The Ruby Rose and the Big Little Angels 3 Blog

I wanted to make the welcoming of my good friend Gracie special. I strive not to favor one breed over another, but when they are Yorkies like me, it is hard not to show some favoritism. Gracie looks like me.  She was the same age as I was when I passed. Like me, she was taken too soon from the same terrible disease.  She could have been my sister, and I would swear to treat her like one. I had advanced notice that Gracie would be arriving. Seven months ago it was discovered that she had a mass.  The doctors operated and removed it. There was a bit of hope. The bloodwork came back good. Then Momma Rene got the call she was dreading.  Gracie had adenocarcinoma. It was aggressive cancer that had spread. Surgery was an alternative, but she would lose part of her colon. Her quality of life would be poor after surgery, and it would only buy a little time.  Momma Rene and Papa Robert loved this baby like a child. They promised to keep her happy and comfortable for as long as they could.

You may have read how the leading dogs on the last day of the Iditarod steered, by musher Nicholas Petit, quit leaving the sled and it's occupant stuck miles from the finish. Many people who read about this wondered what had happened to cause the dogs to quit.  Readers of this blog asked themselves “hmm, I wonder if Foley had anything to do with this?”  Of course, I did. I am not against the Iditarod race.  Some dogs love to run in the snow. I like sitting in the sun and licking myself. If someone turned it into a competition, I would be an Olympic athlete.  But humans prefer to watch running and not licking. I know Huskies love to run in the snow.  They don't even mind dragging a human behind them.  Many an adorable winter photo have been made by a happy dog pulling a gleeful child on a small sled.  Dogs like running in the snow and making people happy. The Iditarod combines them both. Mushers need to keep in mind that they are not the athletes any more than the co

River and I, as usual, were left alone on Saturday as my parents shopped and dined.   We both fell into an uneasy sleep. We were awoken by tapping on the entry door.  River jumped up and ran towards the sound. Suddenly, a yellow lab, wearing a top hat and a smock walked right through the closed door.  He dragged what looked like an ice cream cart behind him. He let go of the cart and began to sing. "Who can take some chicken? Grind it up fine Mix it up with other foods and a touch of equine The kibble man can! The kibble man can! Who can take that mixture? Dry and extrude it until its all merged Cook on high until it looks like a rat turd The kibble man can The kibble man can Because he mixes it with probiotics To make your poop look good.” He glided over to me and opened my crate door.  I walked out and sat on the floor next to River.  We were fascinated by this singing dog. "Are your parents feeding you the same old tired kibble?” he asked. “ Isn't it time you got

How many times do I have to tell you not to bother your mother and me in bed?

Not counting the people you live with who are you closest to? That would be mommy's brother Tom and his wife Charlotte.  They come over once a month to play with us.  Our parents insist on having dinner first, which cuts down on our playtime.  I know they would prefer just playing with us.  They can eat anytime.  Playtime with us is limited.

I was awoken earlier this week by my phone barking.  I checked my messages. The Governor Of Dogs had texted me:  “A military dog is passing over today. Be prepared.” When military or police dogs become immortal all the dogs of their ilk, who had arrived before them, form a line, from the Bridge, then up the stairway, and for several more feet on the cliff overlooking the River, until they reach me at the swearing-in altar. Every year more service dogs pass, and more dogs stand in respect.  I will not be surprised, in ten years, if the line is so long I will be standing in the town square . I heard the church bell toll.  It was the most effective way of spreading information in my communities of Doggyspace and Blogville.  Us dogs have refined hearing. We can tell the difference between individual peels. This one summoned the dogs of war. They were already lined up when I arrived in my black judge's robe.  Usually, while waiting for a new dog, there is a hum of excitement emit

Of all the legal trouble my parents, sisters, and I have got into in the past the events of the last week were possibly the worst. Ironically I had nothing to do with it. The infraction occurred in the weeks following my departure to the Bridge.  I can understand my parents' lack of judgment because they were devastated by my passing and not thinking clearly. The events in question took place in early July 2014.  River Song had just joined our family, and my parents loved her immediately.  They wanted the best for her. And this included the best training. My parents hoped to get her into the prestigious Petco training program.  But they were concerned. Was River smart enough? They had seen her PAWS scores.  They were at best average. She did not have any of the extracurricular activities that trainers like to see.  My parents were faced with the fact that River may have to be home trained. Pocket was home trained. They knew first hand the devastating effects of home trainin

Nobody listens to the Griffon.  Do you know what you get when you don't listen to the Griffon?  You get trouble. My parents learned that the hard way. Do you remember when I complained about the cats under the house? Of course, you do. You remember everything I write. I am the Charles Dickens of middle European originated dog bloggers. Since it first became apparent last summer that we had a crisis In the southern part of our house where cats were streaming into our crawl space to escape the cold and prepare to steal our heat come winter I have advocated for my parents to replace the flimsy skirt which surrounds the house with a wall. "Oh the cats aren't hurting anyone" my parents,  the snowflakes, said. It would be nice to live in their fantasy world where cats can live in harmony with humans under their house, but I live in the harsh reality where cats under the house destroy the home. Lately, my parents had noticed that our furnace was not holding the

The backward dogs of Borneo could not even sniff one another's butts correctly.

Do your parents let you lick and where is your favorite place to lick? Pocket:   I like to give gentle licks on the hand. River:   I like to give daddy face baths with my tongue.  He tastes like bacon.

We Angels think our parents are silly.  They always worry that getting another pet will be dishonoring our memory.  We appreciate the sentiment. But we know better than anyone what a great pet parent we were fortunate enough to have lived with and, how many deserving pets who need a good home with loving parents there are patiently waiting in this world.  By marrying a pet and a parent, we are improving both their lives dramatically. That is indeed an angel's purpose. We hate to see a parent suffer and what makes them suffer the most is our passing. We know their hearts have been destroyed.  A new pet, not a replacement, because we are irreplaceable, but a new soul who will help them reconstruct their broken hearts and make them smile as they travel through the dark forest known as grief, is the ticket. When Sully arrived at the Bridge late last year, he was met by his sister Molly, who had passed earlier in the decade.  Molly didn't have to hunt for a pup when she passed

I got stuck on prayer duty this week.  This is when you hear people's prayers, and you respond to them.  Recently I had been placed on prayer duty probation because supposedly I gave bad advice. Some bit player on a TV show was worried about getting not getting a raise.  I told him to get some publicity. Stage a robbery. Blame Trump supporters. What could go wrong? Apparently a lot. This week I was put back on prayer duty.  I was warned it was on a trial basis — no more bad advice.   I do like helping people.  Luckily I'm in the right profession.  But I can't stand stupid people with stupid problems.   The first few prayers I got were simple.  Prayers for a successful operation, a date to the big dance, someone to make a free throw.  The next one I received started with “I am worried about my dog.” Perfect. Right up my alley. “My dog gets upset when my boyfriend and I have sex.” Not up to my alley.  Maybe five alleys over in the gutter. “If we kiss on the couch he

I've been told that I'm too high-strung and but I prefer to think of myself as vigilant. I have ears bigger than my head.  I figure there must be a reason for this. I was given them to hear sounds no one else can and inform my family that danger is present. There are many sounds that send me into a frenzy. The following is just a small list of such sounds. The smoke alarm:  The bane of every dog’s existence. When I hear that high-pitched beep I immediately alert whichever parent I'm closer to by climbing on their head.  I don't know if they heard the sound or not but who can ignore a Yorkie on their head? Luckily the smoke alarm beep is a sound I seldom hear. It is reserved for something left in the oven too long.  More common are the three quick high-pitched beeps that occur at four in the morning when all batteries die. My blurry eye and blurry eared parents can never locate the squawking alarm. It can take 15 minutes of them removing all the smoke detectors,

Hold on, hold on, I just got to the good part of the stick

How did you start on Dog Social Media?  Do you remember the year? Pocket:  In 2008 we joined Doggyspace.  From there we started a blog, the Tanner Brigade and joined lots Facebook Groups.

During the last six months of Maverick's mortal life, his dad posted on Facebook that Maverick was more than a dog to him. I know this made Maverick feel warm inside.  We dogs always want more. More food, more treats more play time, more walks.  But the most more we want is to be more than a dog to be part of the family, a child, a brother or a sister.  Maverick was definitely more. Late in life, we want more heartbeats.  We are willing the trade for them. Please take our sight!  How many more days will that give us? Freedom from seizures?  Take it. We can live with seizures as long as it gives us a few more days.  Even the heart itself can be sacrificed. Congestive heart failure? Bring it on if it will make this a weak heartbeat longer. It becomes like an insane game of strip poker.  Every time the ante is due we strip off another body part so we can play through the next hand. We know we'll never win it back.  But the game is everything to us. Thus begins the strugg

I am not a water dog, but I do go to the beach. My favorite time is at dawn.  Everything is quiet. Just the gentle sound of the surf crashing to the shore.  I find it a great way to unwind. Earlier this week I was taking a brief sabbatical at the beach.  I noticed what looked like a piece of glass in the tide. The sun glinted off of it.  Curious I walked to it and picked it up. It was a strange looking lantern from one of those Arabian tales of yore. I could not find an opening.  Then I remembered the key was to rub it.  I tried with my paws, but nothing happened.  Then I rubbed it on my belly. I felt it begin to tremble and grow hot.  I put it on the beach. Suddenly an Afghan hound appeared from inside the lamp. “Hello there," the hound said.  Thank you for freeing me from my imprisonment. I will now grant you three wishes.” Three wishes?  This was awesome. But I didn't need three wishes.  Angels only have one. To be back with their parents.  "I want to be with m

The chairman called the hearing to order.  “We are here today to hear the testimony of one Professor River Song about how her sister Pocket Dog uses being small and somewhat helpless to get more treats and the good spot next to her parents in the bed and on the recliners is that right?” River, sitting on a table, in front of the board, said it was. “Also, isn't it true that you have admitted that you used your thick head to push your sister out of the way to eat her food and snatch her treats?” “Yes sir,” River replied.  “I would like to take this chance to apologize to my family and to my sister for doing so.  I am a changed dog.’ “And isn't it true that you have been sentenced to two days without treats because of these actions?* “Yes, sir it is.” “All right then.  I understand you have a prepared statement you would like to be read into the record. I will allow you to do so at this time.” “Thank you,” River said  looking down at her remarks .”I come before you

Benny made a lot of money sneaking dogs across the border.

How did you come to live with your parents? Pocket:  I was born a couple of miles away from where my parents live.  They heard I was available and they drove to get me.  My birth mom lost her husband to cancer.  Her Yorkies weren't fixed and when Birth Mom was otherwise occupied they made little Yorkie including me.   River:  I was born into a family of champion Griffons.  My birth mom wanted me to be a breeding dog.  I did not take to being a mom and my litter did not survive.  My birth mom knew I needed my own home.  Mommy's groomer knew Mommy was looking for a dog after Foley passed and she told Mommy about the little breeding dog.  Mommy said she would take her.  The groomer flew down to Florida because she was breeding her male dog with one of my sisters.  When she flew home she brought me and here I am.

I always love meeting new dogs.  But sadly I know when I meet a new dog it means someone has lost a part of their family they loved very much.   The new arrival is often confused. He is experiencing the worst time of his existence.  Just minutes before he was with those he loved the most. The next thing he knows he is running across the Bridge and up the stairs where he is greeted by a pretty and wise Yorkie who informs them that he has left their parents and become part of the immortal world.    I would like to share my experiences in meeting a cute little dachshund named Liqo.  All he knew as he bound up the steps towards me was that all the pains that had bothered him recently had disappeared.  He had not felt this youthful in years. But he was a smart dog and knew there was a catch. It was Catch 42. If you wanted to be free of your physical pain, you need to pass over the Bridge, but by passing over, you leave your loved ones in even worse pain.  It's a heck of a catch.

I went for a long walk on Sunday.  I traveled through many villages. I came to the end of the land filled with things that had happened and were yet to be.  Most souls don't travel here. It's a strange and scary place. I saw something sitting on the side of the road.  It looked like a purple blob. On it's top were two eyes and a mouth.  It had strange fin-like appendages for arms. In one of them, it clenched a Kleenex.  Every few seconds it dabbed its eyes.  Everyone said if you meet something in this land keep moving. But I couldn't leave a soul who was so sad. I sat down next it and asked it what was wrong. “Nothing,” he said “I am just a sad boy,”   I told him that I was sure I could cheer him up.  “Oh please, don't I'll lose my job,” I asked him how he could lose his job by being happy.  “I'm Grief,” he said. I was taken aback. “Are you the one who caused my friends so much pain and misery when a loved one passes?” I asked. “Oh no, I couldn