that we are a superior life form that is here to protect them, they might stop feeding us and picking up our poop.  So let’s just keep it between us. Remember, if there is a terrorist in the neighborhood you need taken down, let your dog know. You will sleep better after the person dies like a terrorist and by blowing himself up.




Dying like a dog should not be an insult because we dogs are allowed to die with dignity.  Conversely, there should be no higher compliment than being told you lived like a dog. That means you were kind, brave, honorable, and put other humans first, just like a dog.  

The Cats Attack Again

I am old enough to remember when Mommy and Daddy used to both get up at 5:30.  They had little time for Foley or me as they prepared for work. After we were fed, I was put in my crate and Foley on her red blanket, where we patiently waited for eight hours until Mommy got home.   When we heard the door open and smelled her, I barked my head off until I was let out of the crate. Foley laid on her blanket, not looking at Mommy until she was ready. Foley was the coolest. 

In 2011 Mommy retired, and a short time later, Daddy stopped working full time.  We rarely got up early again, but when we did, we knew it was trouble. Doctors always do bad things to people right after breakfast.  They like to be done with their torture before lunch.

Last Wednesday, we were up early.  I knew something was wrong when Mommy didn’t linger under the covers with River as I slowly, and thoroughly, did my outside business.  She showered quickly and without getting her hair wet. My parents skipped breakfast, but thankfully we had ours. On the previous Saturday, my parents went to a wedding, and our supper was delayed for two hours.  We could not stand another late meal. Truthfully, I was not much interested in eating when my parents were up early, and something was afoot. I am always too nervous, wondering what drama the day would bring. 

During their absence, I waited nervously in my crate while River paced the floor from the living room to the kitchen with momentary stops to look out the window and bark mournfully.  They were gone for four long hours. When they came home, Mommy had something over her eye. River and I knew why. The cats must have attacked my mom’s eyes in her sleep again, and she had to have another round of cat attack surgery.  The first one was two winters ago when the cats were successfully flushed from her eyes. Somehow they had wormed their way back in right under our noses.

We jumped around at her ankles while Daddy led Mommy to her chair and cautioned us not to trip her.  River noticed because Griffons are detail orientated, that she had the plastic patch over a different eye than she did after the last operation. We knew we would have to be very careful around her. We couldn’t be underfoot or beg to be picked up.  This was a tall order for a little dog.  

The scariest by-product of Mommy’s recovery from the cat attack is that Daddy has to take on more responsibilities around the house, which includes taking care of us.  Lord, help us all. We don’t know how it is possible, but whatever Daddy does, no matter how hard he tries, is always at least a little less enjoyable than how mommy does it. Our period of suffering has officially begun.

River and I are going to try and take good care of Mommy.  When she had her knee surgeries, Foley stayed with her the whole time and sat on her chest during physical therapy.  My sister was a great nurse and inspiration. The best River and I can do is to try not to piss her off. After a dozen years, I might as well start now.

And we are going to be on extra high alert for cats.  This is the last time they are attacking our mommy’s eyes.  


Gosh, even after building that darn wall, cats still cause trouble.