Foley Tries to Teach Pocket to Be a Brave Dog and Gets the Shock of Her (After) Life

 

Foley says I need to be tougher. I think, at 13, I am what I am, but my angel sister sees room for improvement. The angels assigned her to interview a courageous yellow lab who, through persistent and will, helped find a missing hiker in Colorado and would be receiving the dog medal of honor at an upcoming dream ceremony. Since the questioning would take place in the dog’s dreams, Foley ordered me to attend to see how a hero dog acts.

 

I was thrilled to meet the beautiful and heroic dog. Foley asked several questions about how she had saved the woman. Foley made a point of telling me that I had a lot to learn from this dog. Before we left, Foley remembered an important question and asked her what her name was.

 

"My name is Pocket," the sizeable yellow lab said politely. I could not believe my ears. I was so proud. Meanwhile, Foley was wondering how could such a brave, heroic dog be named Pocket? She loudly opinioned Pocket is for pathetic, whiny, nervous little girls, not heroes. She asked Big Pocket how she came about such a moniker.

 

“There is a little Yorkshire Terrier named Pocket in the Northeast. She is just the cutest dog. I love reading her blogs. She is so brave and quick-witted.” I was stunned. I stepped right up and introduced myself. Big Pocket hugged me and said it was an honor to meet me. Foley interrupted our hug and said: "If you think that is impressive then you will be thrilled to learn that I'm Pockets sister Foley Monster."

 

Big Pocket smiled and informed Foley that she was not familiar with her work.

 

"How is that possible?" Foley barked nonplussed. "I am the one that got Pocket started on social media. No one would know her if it wasn't for me."

 

"I am sorry," Big Pocket said. "I'm sure I heard your name once or twice and forgotten it."

"Forgot it? How do you forget the name Foley Monster? Were you dropped on your head when you were a pup? Did a bad parent abuse you one time too many times? Were you born daft?"

 

Big Pocket apologized. Foley was like a rabid dog with a bone who could not let go. My sister asked Big Pocket if she had heard of River Song.

 

"Oh River Song, what a scamp. I love that face. She has had some corking adventures."

"So, you know River but not me?" Foley yelled. "I can understand you not knowing River but knowing Pocket. I can understand you not knowing Pocket but knowing River. I can understand you knowing me and neither of them. But how the hell do you know them and not me?"

 

Having spent my formative years subject to Foley’s temper I intervened and told her I needed to wake up and pee, if I didn’t I would leak on the bed next to Mommy, which would upset her greatly. Foley, aware of my small, unreliable bladder, and still devoted to our mom, ended the interview, and we all disappeared back to our lives like the victims of Thanos’ snap.

 

When Foley returned home, she felt awful about her tantrum and begged Big Pocket to let her introduce the guest of honor during the award ceremony. Being a forgiving dog, Big Pocket agreed. During the speech, Foley gave Big Pocket so many compliments it made Big Pocket sound like the most incredible dog in history. And when it came time to introduce her, Foley said, “Everyone please give a warm round of applause for Plunkett.”

 

She just couldn't bring herself to say my name.