Monday Question

Do your parents have any pet names for you?

Pocket:  Mine is Monkey, or Pocket Monkey Baby

River:  Mine is by Bug or Bugsy

Thor Arrives at Rainbow Bridge

The longer I am at Rainbow Bridge, the more friends join me. I wonder if it will ever stop. I see families tragically grow from one dog to two, then three, and now, when Thor joined Brutus, Hans, and Bailey, four.

Every dog, before coming to the Bridge, learns the reason why they will pass, so they can, if possible, extend their time on the mortal side. For Thor it was lymphoma, He stayed with them for every second he could, and then he gave his parents the signal that it was time. Having lost three boxers in the last few years, his parents knew how to read the signals.

When a dog is well past their Rainbow Bridge due date, the repo angels come for them. If the dog still refuses the repo angels add to their burden. They struck Thor with colitis which caused him to produce bright red stools. His parents gave him medication, but the illness was another brick in a rapidly growing wall.

The repo angels then took his appetite. This is usually their last move. Without sustenance, Thor could not fight off the illness. The combination finally caused him to signal his parents that his ride was here and it was time to join the Boxers Rainbow Bridge and make the trio a quartet.

The kindly vet came to the house to aid Thor on his journey. His little sister Lola did not want him to go. She paced the house, and, when it was over gave her brother a final.kiss as he was brought to the car.

Thor left his house full of magical memories. His wet kisses after drinking a bowl of water, his trying to steal his sister's food, his white feet which inspired the name sugar toes, his gentle breath as he slept in the big bed next to his parents, and his protectiveness. He left behind broken-hearted parents who realized they are blessed to know him.

It is an advantage for a new angel to have been preceded to the Bridge by three siblings. Thor had so many dream visits he knew more about the Bridge than I did. He did not show emotion nor confusion when he crossed over. He waited patiently to get the oath and be fitted with his detachable wings.

Thor walked over to Hans, Bailey, and Brutus. He dropped his head, and then they ran, laughing and barking with each step. I have seldom seen four boxers so happy.

Thor has already been back to visit his mom, and Lola, in their dreams. Lola is lucky. Unlike humans, she can remember these dreams dates. She still misses her brother, but knowing she can see him in her dreams does make it easier.

While there is no guarantee that their mom will remember their visits having four rambunctious boxers in her dreams is enough to give anyone restless nights.

Brutus, Thor, Bailey, and Brutus are the first quartet of friends to come to the Bridge. I know there will be more. The boxes have set an excellent example for those who will follow.

Foley and the Dog on the Cliff

"Urgent urgent urgent." The prayer request flew across my desk. Most requests can be studied, processed, then flown up the mountain to one of the Gods so they can decide what action should be taken.   But occasionally there a prayer request so dire they need to be acted upon immediately by the angel receiving them.  

I had two such requests cross my desk last week. The first was from a man begging that his dog be saved. The second was from a dog named Oreo praying that someone would help him. I decided on the spot, even if there would be ramifications and penalties for which I would suffer for acting without permission, that I would be that someone. 

I flew to Colorado Springs where I found Oreo on a cliff. There was a hundred-foot rock wall above him and a 100-foot straight drop below.  Oriole was stuck between a rock and a no place.

I asked Oriole how he got into this predicament. He said he had been on a run with his dad who, as we spoke was frantically looking over the edge and repeating the prayer I had intercepted. When they got done running his dad let him go off-leash. "I was quite foolish" Oreo explained  'I smelled something on the breeze, ran, and the next thing I knew I was like Wile E Coyote. I had nothing below my feet. I began to fall fearing I had taken my last sniff."

"Then I landed. It was quite a shock to my legs and spine but I was okay. I opened my eyes to see which way to go when I realized there was nowhere to go.  I was stuck. I began to pray." 

I told Oreo it was imperative he didn't move. I flew up the sheer rock and entered his dad's ear.  I told him to call 911. It popped into his head like it was his own idea. He dismissed it because he believed the rescuers would not respond to a trapped dog.  If you find yourself arguing with your own thoughts know they aren't yours. It's an angel trying to guide you into doing the right thing. You need to listen to your angels, just as Oreo's dad did when he relented and called the rescuers.

Oreo's dad had forgotten that all people love dogs. The fire department responded in full. They had become accustomed to people slipping off the cliff and needing rescue. This would be the first dog.

The experienced firefighters were able to repel down the ledge and get a reluctant Oreo into the necessary ropes that would lift him to his grateful Dad.  

I stayed in my ghost form until I was sure Oreo was all right.  Outside of a mouth injury, he suffered upon landing he was fine.  He gave me a nod of gratitude before he headed home with his dad. 

I even got a commendation from the gods. I didn't ask for it but it is always nice to know you're appreciated at work.  

Most of the credit belongs to humans.  I don't know if 20 years ago he would be so anxious to save a dog on a cliff. They are recognizing our importance in the daily life of humans.

Oreo, his dad, the dogs and the people who love them appreciate that very much.

Pocket and the Case of the Missing Ball

Earlier this week, I declared a state of emergency because my red ball had gone missing.

I have never shown much interest in stuffies.  I don’t chew bones. I am a ball girl. 

It started when I was a pup.  Papa sat on the floor with me.  He tried to get me interested in the dozen dog toys in the box. I didn’t react.  Then he selected a ball and threw it across the floor. I chased after it, picked it up, ran back, and dropped it by his hand.  He threw it again, and I retrieved it and brought it back. I had found my leisure activity.

When I was young, I could chase the ball for hours.  Papa would throw it from the living room into the dining room, and I would give chase.  I played until the ball was soaked with spittle then would hop up on the couch to sleep.  Papa sat down and rested. A few minutes later I was rejuvenated. I got down, nosed my ball towards Papa, and barked until he began playing with me again.

As I grew older, my ball time decreased.  Now, in my twelfth year, I only play for a short time before breakfast, and a bit later in the day.  I still love chasing the ball, but I love resting more.

I am a quirky dog.  One of my biggest oddities is that I will only chase one ball.  First, it was a blue ball; then it was an orange one. When a ball is lost or has been punctured, the available balls are lined up, and I pick one.  The last time I lost a ball, five years ago I selected the red one. Now, it is more bald than red, but I love it. The red ball is the best ball ever. 

My red ball loves to hide. It slips under the refrigerator and chairs, in between the stove and the cabinets, and behind the hutch.  No matter where it hides, I can sniff it out. 

Yesterday morning I did my important business.  After Papa showered, I went in search of my ball.  I could not locate it. But that was alright. Papa always finds it.
He got on his hands and knees and looked under everything.  He moved furniture and looked behind it. The ball was nowhere to be found. Momma assured me that she would find the ball when she cleaned while Papa is at work. 

Mommy cleaned every inch of the house, and my ball was not found.  I paced nervously behind her. “Red ball, oh ball, where could you be?" I pleaded.  Momma began to check places where the ball could not possibly have rolled: In the closets, in other rooms, on the porch, but the red ball was nowhere to be found. 

It was a deep mystery.  The ball could not have left the house, but it was nowhere to be found.  I couldn’t pick up its scent. All I could think was the ball rolled away.  I hoped not. Despite it only having a patch of red fur left on his round, black body, and covered in slobber, he was loved. 

Daddy lined up his balls for me to peruse and pick a new one, but I refused.  I was had not given up hope.

By the afternoon, I was slowly accepting that the ball was gone.  Every square inch of the house had been searched. Somehow my little red ball had disappeared.

We were having company the next day.  One of the guests has to use the lift recliner.  Mommy turned it in on to make sure the chair worked.  When she set the setting for “up,” my ball popped out from between the cushions.  When it hit the floor, I ran to it and gave it a big lick. 

We have no idea how my ball ended up wedged in the lift chair. No one has sat there since the ball disappeared.  It is too high for me to jump. River Song can, but she wouldn’t hide my ball. Would she?  

I am just happy my heroic mom rescued my ball.  It was a terrible two days.

Come on the little ball; we need to rest.

Wordless Wednesday

Beat This Caption

I may be about to drown, but I am going to look awesome doing it.

Monday Question

Are you a trip hazard?  Have your parents ever tripped over you?  How often?  Did anyone get injured

Zero is our September 22, 2019 Pup of the Week

I am just one of the hundreds of Rainbow Bridge judges who give the angel oath to dogs who have just crossed Rainbow Bridge.  While I would like to greet every dog, it is impossible. I would be swearing in dogs around the clock and never get caught up.  Once a month all of the dog judges get together to tell stories of the wonderful pups they had welcomed to the Bridge. This week Rocco, one of the judges who have been at the Bridge the longest, told me of a hero dog named Zero, who he had sworn in earlier this year  I was so moved by his story that I had to meet him.

There are 1,000 different dog neighborhoods at the Bridge, including my own: Doggyspace. I had to pass through Doggieville, Dogster, Doggybook, and several other settlements until I reached Dog Town where Zero lived.  Your home at the Bridge is equivalent to the good you did on the mortal side. Zero had a mansion. 

I knocked on his door, and a minion answered.  I told him who I was and why I was there. He let me in the house and brought me to the pool where the yellow Lab was contently swimming laps.  When he saw me, he got out of the pool and asked his minion to bring us two bacon sandwiches.

Zero certainly knew how to treat a guest. 

When we were done eating, I asked Zero how he arrived at the Bridge.  He settled into a lawn chair and told me his story.  

"It was about six months ago. We had a party for my little skin sister.  We dogs love parties. We get lots of attention; people drop food on the floor, everyone is happy. It was an awesome day. 

"Later that day, my parents discovered they had been burgled.  That's a crappy thing for someone to do at a kid's birthday party.  The family did a bit of sleuthing. They checked out the online profiles of everyone invited to the party.  Sure enough, a 16-year-old boy posted a video of himself on Snapchat wearing the father's hat and flashing the family jewels. 

“My dad went to the boy's house and left a note saying that he needed to talk to the parents.  A short while later the boy who burgled them returned sporting every American’s favorite fashion accessory:  A gun.  

"My dad forgot an important rule.  You can't talk to a man with a shotgun in his hand.  They began arguing, and it grew heated. I sat up, ready to protect my family.  

"Suddenly the kid fired wounding two of the children.  There was no way I could face my friends at the dog park if I didn’t act.  I jumped at the boy. I felt a pinch in my chest and fell down. He had fired again.  Despite the growing pain in my ribs, I stood and charged at the troublemaker. I knocked him down.  He fired two more times. I felt the bullet hit me, but I could not let being shot stop me. I chased him into the night.  

“Then, I lay down. I was exhausted.  There was a lot of commotion around me.  An ambulance came for the wounded. I was rushed to the vet, but I knew I didn't have long.  I fell asleep there and woke up here. 

"My humans built me a shrine in the front yard.  They told people I was a hero. I don't know about that.  I was just doing what any dog would have done. I think ‘hero’ is just another word for dog."

I kissed Zero on the head. One thing for sure. Zero if a hero.

Foley Helps Save Hurricane Victims

Whenever there is a tragedy, like the recent hurricane to hit the Bahamas we angel dogs do everything we can to make sure our mortal counterparts can be safely moved from the affected areas and brought to the United States where hopefully they can find new homes or be reunited with their owners. 

Our job is to work with rescuers. The humans don't know we are helping them, but through a system of ghostly whispers, we encourage those in need of help to bark so they can be found.  
Once they are aboard the boat or plane, they come to America, to experience the parks,  good food, love, stable homes, and security. In America, they will be welcomed with…

"Hold it right there," a chesty American bulldog said as we were leading dogs onto the plane. "Do these dogs have tags? Do they have birth records? How do we know they're not bad dogs who are going to move into our neighborhoods, dig in our yards, kill our gardens with their urine, poop on our walkways and generally upset the American way of life?"  

"I agree we have to be careful who we let in our neighborhoods,"  I said, "but these dogs have lost their homes. They have nowhere to sleep tonight. Isn't part of being an American is welcoming those at the lowest points? I remember the stories of people who lived in Canadian villages, and when the planes were grounded 18 years ago, they provided food and shelter for Americans they did not know because they knew they were suffering." 


"Of course they did," the bulldog countered.  "They were Americans. We were the victims. You have dogs trying to come to America who are clearly not victims."  He walked down the line. "Look here, an English bulldog. Go back to Europe. Same thing for you Frenchie. Shih Tzus and Lhasos should take the slow boat to China. An Afghan hound?  I think not. And, here we have a lab. You are allowed in.” The bulldog put a paw just above the dog's tail then pulled it back in shock. "Your back is wet," he said.

" I was just pulled out of the ocean!" the lab said.

"Well, you're not allowed in America. We don't take wetbacks anymore."

The dogs were prepared to argue, but I knew it was futile. You can't change a  stubborn dog's opinion. Plus, I had anticipated trouble and made other arrangements. Like a ghostly Moses, I led my flock across the sand to a deserted dock where my friend Tommy, son of a Navy man, waited with his yacht. 

"Hurry up let's get on board," I told the refugees. They ran up the ramp.  When the last one had loaded, Tommy asked me where they should go. "Take them to Jersey,"  I said. "Everyone's welcome in Jersey. If they get tired of new arrivals, they put them in an Uber and send them across the GW to Manhattan where they can't find their way off the island even if they know-how." It was also a place with lots of them shelters and rescuers. I was confident my new friends would be rehomed or reunited with their parents by the beautiful people in the Garden State.  

A short while later, I saw the American bulldog. He was suspicious because the refugee dogs were gone. I told him I knew nothing about it, but I don't think he believed it. "You're just for open borders," he said.

He had obviously never seen me when a kitty came in my yard.  We do need to protect our homes, but if something is in the road suffering, I am happy to open the gate and let them inside until they are back on their feet.


It is the dog's way. 

River and the Brown Grass

My parents are obsessed with their yard.  Every inch is well-manicured with carefully selected flowers blooming in their five gardens.  They try to keep their lawn free of weeds, which is difficult because their careless neighbors on either side have more weeds than grass. If you flew a drone over our house, you could see where one lawn ends and the others begin.  Our lawn is a bright green, and our neighbor’s yard a dull yellow. My parents spread chemicals on the lawn four times a year, trying to hinder the approaching weeds. 

I don’t like chemicals.  We are not allowed on our grass after it is treated.  We have to wait for the rain.  What good is having a lawn if you can’t use it as a bathroom?  We trek over to the neighbors and pee on their dead grass and weeds which I don’t like, because of the splash factor.

I try to tell Daddy that he has to be careful when he puts down the treatment.  If he puts too much, it burns the lawn. But he doesn't listen. Even though we have a small yard, he insists on using all of the chemicals in the bag because humans have to use everything they buy or they think they have been cheated. 

A week later there were dead spots on our lawn.  I looked at it and thought: “Well, the dummy put down too much chemical,” but somehow it was decided that the spots were caused by Pocket and I peeing on the grass.  Say what? Humans always jump to the wrong conclusion. 

Now that they identified the problem, they were determined to fix it and targeted my precious bodily fluids. Every post they read online suggested giving me an expensive treat to turn my pee into something that would not damage the lawn. 

At first, I was excited.  I am all about solutions that involve treats.  But then I became concerned. If the treat affected my pee, would dogs know it was mine?  Would my message become garbled? I don't want my sniffers to think I am slipping into senility because my pee is on the juice.

Thankfully my mom, who is often the voice of reason, nixed the pill idea.  "I don't want them taking anything like an insecticide," she said. Preach! "I want something we can put on the grass."

Papa went back to the University of Google.  "There really isn't anything beyond using the hose," he said. The hose!  I had not been hosed down since I was a wayward coed on Spring Break seven years ago. I was about to raise a leg in protest when Papa explained it was the grass that would be watered down. 

After all the drama, the solution was water, which was fine with me.  My only involvement will be to watch them foolishly water the lawn after I pee wasting one of our most precious resources.  Perhaps, if they are fortunate, a pee tree will grow there. 

With a little luck, the fertilizer that turned the grass brown will be washed away too. 

Beat This Caption

Jack:  "Rose, are you sure there isn't room.  It's getting cold in the water."

Rose:  "Sorry Jack, I do have an inch to spare.  Just keep treading water.  You'll be fine."  

Monday Question

If they were making a movie about your life what human would you like to portray you:
Pocket:  Meryl Street because she is dignified.
River:  Nick Offerman

Rex Mi Amor is the September 19 Pup of the Week

There is no disease worse, in humans, dogs, or beasts than dementia.  It robs us of everything we know. It is painful for those that suffer from the hideous disease and their family members.  Our good friend Rex Mi Amor lost his battle with dementia this week. Upon arriving at the Bridge, he got back all that had been stolen from him, but then realized he had lost what he loved the most his parents  Passing to the Bridge from dementia can be bittersweet. 

He came running over the Bridge, his tail wagging in joy. He scurried up the steps and nearly jumped on my chest.  "Foley, I can remember everything," he yelped. "I am not confused any longer. I can't wait to let my parents know.”  He looked around and saw the angels. His smile faded, and he realized where he was.  

“It’s the Rainbow Bridge Dementia Catch,” I told him.  “You can’t remember unless you come to the Bridge, but when you come here you remember all you forgot, and it hurts.” 

For two months, it was difficult for Rex to hold on to memories.  He remembered who his parents were, more by scent than from sight.  Even with dementia, a dog never forgets a smell. When Rex arrived at the Bridge all those memories that slipped away from him like sands through an hour-glass solidified, and he remembered all the sacrifices his parents made to combat Rex’s dementia and all the love they showed him. 

During his last days, Rex pushed himself away from his family.   Whatever it was that controlled the mind after dementia takes hold was telling Rex to isolate himself.  Maybe, as he grew more confused, he felt safer on his own. This, combined with arthritis, made every day a struggle for him. He was restless all the time, unable to sleep or to lie down, except if he did so accidentally when arthritis made him lose his balance.  Cataracts were robbing him of his ability to see. 

His parents knew it was time.  His best friend, his dad, went to talk to the vet who agreed with their decision. His dad came home and told Rex’s mom he would take Rex whenever she was ready. His mom went to the bedroom to say goodbye.  Rex showed that there was still a little of himself left inside by giving his mom 1,000 kisses as a goodbye present. 

A short time later the rejuvenated Rex ran across the Bridge.  When he realized that this evening would be the first night he would spend without his parents, he became quiet, cursing the disease that had robbed him of enjoying his final days with mom and dad.  I told Rex he could revisit his family, first in their dreams, and then by other methods, and put him in an accelerated class so he could quickly learn how it is done. 

Like all pets, Rex wanted to assure his parents that he still exists, but in a place they cannot access.; to tell them “thank you” not only for saving him and taking care of him when he could barely take care of himself, but for letting him go at the exact right moment, so he could get back everything he had lost.

I know his parents would be thrilled to see that happy, whip-smart, zipping and zooming Rex is back, waiting for his parents in a place where all the pain is stripped away, and there is nothing but love.  




Until then, Rex will be in their dreams trying to heal their pain just as they wanted to heal theirs. 

Angel Tiara's Big Surprise

When Tiara went to the Bridge, leaving her sisters Tashi, Trixie and their grieving parents behind her first inclination were to find a new pup to help her sisters rebuild their parents’ hearts.

But, her parents were not sure if they wanted to make their duo a trio again.  Neither of their parents was getting younger, and they did not want a puppy. A rescue was the only option 

Tiara wasn’t sure what to do. She decided to take a look around the local shelters to see if there was a dog who would fit in the with family.  Her mother, Momma Linda, volunteered at one, and if Tiara could find a dog there, that would be perfect.  

Tiara spent her days interviewing dogs but could not find a pup who would fit with her family.  She was going to give up her search and start concentrating on protecting her family from Hurrican Dorian when she conducted one more interview.  

She found a perfect two-year-old dog who had just been dropped off at the shelter Momma Linda frequented.  After a five minute interview, she told the dog that their mom would be visiting soon, and to act extra cute, so she would bring it home to become part of their family.  The dog, overcome with excitement stood up. That is when Tiara looked down and said, “uh-oh.” 

This dog had something that her sisters did not — a tiny penis. “Don’t worry,” Tiara told him. “It won’t be a problem.”  

She knew it would be a big problem.  She visited her sister’s dreams. They were very excited about a new dog in the family. Then Tiara told them about the red rocket in the room. “He has a what?” Trixie asked.

“Oh, I don’t think so,” Tashi said.  “We can’t have that here. We already have one with Daddy, and that thing is nothing but trouble.  Sometimes I can’t settle on his lap. No, Tiara, tell him you were mistaken.” 

But Tiara knew that the dog, even with his thing, would be a perfect addition to their family.  She made a deal with her sisters. She would convince her mom to foster the little boy through the hurricane, and if Tiara could keep the storm away, the girls would not object to him permanently living with them. 

This was a big ask.  It is hard for one little dog to control a thunderstorm, never mind a category five hurricane.  Tiara asked her friends to float over Florida’s east coast and help her blow the storm away. Typically, we would not get involved, because someone would get that terrible storm and suffer from it, but when we learned a young dog’s future was stake, we got to floating and blowing. 

I don’t know if it was just we angels or divine intervention, but Tashi’s house was spared from the storm, and her sisters held up their end of the bargain.  The little boy was accepted at part of the Triple T family. 

The boy was given the name Teddy to keep the full house of Ts. He is going to be a challenge.  Whoever he lived before being dropped at the shelter did not train him. He does not like his leash.  He does most of his business outside but has to wear a band until that becomes one hundred percent. He has tried to mount Tashi, who was very upset, and even more so because Trixie laughed at her.  

Except for the occasional hump, Teddy being a boy has not been a problem.  The girls are more bothered by his energy than his manhood. They live a sedatory life.  Teddy has made the house more exciting. 

Most importantly, he is repairing the damage done to his parents’ hearts when Tashi passed.  He has already learned to snuggle in the bed. From all indications, Tashi made a sage choice. 

And their dad is pleased.  The female to male quota has become smaller.  



We can’t wait to read about Teddy’s adventures.  Welcome, Teddy, another exceptional dog who is spreading sunshine wherever he goes.  

Pocket Finds Her Me Time

From kitties to possums to the lost dog lost, it has been a stressful time at Casa Pocket.  I am naturally a jittery dog. With the additional stress, it has been hard for me to get a good night's sleep. 

I consulted my therapist Dr. Vinnie Boombatz. He said what I needed was some alone time.  This went against my instincts. I hate to be alone. But sometimes what we hate is what we need the most. 

The problem was when could I find alone time? My humans don't give me a moment's rest.  They need constant attention. As a dog, I'm obliged to fulfill every request.  
Like most discoveries, I stumbled on my relaxation time by accident.  It started when Papa began stretching himself into a pretzel before he went to bed. It has something to do with a bad back and tight hamstrings.  Mama, River, and I would be in bed for 15 minutes waiting for him. 

I have been known to be forgetful at times, especially in stressful situations. Not having both parents in bed is unusual and worrisome. I’d forget where my papa was and get down to search for him. Moma would pick me up and put me back in the bed, I would get down again, and she would put me back in the bed.  Finally, I got down, and she didn't put me back. 

I found Papa in the backroom all twisted up.  I watched for a little while and then pawed his hand for attention.  He told me to stop. He seemed a little riled up, and I knew what cured that.  I kissed him. "Pocket, please," he said. When I did it again, he picked me up, put me outside the room, and shut the door. How rude. 

I went into the living room and waited on the recliner. In a few seconds, I found myself overcome with a feeling of calm.  No humans taking up the chair, no River Song chasing me from the warm spot on the pillow, no senseless sound from the TV. It was peaceful, and it heavenly. 

That is when I realized I found my me time. It may only be for 15 minutes a night, but when your seven pounds 15 minutes is an eternity. I snuggled down and listened to the peaceful noises outside. For a short time, I had no worries.

Once my Pocket time became a daily occurrence, I made adjustments.  I ordered a nice smoking jacket to relax in. I had a Keurig installed in my kitty condo so I could have something nice to drink. I made some scones and biscuits to enjoy while I relaxed in solitude. In those few minutes, I have to myself my worries float away. 

For 23 hours and 50 minutes a day, I am at the beck and call of my parents. I asked them to respect the 15 minutes before I get in bed as Pocket time. 




Unless they need me, then I will go to them in a flash. I am a dog I can't help it.

Wordless Wednesday

Beat This Caption

After two weeks of discomfort, Sophie discovered bottle-feeding

Monday Question

Are you a paper shredder?

Pocket:  Not me.  I am a good girl.

River Song:  Every chance I get

Tucker and Cosmo are the September 8, 2019 Pets of the Week

There has long been a division between dogs and cats on both sides of the Bridge. They can, if need be, live together peacefully.  To dogs, cats are like drug dealers. We yell when we see them, we want them to be away from our houses; we don’t trust them, but, if they live with us, then they are our drug dealer, and they are okay. 
I understand cats feel the same about us but think of us as undocumented housekeepers, who are only welcome if we are work in their homes. 

My dear friends Pippin, Tucker, who are both dogs, and Cosmo, a cat lived peacefully together with other pack members at their home.  They not only tolerated one another, but they were friends. They had grown old together. Sadly, when you grow old with a pet sibling, the Bridge comes calling at the same time for both. 

Tucker was very sick last week.  His mom knew he did not have much time left.  But, Tucker was determined to stay with his mom.  He did not give her the sign that it was time for him to go.  His mom kept awake with him, holding a vigil for days. If he was going to fight to be with her, then she was not going to miss a moment with him. 

Cosmo also was not feeling well but hid the symptoms.  Their Mom was rightfully doting on Tucker. Cosmo did not want to steal the spotlight.  Secretly they had a deal. When Tucker gave the sign that he was ready to go, Cosmo would provide a signal too.  They’d cross the Bridge side by side just as they had lived their lives
.   
On Saturday Tucker gave his mom the secret signal that is was time.  Seeing this, Cosmo gave the sign too. It broke their mom’s heart to send them to the Bridge on the same day, but when a pet provides the signal with it is the parent’s duty to fulfill their request.  Then she made the most difficult decision, two times. 

There are two different entry points for dogs and cats at the Bridge.  Their souls wash up on the shores of the River of Life a quarter-mile apart. I  administer the oath to dogs at the foot of Doggyspace Village and in a separate ceremony at Kittyland Cotton does the same for cats.  But, Tucker and Cosmo were not interested in crossing apart. They ran towards one another, met in the middle, then crossed together, on the dog side.

There was a great deal of bustle at the Bridge when they crossed over paw in paw.  “It is a cat!” one of my friends said. “On the dog side! This is blasphemy.” 

I was more open-minded.  After six years on the immortal side, I had grown closer to the kitties.  I welcomed Tucker with a hug and then Cosmo. I ignored the gasps for my less than understanding peers. 

I saw my friends’ tails go up.  The cats we're coming over the hill.  “It’s an invasion!” a dog said.  

The cats’ hair on their backs went up when they got closer to the dogs. I was worried there was going to be a rumble.  Tucker got between the two groups and held up his paws. “Stop!” he commanded, showing a lot of fortitude for a new angel.  “We should not be fighting! We just came from a very divided place. We should not be like that. This should be a better place!” 

I smiled.  I felt the same way but was not brave enough to say it.  

“What unites our parents is a love of pets,” Cosmo said, “but they still concentrate on what divides them.  What unites us is our love of our parents. That should be enough to surpass our differences.”

The dogs and cats paused, then slowly walked towards one another and began to play  Cotton, and I scheduled a massive picnic just like the Indian and Pilgrims had. It will be a fantastic time. 

We are sorry that Cosmo and Tucker are no longer with their mom, but she should know that her two little angels have helped to heal the centuries-old rift between dogs and cats. 


Blessed are Tucker and Cosmo for they are the peacemakers.

Little Dog Found by Foley Monster

All angels love their families, and all angels want to serve their families. But sometimes our families make us say "God, these people!" 
Just days after I had to guide a group of kitties to their new home like some low rent, Moses I was called back to my parents' house for another crisis. They had a lost dog in their shed.


I popped in to check on the fellow. His name was Dexter. I asked him how he ended up in a strangers' shed.


"I came to this neighborhood with my parents," he said. "They were at my Nana's house. They brought me in a room so I could sleep. But then someone left the bedroom door open, and I slipped out, and then I caught a whiff of something on the air, I found the screen door unlatched, and I pushed through it and began to run.' 
"Do you know which house it was?" I asked.

"Not really. As I said, I'm not from around here, and all these houses look the same." 
I asked him if he could pick up a scent on the breeze.  "There are so many new scents here I can't make sense of them."  

I told him not to worry if you were going to be lost its best being in a shed belonging to crazy folks who would care for him like he was their own. I told him I would go find his parents. 

Of course, I had no idea how I was going to find them. But I've always had a high opinion of my abilities. I flew back to the Bridge and found lots of prayers for a lost dog in my parents' neighborhood. I flew back to where they originated, but a worried lady only occupied the house. I deduced the parents were already searching for their baby. 

I went back to the Bridge and found out that people were praying and moving at my parents' site.   Praying and walking is what we call a "Sorkin." They are difficult to pinpoint. I went back to fly around the neighborhood, hoping to find the parents who were hoping to find their dog. Both tasks were like trying to find you a weasel in the next in a haystack. 


The people who own the dog had been visiting the husband's parents. There was a new baby in the family, and the baby was being passed around and played with. The parents had such a good time they completely forgot they brought their black dog with them. When they got in the car to leave, they saw the blanket and remembered to go back and get the dog. But when they searched the house, they couldn't find him. 

They began to, as Daddy had, walk around the neighborhood looking for their dog. It was even later now, after ten, which translates to 3 a.m. in normal people's time. They knocked on doors, and no one answered. Their search grew more frantic by the moment. 

Then they stumbled upon the cookout. They asked everyone if they saw their dog. The man who took the picture happily showed them the photo of the dog who had been there a few hours before. "The dog is with Mr. Gay," the man who knew Daddy said.  They asked where Mr. Gay lived, and they answered, "we don't know, over there somewhere. Really, they don't see the house with the pretty flowers and nappy dogs? I blame Bacchus.  

Now that they knew my parents' name, the task was easier. I found them ten houses away from my parents and kept guiding them towards my parents' domicile. At 10:30, they knocked on the door. 

My parents were still up. They had been worried about what they would do in the morning.  Daddy had to work, but the lost dog needed to be walked fed and given water. Then there was a question about finding his parents. And how would the dog react to waking up when the sun came up?  Would he be crying in the shed? They were losing hope they would find the parents that night. Then there was a knock on the door. 

Daddy saw a man, a woman, and a child in a stroller at his door asking about their dog.  Daddy put on his shoes and went outside to meet them. He told the grateful parents that the dog was in the shed. He gave them a leash to wrap around the dog, so he didn't wander off again. Then Daddy opened the shed sure, and Dexter walked out. 

There hasn't been such a commotion and so much crying in my parents' yard since the hydrangea died, but these were happy tears. The dad apologized a thousand times to the dog. He said he was so glad he did not lose him like this after all they've been through. He and his wife thanked Daddy repeatedly. Then they walked the Dexter back to their car.

I'm glad I was able in some small way to help reunite the dog and his family. There's nothing scarier for a dog parent than knowing their dog is out there somewhere cold, alone, possibly wet and always in danger.  My parents took in the stray because they fear that someday one of their dogs will slip away and be lost. They treated the dog like a want one of their lost dogs to be treated.




Then I went back to the Bridge for a long sleep. I don't know what the next crisis will be, but I will be there for my parents. It is my duty to help lost people and pups. It is a noble quest. 

Little Dog Lost by River Song

A leaky outside faucet can save a life.

It started when the splitter we had on the outdoor faucet began to leak.  My parents bought a new one. Putting it on was more challenging, and took longer than anticipated because the faucet was recessed and Daddy could not screw it on normally.  He had to unscrew the faucet, pull it out, and put on the splitter. What was a one minute job now took ten minutes. Then he began to water the front garden. 

That is when a senior black and white lab, with a grizzled chin, came from around the corner and sat next to Daddy.  It had no tags but looked well cared for. Obviously, it was lost.  

This was the third dog we have found in our yard.  The other two were tiny. Daddy picked them up and walked around the neighborhood until he found the parents. This dog was too big to carry.  There was no collar. The dog did not object when Daddy slipped a leash around his neck. They set off looking for the owner.

They came upon three women walking together. Pocket and I see these women a lot. We usually bark loudly to their delight and my parent's chagrin. Daddy asked if they knew who belonged to the dog. One of the women was sure the dog lived on the cul-de-sac in the back. Daddy and the black dog began waking.

It was a long slog to the back cul-de-sac. The old dog kept up. Dad noticed the Seresto collar and a bandana around his neck. Sadly there were no tags. He was a well cared for dog who walked better than we did. Daddy hoped they were on the right track and would find his owner.

Daddy knocked on the door at a house in the back of the cul-de-sac. It took a long time for the person to answer.  Daddy knew this would be problematic. It was almost 7:30. In the middle of sundown. Many of his senior neighbors were asleep. Finally, a woman opened the main door but was too nervous to unlock the screen door. Through the window, Daddy asked if she recognized the dog. She peered at it like she was trying to identify a mugging suspect who performed his heinous deed on a foggy night. After an interminable period of time, she shook her head no.  Daddy tried the other houses but got no answer. 

They walked back, and he saw the same group of women.  One of them said they meant the cul-de-sac on the other side of the development. Daddy thanked the woman, and he and the dog continued southward. They came to the two houses at the other cul-de-sac. At one home, no one answered. At the second  Daddy knocked on the porch door and when there was no answer, he went inside and knocked on the main door. He glanced down and saw a handgun on the table by the door. He fled. 

A couple of houses down a door was open. Daddy knocked on it, and when someone answered, he asked if anyone knew the dog.  "No dogs like that around here," the man said, "maybe try the other side."

Dejected Daddy thought he would never find the dog's owner. Meanwhile, the dog was having the time of its life. Every house they came to he hurried up the steps like it was his home.  He both read and wrote pee-mail. What a day to be alive. 

They walked down the road and came upon a cookout. Daddy asked if anyone had seen the dog. A man jumped up and said, "Oh, it's Mr. Gay."  Daddy didn't let on that he had no idea who this gentleman was. They all stood around the dog and gave him lots of attention, but no one knew to whom he belonged.  The man who knew Daddy said if no one came for the dog by Monday, he would take it. Daddy was happy about that, but he still wanted to find the owners. One of the people, enchanted with the dog, took a picture.

Daddy brought the dog home. He correctly determined that the dog could neither come in the house, which would freak me, Pocket, and him out, and could not be put on the porch where Pocket and I would be sniffing and barking as long as he was there. My Dad put a blanket down in the shed and told the dog to lie down.  He put a chair in front of the door so the pup could not escape.

Periodically Daddy would check on the dog. He was always standing by the door with his tail wagging wondering when he would be allowed to come inside. It was sad. He put the dog’s picture on a Facebook group, called animal control, and a notice in the mailroom.  It seemed like we would need a miracle to find this baby’s family.

Thankfully I have a sister angel who specializes in miracles. I contacted her to come down and help the dog.  I will let her tell the conclusion of the story tomorrow

Wordless Wednesday

Beat This Caption

Picasso's Dog Asleep

Monday Question

There are seven things dogs should not do when you meet a stranger:
1.  Jump
2.  Lift your leg
3.  Go for the crotch
4.  Be aggressive
5.  Be shy
6.  Bark
7.  Nip
How many do you do?
Pocket:  We both bark and jump.  We are too small to do the others.  We certainly aren't shy.

Ranger is our September 1, 2019 Pup of the Week

Rainbow Bridge is a lousy place to make new friends, especially on your first day.    It’s like trying to make friends on a crashing plane. There is so much fear, nervousness, and emotion; it is impossible to make a permanent connection.  But, still, I try.

On Tuesday, I went to Hobo’s Landing to swear in another new angel, as I have done for more than six years.  I can still remember the day I arrived. Mine was not by fate, but by appointment. I took the position as a judge at the fourth district of Rainbow Bridge after becoming the most famous dog attorney in the world. 

The change from the mortal world to the immortal one is shocking.  Dogs discard their barks and speak the common tongue. Many of us choose to walk upright, emulating humans. You meet all your parents' dogs who came before you, and every human, dog, cat, or other animals you encountered on the mortal side.

When I met Ranger this week, I knew this little black and white baby would have been a close friend of mine if had we met on the mortal side. He was so sweet and had a kind soul. I wanted to introduce myself, but many dogs and humans were waiting for him. Before I could get a word in he was whisked away. 

I was still thinking about the little cutie the next morning. Being a critical judge, I have on my I Paw access to the location of every angel. It took me five minutes to locate him. I decided to give it a day before I approached.  The only day as hectic as your first day at the Bridge is your second. 

On the third day, I made a picnic lunch consisting of chicken, liver, and rabbit then went to his house and knocked on the door.  When he answered, I introduced myself and told him why I was there. He said he would love to go on a picnic. We found a sunny spot on a hill and told me his story. 

Ranger had spent 12 glorious years with his family.  Then he began having seizures. He wheezed when he breathed and shook when he walked.  "It was a tough existence,” he told me in between bites of chicken. “While I loved my family and would have stayed like that with them forever, my Mom made the most difficult decision a parent can make. She sent me to the Bridge, transferring all the pain from me to them.  

"My mommy, daddy, and skin brother have been crying since I left.   They are worried they sent me too early. They feel terribly guilty too.  I wish I could figure out a way to let them know they did the right thing, that I am very grateful for their sacrifice and that someday we will be together.  I want to tell them that I am well, and will see them again.”

I asked him if he had visited his mom on a dream date.  He said he had, but could not knock down the door between the conscious and unconscious, so his mom did not remember it.  I then suggested he borrow a flying body: A butterfly, pretty bird, ladybug, or any other winged creature would suffice. They can fly back and forth between the mortal and immortal worlds I would advise his mom if she sees a pretty bird, or a songbird, or a butterfly, to know it is Ranger coming to visit her.  

“If you cannot do that, then appear as a ghost,” I told him.  “Your parents might see you, out of the corner of their eyes, for just a fleeting moment, and they will dismiss it because humans have such a hard time excepting what they don’t understand.  But it will register in their hearts and help them heal.” 

We looked at one another, smiled, and then we both flew as ghosts to visit his parents.  Maybe, just maybe, his parents, for just a fleeting, his parents will see him, and feel his love in their hearts.  In the world of ghosts, a second is a lifetime.


Ranger is devoting his immortal life to showing his parents that he is okay and easing their pain.  It is a very noble goal. I will help him in any way I can.