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.
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
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 wh
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
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
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 j
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.
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
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 acc
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
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.
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 f
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
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 whi
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.