Wordless Wednesday

Beat This Caption

Oscar developed a full-proof plan to get in the refrigerator and eat all the food. 

Monday Question

How are you with other dogs?  Shy or outgoing?  Defensive or willing to play?

Pocket:  We don't trust other dogs.  We bark a lot at them and for little dogs we are aggressive.  My parents do wish we were different. We like it this way.

Moose and the Big Three are the July 28 2019 Pups of the Week

On Saturday, the big three, Sidney, Buddy, and finally Moose were reunited at the Bridge.  

Sydney was the first to arrive, a victim of complications that developed after a series of seizures.  Buddy, who had battled IMHF for years, appeared last year. Finally, Moose's strong little heart gave out at the end of last week. 

There lives together were like a blissful summer day. Eight years ago, it was midday, and the joyful afternoon seemed endless.  The idea of these three pups no longer being on the mortal side was unimaginable. But age and disease came as the sun began to set. Now that night has fallen, they are gone. 

They did make sure their mom was not left alone. More than a year ago, they arranged for the irrepressible Toula to fill their mom's heart with love.  While the cute little dog has fulfilled that mission, no new pup can fully take away the heartache of a missing angel.

It was difficult for Moose to be the last leaf on the tree.  He missed his siblings terribly. It was his job to stay with his mom for as long as possible.  He had to beg, borrow, and steal heartbeats along the way and used his extra time to tutor Toula.  The Big Three had created the model for how dogs should interact with their parents. Moose couldn't succumb to illness without having made sure Toula had these methods down pat. 

All dogs, at some point, must pass the torch to a new generation.  A dog's time on Earth is a blink of an eye. Every pack makes their humans better and then relinquish their spot to a younger pup who will work on further improving their imperfect humans. The Big Three's glorious run as Momma Michelle's babies has concluded.   Now it is time for Toula, and whatever dog may follow to continue their work.

Moose was of two minds as he approached the Bridge. When he took his final mortal breath, and then seconds later emerged from the River of Life, his heart ached as he thought about how much he would miss his parents, family, and Toula. 

But he had also yearned for those long summer days when he could play, walk, and bark with his siblings, then sleep in the warm sun next to them. He had visited them in his dreams, but being with them on the immortal side would be for remarkable.   

Sydney was the first to see her brother. Dogs are supposed to wait at Hobo's Landing on top of the long stairway that rises above the Bridge.  But, dogs are emotional creatures and Sydney, and then Buddy, did as all many angels had done before them when seeing a loved one. They scurried down the steps, tackled their beloved siblings, and gave 1,000 kisses. 

I waited for their reunion to end with the hundreds of angels the trio had befriended during their mortal lives.  We did not rush them. Literally, we could have waited for an eternity. 

Finally, the Big Three climbed the stairs. I administered the angel oath, and we all gave Moose a big cheer, then we had a welcome banquet in his honor. The siblings smiled through all the courses. 

That night, and every night since the Big Three have gone into their mom's dreams and played with all their energy hoping they will make so much noise their mom will remember their visit. During the day they are either playing together, running together, chewing on bines together, or sleeping together. They are never apart.


Because they know that is the way their mom wants them to be.  Together.  

Foley Finally Visits Her Gardens as a Butterfly

Finally, I was able to return to the mortal realm in the guise of a butterfly. This year it took forever for the cocoons to open and the 2019 line of butterfly bodies to be released. The cold spring and reluctant summer delayed production, causing me to use other bodies to inspect my parents' gardens. 

The standard body type is a white moth. It comes with no accessories.  There isn't even a tape player. It handles fine but has no pickup. It is to the butterfly as a Ford Focus is to a Lexus. It gets boring fast.

 The man at the insect lot tried to put me in a 2003 honey bee.  I hated that thing. Besides the constant buzzing, there was the overpowering need to pollinate. I passed. 

I did get to test drive a dragonfly.  Those things are awesome. You can get around in one of them in nothing flat.  The rapidly fluttering wings keep it from getting overheated. My only disappointment was that it didn't breathe fire.  I was right over Pocket ready to give her a scorching when all of produced was a stinky polling burp. 

 I was relieved when I finally was able to use a butterfly body.   I walked through the showroom, searching for the perfect model. I settled on a lighter unit with black wings speckled with yellow spots. I took it for a test fly.  It was perfect. 

I flew into the sun and came out at my parent's house.  I landed on the rose bush which after a two-year hibernation and replanting were finally in bloom.  This came from a branch off of Daddy's grandfather's rosebush and is called the 100 year bush, but not loudly, because there are a lot of senior citizens living around my parents and we wouldn’t want some lady to think we were talking about her.

The next stop was my garden.  It has been problematic this year.  It doesn’t get a lot of sun because it is close to the house and has a pine tree on the eastern edge. Except for the tulips, nothing is blooming.  The black eye susan has taken over the garden. I ordered them to be thinned out, and some of them replanted on the southern side of the house. I am sure in a year the garden will be thriving, but I am impatient. 

When I went to the Bridge, the side garden was just a thin three-foot strip.  Now it is six inches wide and is the length of the thirty-foot driveway. It has a blooming hydrangea, two butterfly bushes, nectar, and several colorful flowers.  It was more beautiful than in my garden. The only thing three appealings was my angel. I decided change had to be made.  

I picked up the angel with my little butterfly feet, beat my wings harder than a butterfly wing has ever been beaten, lifted the angel, and flew from my garden to the side garden.  I planted my angel in the side garden like Neil Armstrong putting the American Flag on the moon. I claimed this garden in the name of Foley Monster One small flight for a butterfly, one great big garden for Foley Monster
.  
After I had claimed the superior garden in my name, I spent the rest of the day in it, burying myself in the butterfly bush’s purple flowers, and playing tag with the hummingbirds.  Summer is short in these parts, and the life of a butterfly model is even shorter.

So excuse me, it is summertime, and I must gather my rosebuds while I can.

Pocket's Work Out Regime

It may be hard to believe for the social media veterans who remember me as Foley's little sister who she would not allow online until I was totally housebroken (luckily Foley relented, or I would still not be online), but I am going to be 12 in six weeks.  I have acknowledged my advanced age, and I have acted accordingly. That is why I have started a rigorous exercise program that I am happy to share it with you. 

Here are my best routines:

The bark:  This is a great exercise because you can do it literally anywhere and for no reason.  Barking gets the blood flowing, it is good for lung capacity, and it is a stress reliever.  The next time you bark, and you are told to be quiet, tell them that you are exercising. They will respect that. 
The red ball:  Every morning before breakfast, Daddy plays indoor fetch with me throwing the red ball from the living room to the kitchen. I bark while I chase it, so I get all the benefits of barking practice while strengthening my legs and jaw.  

The full-body shake:   I like to do this exercise when it is thundering, or there are fireworks. I start shaking at my ears and keep going to the tip of my tail.  The key is to have your whole body moving simultaneously. This is good for the heart and the spine, which must stay stiff and aligned, or you will shake too much and crumble.  

The snuggle:  Align your back and strengthen your core, lay with your back straight in a comfortable chair or couch with your spine against your parent's leg.  Stretch your entire body and yawn. Continue until supper time.  

The Stormy Daniels:  Get on your back and spread your legs as wide as they will go.  Tip your head back until your jaw is pointed at the ceiling. This will help loosen up joints.  Hold until someone gives you a belly rub. If they don’t, it is acceptable to moan until someone does.  This is great for your mobility, and a belly rub always provides comfort.  

The eat and jump:  When you are eating,  scare yourself by biting hard into kibble and making it snap.  When that happens, you should jump in the air like you were startled. When you realize the sound came from your mouth resume eating.  This will help keep your legs toned, sharpen your reflexes, slow your eating, and improve your digestion. Some call this the “Pocket Leap.”  

The big lick:   Put your tongue on a human. Press it into their skin and pull your tongue out of your mouth as far as it will go.  Begin licking being sure to get full tongue extension with each lick. Suitable for the tongue, jaw, eating endurance, and flexibility. 

The lamb treats leap:  Stand on your two back legs.  Use your core to stabilize yourself. Wait until a treat is offered.  Jump straight up off your hind legs. Snatch the treat. Good for the leg muscles, core, mouth, and belly because treats are yummy. 

Sleep: This is my go-to exercise.  Lie down. Curl your back to provide it relief. Curl your knees for flexibility.   Hold the position for eight hours. Repeat as frequently as possible. 




If you follow this strict regime, you will shave years off your age, tone your body, and ease daily aches and pains.  Or are at least you will be well-rested.  

Wordless Wednesday

Beat This Caption

What do I really think of Mommy's new boyfriend?  Let me show you

Monday Question

When is your Internet time?
Pocket:  We usually are on late in the day or early in the evening. We are hardly ever on in the morning.

Rosco and Angel Willie are the July 21 2019 Pups of the Week

 When Angel Willie was diagnosed with cancer he took it in his usual running stride. He didn't let a little thing like cancer stop him. Angel Willie kept on living even after the Angels told him his time was up. Angel Willie told them no.   When his heartbeats were expiring Willie borrowed extra from the birds in the trees and the creatures at the bottom of his beloved ocean. Willie left the mortal side on his terms.  

When Willie made his decision to shake his tired body and leave for the Bridge he knew his heartbroken mom had to find her way through grief's dark path.  Jessie would be there for every step, but another dog was needed, so Willie found Rosco.

To Willie, Roscoe will always be a puppy.  He never gave a thought to Roscoe aging. Roscoe was just a little boy.  No one was more shocked than Willie when Mama Sandy found a suspicious growth on Roscoe.   His mom couldn't possibly go through this nightmare again.
   
Willie cursed himself for not having taught Roscoe how to borrow heartbeats, how to hold off the Bridge's call, and how to say the most powerful word in any language when the Angels beckon: "No."

Desperate, Willie ran up the mountain to plead with the Big Guy.  "I am so sorry Willie, but Roscoe has a malignant stage two tumor,” the Big Guy said.   “That fact has been written. What was written cannot be changed." 

"What about that what is not known, like if cancer has spread, or if the doctor got clean margins, or if Rosco will need chemotherapy or radiation?  Has that been written?" Willie asked, hopefully. 
The Big Guy offered Willie a deal. If over the next 48 hours Willie could answer 1,000 prayers the Big Guy would guarantee when the report came back, it would say that the surgeon got good margins and Roscoe could be treated with prednisone. 

One thousand prayers in two days was an incredible task. That was one prayer every three minutes. No angel had ever broken the five-minute prayer.  If it were me, I would have made a counteroffer. But, Willie is a dog who doesn't negotiate. He just gets it done. 
All prayers are processed in a large clearinghouse and then assigned to angels. Occasionally, if an angel knows prayers for a loved one are coming to the Angel can intercept them at the source. Willie ran into the clearinghouse, grabbed dozens of prayers, and ran out. 

Willie quickly worked through the requests.   Timmy lost his baseball glove? Borrow a house fly body, buzz the sleeping boy, get his attention,  fly under the bureau to show him where the glove is. Done. Mr. Johnson needs to nail his job interview?  Pop into the boss' brain and whisper "hire Mr. Johnson." Tommy needs to pass his spelling test? Stay in his dreams until he memorized the words.  Johnny wants his sister's friend to do what? "No" counts as an answer if the prayers are properly considered. 

Willie finished the 1,000 prayer requests in less than two days.  The Big Guy was true to his word. When Rosco's mom got the report, it said the doctor was confident he got good margins, and with the help of some Prednisone, Rosco should be out of danger. 

When he got the news, Willie lay on his bed for a long-deserved rest. He slept lightly, prepared to leap into action if his brother needed him.


Rosco may have never learned how to say no, but his expert brother is well prepared to say it for him.

A Foley Rant About Fireworks

It has been a long time since I have done a patented Foley rant. Prepare yourself:  After what I have seen from the Bridge this 4th of July holiday, it is time to end the readily accepted practice of backyard fireworks. 

There were more fireworks this year than ever before. Accordingly, there are more stories about animals running away, having panic attacks, or even dying, because of fireworks. Why has the day we mark our country's Independence become a day that dog-loving citizens dread? 

Dog parents see the need for fireworks celebrations on the 4th of July. The professional displays are usually done quickly and can be tolerated. But it's the private fireworks that are the bane of dogs and owners everywhere. These backyard fireworks can go all night long. Some of us can tolerate the popping noises that occur when fireworks are set off, but it is the explosions caused by M-80s and cherry bombs that makes us nervous, causes our dogs to go days without eating, and to jump over fences and run for their lives to escape the terror.

We live south of  New Hampshire where fireworks are legal. People drive a few feet over the border, stock up on fireworks and drive back. Even in states where fireworks are legal, there are laws about where you can set them off, and how late. People abuse these laws regularly. 

The cherry bomb that sent Pocket into a tither was launched from Dunbar Street, a quarter-mile from my parents' home.  According to the local police blotter, six people called to complain about the fireworks on Dunbar Street. The street is half a mile long, filled with residential homes, with small backyards. It is less than a half-mile long.  Responders reported the call as unfounded, all quiet, peace restored, or services rendered. That sounds like something Stormy Daniels would write in the memo section of a check she received. To those in the listening distance to the fireworks, it seems like the shooters never took a break.

The next day my parents talked to their neighbors.  Their dogs had similar reactions as Pocket: Some were still not eating, others were up all night. If your dog is up all night, then you are up all night. Did our founding fathers create a country so close to 250 years later on the date they signed their historical document, citizens would be kept up all night, living in fear so others can have illegal fun? 

Sadly the fireworks laws are becoming obsolete, like the ones that keep men from wearing goatees or putting tomatoes in their clam chowder. Fireworks are seen by many, including those in law enforcement, as harmless fun. On Facebook, people readily admit to setting off fireworks in the yard, and chastise those who complain about their illegal activity because the revelers are just having fun. 


On July 3rd a man in our city was building launchers for his extensive fireworks display. He set one of them off on his deck, which lit the stack of fireworks containers on his porch on fire.  The entire stash exploded with such fury that a neighbor said he thought he was in Kabal. The outside of the house suffered extensive damage. 
Thousands of dollars in taxpayer money was spent responding to the incident. A limp warning was issued by the authorities not to use fireworks. The next night? The air was filled with illegal fireworks. The result?  No arrests, no citations, no confiscations. It was the same in every city and town in America.

Many of these fireworks display include extensive preparation: Launchers have to built, boxes of fireworks are brought to a launch site. When I read on the blotter that officers responding to fireworks calls reported that the perpetrators were gone on arrival, or the complaint was unfounded, I wonder just how committed those offices were to stop the fireworks. Especially when minutes later there is another firework call for fireworks at the exact same place
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Dog parents are amazing. There is nothing they can't accomplish for the welfare of their dogs. It is time for them to step up and hold the local cities and towns accountable and make them follow the law and do away with backyard fireworks. 

I urge my friends’ parents to write to the town leaders and the chief of police and demand that the laws are upheld. If you have a group of pet lovers in your neighborhood form fireworks, watch for the 4th, to call the police if you see fireworks, and to keep calling until they stop.  The squeaky wheel gets the grease.


Our forefathers fought valiantly to escape tyranny.  Two hundred fifty years later, parents need to fight the oppression of fireworks. 

River Song Speaks Up for the Dogs who Do Not Tremble

Every satellite orbiting this blue marble is crammed with stories about how Pocket doesn't like loud noises, fireworks or thunder.  She posts these stories in a desperate attempt to get attention. While reading her dramatic accounts, have you ever asked yourself how about the other dog? 

Please allow me to introduce myself. I am River Song, otherwise known as the other dog: The one who does not get upset when it thunders, or there are fireworks.  The one who doesn't get attention because she doesn't shiver or quake. What about me? I am glad you asked.  

One night last week, while we were in bed, it began to rain, hard.  I don't mind the sound of rain on the roof; I am in the big bed with my parents. What could go wrong? 

Pocket was curled up at mom's feet when my sister began the four stages of unnecessary shaking. First, she lifted her head up like someone was whispering a secret.  Second, she stood and looked around like she was searching for her glasses. Third, she walked up dad's body like she is a Flying Wallenda trying a new after-dark stunt.  Finally, she begins a full-body shake. 

This was all so tiring. If I wanted the shaking bed, I would have paid 50 cents more for the room.  Daddy woke up, listened to the rain, and determined there was no thunder. He picked up Pocket and walked around the house. They watched the storm through the kitchen window until it was apparent even to Pocket that there was no thunder. He brought Pocket back in the bedroom and placed her on the bed. 

I was curious where they had gone, so I moved to the end of the bed.  When Pocket was put back in the bed, she lay down on the warm spot I had vacated
. 
I was getting tired of this repetitious favoritism. It was time for River to get some attention. First, I tried to tremble, but, unfortunately, it was more like a full-body spastic twitch.  Then I whined. "River stop!" Daddy said, "you're not afraid of the rain." He was right. You can't fabricate. I decided to take this opportunity for a maximum snuggle. I faced the headboard flexed my right legs,  jumped in the air and slammed into him like a loaded wild pitch. The "roof" sound he made was very satisfactory. 

I was just about to fall asleep when I heard thunder. Pocket went through the steps of panic and scurried up Daddy's body towards his head. Daddy and I groaned. The lightning lit up our room. Pocket sat by Daddy's head and trembled. I have to give it to her; she's faking, not even a Fox news cub reporter trying to pleasure Roger Ailes could fake it in bed for that long. 

Daddy began rubbing Pocket's trembling body. But what about me? Why wasn't I being rubbed? I was the good one. I began to paw Daddy to rub me too. He didn't want to do it. I understood why. When you stroke mee ready to do it for 45 minutes to an hour. I'm not easy. Plus I sit up while I'm getting my belly rubbed. It looks like Daddy is trying to fix a bolt on my undercarriage. Soon, It became apparent that I was not getting touched. If he wasn't going to rub me, could still initiate contact.   I began to lick his face. 

So the three of us lay in bed- Pocket trembling, Daddy rubbing Pocket, and me licking Daddy. We called ourselves The Aristocrats  Mommy was way over on her side, pretending was going on. We stayed like that for close to an hour. I admit I did feel a little bit like Jeffrey Epstein at Sleepaway Camp, t I didn't care. I had been through too many storms calmly.  I would not take second place to a shivering scared Yorkie.

When the storm subsided, Daddy picked up Pocket and put her down by Mommy, rolled over, d told us to go to sleep. Thankfully there was no more thunder. But I had made my point. More dogs deserve attention than she who trembles (which is Pockets Indian name.)  

 I consider it a victory for stable genius dogs everywhere. 

Wordless Wednesday

Beat This Caption

Max failed his audition to be the new Kool-Aid man.

Monday Question

Do your parents have a non-verbal signal to you to get you to come?

Pocket:  When my Dad slaps his thing three times we come running unless we have something better to do. 

Gritt,with Help from Angels Baron and Kaizer is our July 14, 2019

Baron had been here before. 

While most of us were blindly attempting to navigate the new social media landscape, Baron was already an online superstar.  He was the first pup I knew to have his own Facebook page, and the first one to have a gathering of pups at his house. Of course, it was called Baron fest. After his passing, he prepared me, and so many others for the next life.  Baron was an original in every sense of the term.

After Baron reached the Bridge, he immediately began searching for the perfect pup to take his place and rebuild his mom's heart.  He interviewed thousands of dogs until he found a puppy named Kaizer. One meeting and he knew this was the dog who could ease the pain of his passing. 

Kaizer had everything Baron required as an heir, except for time.  We watched as he grew up online. We praised Kaizer when he completed another training course.  It seemed that he was only a pup when we heard of his cancer diagnosis. In reality, he was seven. He was still too young. 

Just as Baron had taught Kaizer what he needed to know about being an outstanding German Shepard Dog, he also taught him how to be a loving, caring, comforting angel.  Once this was accomplished, his next job was to find his mom a new dog.  

That is what brought Baron back to look for a new pup for his mom.  Baron had a list of questions, plus body requirements, and attitude assessments to help him find the right dog.  What he didn't expect having was a pesky brother who insisted on helping.
When Baron went to interview the first puppy candidates, he was stopped by Kaizer.  "I should go too," the younger dog said.  

"Now, now Kaizer," Baron chuckled.  "I have more experience then you do, and I am a fine judge of puppies. After all, I found you. Stay here to make sure mommy doesn't need anything.  I will be back soon." 

"But Mom has changed," Kaizer said.  "There were things I did that you didn't.  She liked them."

"Doubtful," Baron said brusquely.  

Kaizer, like all German Shepherds, was strong-willed.  "Maybe I will do my interviews, and if I find the right dog I will offer them the position of Mama's dog."  

"You wouldn't," a shocked Baron said. Kaiser nodded.  Baron became angry. “I am going out, you stay."

Kaizer stood on his back legs. "I am going out. You stay."

They began to circle one another and growl. Someone needed to break them up. This was a job for Judge Foley Monster.

I put on my wings and fluttered down between them.  I looked like a squirrel trying to mediate a fight between two beagles. I told them I would hear their dispute if they agreed to abide by my decision.  If not they would have their mortal side visiting privileges suspended. 

I listened to both their arguments.  Then I told them I would not decide because their mom had already made it.  I asked them what she would have wanted. The two German Shepherds looked at one another. “She would want us to work together,” they said simultaneously.  They were right. From that moment forward, they worked together to find another perfect pup. 

It took them, working together, a week to find another special heart dog for their mom.  They went in their mom’s dream and whispered the name Gritt.  

And, that is who she found: Gritt, another German Shepherd puppy, who hundreds of friends, supporters, and friends call watch grow up on the Internet.
Welcome, Gritt.  You won the puppy jackpot.
All you have to do to be successful is to listen to your inseparable angels.

Foley Monster: Bitch of Honor

After being at the bridge for close to 15 years, my sister Copper shocked us by announcing that she was marrying a Saint Bernard named Winston. She asked me, esteemed judge, and favorite sister to be her bitch of honor.  

It was expensive being the bitch of honor.  I had to send kibble to the Minister, bones to the church, bully sticks to the caterer, and even a dowry of chew toys to Winston. This wedding was going to leave me broke. 

When the wedding day arrived, I wanted everything to be perfect.    I walked inside the church and made sure I was decorated as she requested.  I saw Winston and his brother Max standing at the altar. Winston was wearing a tall hat and tails. His coat-tail was bunched around wagging tail. 

I approached Winston and told him his tails were stuck in his tail. I then stuck my head under his jacket to fix it.  "Foley, my God, what are you doing?" A voice wailed. 
I emerged from under Winston's coat and saw  Copper looking down at me accusingly. "I was adjusting his tail," I explained.

"More like sniffing his butt!" Copper yelled.

I had never.  I was just trying to help.  I wanted everything to be perfect for her.  After all, I had done!

Ok. I sniffed his butt.

But it wasn't my fault. I had not intended to. I'm a dog, and I was butt adjacent. I had to sniff. It was there.

Copper threw her bouquet at me. "You are not a bitch of honor. You're a bitch with no honor.  As for you," she turned to Winston "you just stood there are let her sniff your butt. I am sick of both of you."  She ran out of the church. Honestly, she is such an Edith. 

"Thanks for adjusting my tail, Foley," Winston said with more than a touch of sarcasm.  

I had to fix this.  We needed to show Copper that if she found herself butt adjacent, she would not be able to resist a sniff either.  

I needed a butt, preferably male.  I looked at little Max. I asked him if he wanted to help his brother, and he said yes.  "Whenever Copper gets upset she goes to Otis' ice cream shop," I said. "I am sure she is there now.  You need to go inside, get up on the counter, walk over to where Copper is sitting, turn and put your butt in her face, then order a sundae.  When she sniffs you, we will have proven my butt adjacent theory.
 Then she will apologize to me." Winston looked at me, archly. "And marry you too of course," I said sheepishly. 

We went to the ice cream shop. As predicted Copper was seated at the counter eating a banana split.  I had to coax Max until he reluctantly climbed on top of the bar. He walked towards Copper, presented his butt to her, and ordered a sundae. 

Copper looked up from her banana split and saw Max's butt in front of her.   She looked around to see if anybody was watching and then she took a sniff.

"Aha!" I yelled springing from my hiding spot.  "I saw you sniffing Max's butt. You were butt adjacent and took had to sniff.  See, I was right! Now you and Winston can marry." 

"Yes, Foley," my sister admitted.  "You are right; no dog can resist a sniff when they are butt adjacent.  I not only apologize but I thank you. I realized after smelling Max that he is the dog I want to spend the rest of my life with.  Sorry, Winston, it's over." Then Max and Copper left paw in paw. 

I sat at the counter and began to eat the remains of Copper's banana split.  When Max's sundae came out, I pushed out the stool and invited Winston to partake. Wearily, he consented.  We dug into our ice cream. "You know, it's probably better you find this out now then after the wedding,” I said.

"Foley," Winston said after wiping his mouth, "Shut the f - - - up."




This is what I get for trying to help.

Pocket and the Night of the Living Fire Works

I have never been overly bothered by fireworks.  My parents don't question why. They know I have hearing sensitivities to alarms, whistles, bells, heavy rain, thunder, kazoos, and whispers.  While they find this odd, they count their blessings and don't ask questions. 

On Thursday night, I ignored the persistent sound of fireworks popping in the distance.  I was sitting in Daddy's chair on his left side. This afforded me a view of the kitchen, and it's a western facing window. I saw something launched skyward. It reached its apex, and it exploded, shaking the house. 

I don't have an issue with fireworks, but explosions around our house make me wonder if we have relocated to Beirut.  My parents both reacted angrily. 

Before the sound had dissipated, I had a bad case of the trembles.  The shakes started at my head and soon overtook my entire body. I combated them by climbing on Daddy's arm and perching on his shoulder like a parrot with shell shock. 

It is a common misconception that dogs are afraid of fireworks. We are scared of our houses being blown up.  You can tell us that it is just some idiot shooting off fireworks, but you don't know that. What better time is there for someone to cover up blowing up a house than during fireworks? Thank God for dogs.  We never assume.

I was so scared I only ate half of my small plate second supper, which I usually gobble down.  I sat on Daddy’s chest, blocking the TV screen while my parents watched “Black Mirror.” I should be thanked for that.  I saw the whole program and didn't understand any of it.

The fireworks had stopped by the time we went to bed at 11:00.  I emitted a grateful sigh. At 1:00, I was comfortably snuggled with mommy, spooning at her waist when I heard:  “Pop, pop, pop, pop.”

I stood and experienced another full-body shudder.   I jumped on Daddy, who was pretending to sleep. I stumbled up his body to his chest and panted in his face. He rubbed me trying to calm me down, but the thought that someone was setting off fireworks at 1:00 when people had to work the next morning bothered him more than the shaking and the noise. His anxiety fed mine and vice/Versa.

Now that Daddy and I were wide awake he went on the local Facebook page and read people’s complaints about the fireworks, and people’s justification for setting them off: That it was harmless fun done by people celebrating the holiday.    Daddy toggled between two choices: The first was to find the people setting off the fireworks and beat them to death with a baseball bat; the second was to post a comment on the thread where people said that no one should complain about fireworks, that said “I feel the same way.  When I want to have harmless fun that doesn’t hurt anyone, I am going to break into your house and steal your stuff.” Discretion won out, and we both went back to bed.

The fireworks would sporadically continue to 3:00 AM.  At that time, Daddy and I both fell into a restless sleep.

If these fireworks continue for more than a day Daddy may leave a nasty comment on the firework’s lover’s Facebook page.




Or he may find the baseball bat and get some justice for me.

Wordless Wednesday

Beat This Caption

Yikes!  They is fishies in here!

Monday Question

Do you eat grain free food and are you worried about the recent FDA warnings?

Pocket:  We both eat Blue Buffalo Basics Grain Free.  We started eating this around the time the first reports of the FDA linking heart problems and grain-free food.  My parents weighed the risks of us developing heart issues with the benefits of no infections and fewer stomach problems, and that all of the reported cases had involved larger dogs, and decided no to switch to grains at least for now.

Sophie is the July 7 2019 Pup of the Week

There are too many homeless pets to count.  It seems that every second a dog is being adopted; there are two dogs that are surrendered.  It is a losing battle. 

Every day a homeless dog arrives at the Bridge.  Some of them pass naturally. Others cross in good health.  They do so because someone declared the Earth full and decided the only way to make more room was to send dogs over the Bridge.

So many of these dogs have never known love.  When they cross over, we try to place them with great dog rescuers who have passed.  Among these big-hearted angels are Jackie Pool, Michelle Kenney, and Vicki Tankersly.  They were given mansions, with hundreds of rooms. They, and many like them, have provided a home for thousands of dogs who crossed humanless.  Although pups greatly outnumber the angel moms, they still give the dogs the attention they require. 

Rescuing a senior dog can be emotionally taxing on a parent.  We dogs don’t have much time with our them even if we live with them for our entire lives.  Intentionally having that time halved, or quartered, guarantees a parent will have a shorter span between giving a dog their heart and losing it when the pup passes.

Parents who take in senior dogs may think they are only rescuing dogs for the rest of their short lifespan, but actually, they are saving them for an eternity.  Once a dog lives in their forever home, they become part of the pack when they pass to the Bridge.

In 2015, Momma Lisa Sullivan decided to foster a dog for two weeks. The pup was a terrified little girl.  In a few hours, Momma Lisa knew that this small, white, six years old would be a member of their pack for as long as her heartbeats allowed.  The pup received a new name: Sophie. She quickly assimilated with the current pack members, Mollie and Sully. In a short time, Sophie became the boss.  

It was not a smooth ride for Sophie.  Some tests showed she was losing protein.  She also began to leak. Two years ago, Momma Lisa thought Sophie would be going to the Bridge, but thanks to medication, a good doctor, and her mom, Sophie, survived.
In time both Molly and Sully went to the Bridge.  Sophie showed her devotion to her mom by helping her through the loss of her two beloved dogs and aiding new pup Dudley as he became acclimated to the family

Sophie gave her mom an entire lifetime of love in the time they had together.  On Monday night, in her usual no muss or fuss manner, Sophie departed for the Bridge, knowing her mom was in good paws with Dudley.

Sully and Molly met Sophie, plus hundreds of other dogs who never had a home, and to whom Sophie was a hero.  Sophie had visited Sully and Molly in her dreams, where she learned everything about being a pup at the Bridge. 

 Sophie was Mama Lisa’s third dog she lost in barely a year, a number that would be too much to bear for many moms. Mama Lisa is comforted by having Molly and Sully, who know how to visit their mom and ease her pain , and now Sophie, whose determination and kindness will  help her mom through the darkest parts of her journey through grief If during her travels, Mama Lisa sees a light that will lead her out of the darkness, she should know it is Sully, Molly, and Sophie holding a light for her.


Sophie will not rest until her mom completes that journey and no longer feels pain, because her mom saved her, not just for the last years of her life, but for eternity.  

Foley and the Ho-Bunny

When I was a mortal dog, I was never one for toys. Sometimes, especially in my younger days, I would play with a stuffy.  I'd pick it up, shake it, emit a tiny growl, then jump on the chair exhausted. In my later years, even this wee bit of exertion was too much for me.  I preferred to sit on my perch and watch my sister Pocket chase her silly ball. 

There was one stuffy I was partial to.  It was a pink and white rabbit that for some reason lost to the ages was called the ho-bunny.  Even in my later years, I would give the ho-bunny a few seconds of play. Mostly, I liked to hide ho-bunny under me. I found his cheerful personality comforting.  He was a good, napping companion.  

When I went to the Bridge, I was allowed to take ho-bunny with me.  I slept with it every night. It was a reminder of home. In the morning, I made the bed, arranged the pillows, and placed ho-bunny in a prominent place on the comforter.

One day last week I went to my room and saw that ho-bunny was no longer in his place.  I checked under the bed, between the covers, on the shelves, in the drawers, ho-bunny was nowhere to be found.

I immediately suspected my maniacal brother Angel Jax.  I searched the basement where he has his laboratory of dangerous things that have no purpose.  (It is where American foreign policy was crafted.) There was nothing there. I questioned him, but he swore to Goofy he was innocent. I was puzzled. Jax suggested I check out the cat village. They would like nothing better than to get one over on judge Foley Monster.
Jax had constructed the perfect cat disguise.  I could slip into their village and spy on them while seemingly looking like one of their own. Sometimes my crazed brother could be quite clever.  I slipped on the suit, walked out of the cellar, remembering to move in that funky right leg then left leg style, and headed out to the cat village.

It was awesome. They did not recognize me. I tried to keep up with the cat conversation, how many mice they chased, what new fish are in the river, clay vs. corn,  and why do dogs smell so bad. I did not show offense. Like Hobo Hudson surfing the internet, I was a dog on a mission. 

I mentioned how funny it was that Judge Foley Monster had lost her bunny.  The cats feigned ignorance. "Maybe we can look around or set up a reward if anyone finds him?" one of the cats asked. I was touched. Cats really are just like us.

One of them proclaimed, "When we give her the bunny back, maybe we can bite her tail."  Cats! Drats! Just when you think you can trust them that planning an assault on your innocent backside.

Incensed I stood.  "Well isn't this great?  I came here in good faith to spy on you and eat your food, and you plan to bite my tail?" They stared at me, wondering why this cat has gone mad.  I surprised them by stripping off my cat disguise and showing them I was Judge Foley Monster. And they surprised me by chasing me for miles through valleys and streams.

I stopped by the wooded area and turned around. The kitties were giving up the chase, and I saw why.  Laying by a log, there was a fox napping and in between its paws was my ho-bunny.  

You have to be careful, waking up a fox. It is better to let them lie. But I wanted to find out why he had my ho-bunny.  I tried to make some incidental noise by walking roughly on the ground and crushing twigs under my paws. The fox wasn't very attentive. Finally, he woke up and looked at me. I told him I admired his bunny and asked where he got it.

He told me he bought it from a sly Papillon.  The dog told him the bunny could run, and he could use it to practice.  But all the bunny did was lie there. The fox didn't mind. It was an excellent, snuggle partner.
Tell me about it.

I asked him if he would rather have something he could chase and snuggle with too. The wise fox said he would have to see it first.  I told him to follow me.

We reached my house Jax was sunning himself in the backyard.  When he saw me, the fox, and the ho-bunny he ran. The fox dropped the bunny in and scurried after Jax.
I returned the ho-bunny to the safety of my bed.  I looked out my window and saw the fox laying in the background with a big smile on his face.  He had his arms wrapped around Jax and was snuggling him. Jax looked quite perturbed.

Serves him right for messing with a dog's ho-bunny.

River and the Broken Mug

One of the worst things that have ever happened to me occurred last week.  My Dad dropped my mom's mug with a Griffon on it, and the handle broke off.

Admittedly, I have not had the most traumatic life.  I have always had a home. I have never been sick, and except for having my who-who turned off, I have never had surgery.  I haven't even been left with a stranger when my parents went on a trip. So imagine the trauma an innocent such as I suffered when the mug broke. 

This was the tea mug Mommy used in the evening.  She also has a mug for morning tea and another for midday tea.  No wonder she pees so much: Too much tea makes you pee. The morning mug has a drawing of a Griffon's head.  The evening mug has a picture of an entire Griffon body with words “Mama's Little Girl” on it. Because that's who I am.  Mama's little girl.

.  Why do my parents have so many mugs?  Because they have a dishwasher to make life easier  Before the dishwasher they had one mug which they would wash out and have ready for the next meal.  But, now that they have a dishwasher, the cups get cleaned once a day which means my parents need several specialized mugs.   The good news is they saved themselves two minutes every day by not having to wash them. The bad news is that they have to work those two minutes to pay off all the mugs.

I like the evening mug because that is when I climb on mommy’s lap.  I get to see the mug and even lick it. I don’t know the morning mug too often.  I should, but mommy won’t give me lap during breakfast.  

The evening when the mug broke Daddy was carelessly picking up the plates and mugs to bring to the dishwasher.  He tried to balance the mug on a plate. He dipped the plate, and the mug fell. It landed on its side with the handle taking the brunt of the fall. The handle snapped off.

I gasped, Daddy cursed, Mommy sighed, Pocket slept.  When Daddy retrieved the mug, it was handle less. Time of breakage was listed at 10:15 PM.  The mug was buried under a paper towel in the kitchen trash can after a short ceremony. We all talked about how much the mug meant to us.  Mommy said she liked that it said “Mommy’s Little Girl!’ Me too.  

Daddy said he would replace the mug, but this was not a job for a man, this was a job for an Amazon. That night  I could not sleep, so I stole Mommy’s IPad and went through all the mugshots online. I selected one and asked the Amazons to craft it.  

They said it would be at the house within three business days, so I made sure I did my business outside so the days qualified.

The man in the big truck brought the mug two days later.   Daddy opened it and gave it to Mommy. She was thrilled with it, and so was I.  Those Amazons really are superheroes.

Here is a picture of the mug.

Does it look like anyone?

Wordless Wednesday

Beat This Caption

One remote controls the TV, one controls the DVD player, and one controls my parents.

Monday Question

How much do fireworks bother you?

Pocket:  I get more bothered than River, but the fireworks don't upset me as much as thunder.  We are lucky.  We don't have fireworks set off in our neighborhood and our city holds their firework display until the end of the summer.  Good luck everyone.