Foley Discovers You Can't Deal With a Filthy Bird

 

I remember it like it was yesterday.  We would leave the house, get in the car, then drive across the street to the State Hospital, where the crazies are locked up, and the slightly reformed crazies are allowed access to the grounds where they waited for Blake and me to take our walk, which was the high point of their day.

    It was a beautiful place for a stroll.  There were tree-lined paths, lots of vermin to chase, shady areas on hot days, a scarcity of traffic, and abandoned buildings where the worst experiments done on humans were performed in the first half of the 20th century.  Blake and I looked in the windows, growled, and then barked like we saw something.  We didn’t, but it freaked out the humans and gave us a chuckle. 

    The grounds were a little bit of paradise until one day in August; the geese showed up.  We got out of the car and went as far as our leashes could stretch, chasing them away or at least a few feet further south.  We were just playing.  We didn’t mind other species sharing our walking area, but then we found a goose secret:  They are flying pigs.  

    There was geese poop everywhere.  I found it disgusting and tried to tip-paw my way through it.  Blake thought it was a free buffet and wanted to eat it all.  No wonder she went to the Bridge prematurely.

    After her passing, I walked with three other siblings on the grounds, and  Blake was the only poop eater.  The rest of them thought the birds spoiled a good walk.

    When we moved to our little village, we thought we had escaped from the pooping faux penguins, but this year, they found us and ruined the beautiful green front walking area with their disgusting poop.  

    This time I was an angel and could not chase them off.  I would not mind their decamping on our site, but River Song shows an unnatural attraction to the poop, and no one wants another goose poop eating face licker. 

    I went to the bird section of the Bridge.  Usually, this time of year, I will check out the new bird lines that came out for spring.  But I bypassed that area and found a vast field where millions of geese were gathered.  I asked to speak to their leader and was brought to a black and white bird who looked exactly like all the rest.  I did not mention it.  Birds are sensitive about their lack of uniqueness.  

    I asked him if the geese might poop somewhere else not to be a temptation to River.  The leader, who said his name was Mark, checked the maps.  “Oh no, that is a fantastic spot, great soil, lots of worms under it.  I couldn’t possibly ask them to relocate.”

    “Can you ask them to stop pooping there?”

    The goose laughed.  “We do four things, we fly, we eat, we poop, and we make little geese.”

    “But, you poop as you eat, isn’t that disgusting?”

    “Not for us.  We keep the sphincter wide open.  It is better for digestion.”

    I hate to leave any negotiation without getting something, but these geese were intractable.  “Can you at least stay out of my yard?” I asked.  Since they had no interest in that spit of land, they agreed.

    I flew into Pocket’s dreams and told her the good news. The geese would not hang out in our yard!

    “But they aren’t now.  They  have taken over the land by the office and barn.”

    “Dammit, Pocket,” I said.  “It may not have been everything you wanted, but it’s something.”

    “It’s not,” she said as I zipped out

Foley Tries to Help and Unadoptable Dog

When I heard that a two-year-old Chihuahua named Prancer was labeled America’s Worst Dog, I was sure it was an exaggeration and wondered if the person had met Pocket.  

    Poor Prancer was having a hard time getting adopted because of his bad attitude.  He had lived with an older woman, and he never left the house, was obese, and not socialized.  When she passed away and went to a foster home, he kept to himself, rejecting any offer of affection.  The foster mom accepted the little dog for how he was.  But then came a change. 

    First, Prancer became neurotic, shaking when anyone approached him.  Then his real personality began to shine through, which his foster mom described as “a vessel for a traumatized Victorian child that now haunts our home.”

    He hated men and would not let his foster mom’s husband come near him.  He was also terrible with other animals, often attacking them, including the family cat, who Prancer liked to pick up in his mouth and shake.  He had never been around children, but since he demanded being the sole object of affection in the house, any child in his path would be in danger. 

    Prancer was in desperate need of a new home, but he wasn’t the one who prayed to me; it was his foster mom who wanted this little ball of hate out of her house.  She stressed to me that Prancer was loyal, primarily out of selfishness, and was leashed trained.  Outside of that, she could not think of a good reason why the dog should be adopted. 

    I flew down to visit the dog and told him that I was working on finding him a forever home.  “Don’t bother with me,” Prancer said, putting out a cigarette out with his paw.  “I figure I’ve been sentenced to life in this prison. I’m not concentrating on getting out, just making everyone who lives here my bitch.”

    I knew that any dog who wanted to be adopted needed a hook, and I realized what Prancer should be.  He was unadoptable.  I popped into his mom’s dreams and said that instead of her thinly veiled platitudes about the dog, she couldn’t stand she should post her honest opinion of the pup.  

    She put a profile picture of Prancer, looking his angriest, on Twitter, with an honest description of the dog who she described as a “man-hating, children hating, animal hating, neurotic who looks like a gremlin.”  She said he was only two years old and would probably live to 21, just out of spite.  It was the worst description of a dog anyone had ever read, and it worked like a charm.  

    Some people like a challenge and to prove that they can do what other people cannot.  Offers for Prancer came pouring into the rescue.  The best eligible mom was a lesbian, so there was no chance of living with a man unless the woman lived on a sitcom.  She had no other animals.  Prancer would be back to being an only dog with an only mom.  Fortuna, his foster, who posted the description, picked this woman to be Prancer’s mom.  Fortuna said after years of fostering that it was her favorite adoption, and not just because the little ball of hate had been exorcised from her house. 

    Prancer is doing well in his new home, and not just that he is the lone recipient of his mom’s affection, but because I found his first mom, who now visits him every day and keeps him calm and happy.  Prancer had rejected her visits before.  He was angry that she left.  But, now that he was with only one person, he opened his heart again. 

    And again, I fulfilled my angel duty, not only by helping Prancer gets adopted but by proving that honesty is a far better policy, even when trying to find a home for the dog from hell. 

Beat This Caption

 

Beat This Caption

 

I'm beginning to think my call is not very important to them

Monday Question

 

Is there anyone in your family who does not love pets, and how do your parents react to them?

Foley's Tails From Rainbow Bridge: Welcoming Olivia

I don’t know how we lose track of people in the digital age.  With social media, everyone can stay connected, so you would think that we would know what hundreds of our friends are doing. But the social network sites are run by the weasels on the dark side of the Bridge.  When minions are too evil to be rehabilitated and barred from Happily Ever After, they go to Evilly Ever After, where they become weasels.  Some sites, like Twitter, are controlled by the evil weasels.  They have their paws in every site, including Facebook, and they push real friends apart and put fake friends on our timelines. 

    Back when we were young and unafraid, when kibble was plentiful, tasty, and basted, it seemed like we were all together on the site that we named our village for, Doggyspace.  I had a million friends; I knew everyone’s name and face by sight.   One day a giant cloud created by the evil weasels, called Facebook, swept into town and pulled many of our friends away.  Once there, they drifted further apart as they began to spend time in private groups where others were not invited. .  That is when we lost track of our friends.

    I was particularly fond of a pack of basset hounds, and I made sure that my mom stayed friends with theirs on the evil Facebook.  But, their timelines never seemed to link up, and the pack became a distant, happy memory. 

    This week I got a message saying I had to swear in a dog named Olivia.  It stirred a memory.  The text said she was a basset hound, and I realized she was one of my old friends. I grew excited to catch up with her until I remembered the tragic reason we would soon be together. 

    When I went to the Bridge crossing, I saw the other members of Olivia’s pack, including her brothers Sean and Luke, who I remembered from our Online days.  They were living in the neatest Hound village.  I invited them to move to Doggyspace, but they were content where they were. I promised to visit often.  Then we saw Oliva slowly crossing the Bridge.

    She had been with her mom for 13 years and was a kind and sweet soul who always made people smile.  She was the pack leader but never reacted with anger or malice.  As we all do, she slowed down in her later years, but, as she crossed the Bridge, all the pain and sickness was swept away, and by the time she was at the bottom of the stairs leading to Hobo’s Landing where I would swear her in, she began to run like a puppy.  

    She met her pack, and they ran, nipping at one another and rolling on their backs in joy.  Then they joined together for a group howl.  I reintroduced myself to Olivia and gave her the angel oath to begin trying to mend her mom’s, broken heart.  There are no good times to pass over, but in the spring, there are many new bird and butterfly bodies to use to fly down and visit our parents. . Olivia is a brilliant girl, and I know she will be seeing her mom in a new bird body soon. 

    The pack has a beautiful home, just like their mom’s in the Hound village near Doggyspace, and I understand them not wanting to move, but it is now open to all us online friends, which is excellent have so much to catch up on. 

River is a Griffon on the Edge

 

On the day that Pocket went to the vet for a shot, I was prepared to pay her a ghostly visit because she doesn't like getting vaccinations and really hates being taken from the car and brought to the clinic by herself. She is sure that you have finally come to your senses and are dropping her off for good. I have told her despite all her accidents, irritable bowel, and food sensitivities, she still is loved and will never be abandoned, although the reason why escapes us both. 

     Sure enough, ten minutes after Pocket’s scheduled vaccination time, my angel pager trilled. I figured it was her looking for some paw holding at the vet. Instead, I saw it was River who was in desperate need of an intervention. I flew down as fast as my little wings could go and found her in the silliest predicament. Somehow River had got on the bathroom vanity and couldn’t get down. Angels are never supposed to laugh at those in need, but with family, you get leeway, which is why I just about busted a gut when I saw her. 

“I don’t know what is so funny,” River scoffed.  “You aren’t very professional. “

I apologized, although I was fibbing. I asked her how and, more importantly, why she had got on the vanity. 

“When Mommy is out, I like to look out the window, so I see her car coming down the street. The window in the bathroom is closer to the road, and I figured I could see better than I could from the kitchen.”

I could have explained to River the fallacy in her thinking, but I learned long ago you can’t teach a middle-aged Griffon anything. I did tell her to stop being so dramatic and jump down. 

“Are you mad?” River inquired.  “The bathroom floor is only two feet wide. I will crash into the wall and break my face, which would be a tragedy because it’s my moneymaker. 

I told River she had plenty of room to land, but she refused to listen. It shows you can lead a dog to the vanity near the toilet water, but you can’t make it leap. 

      I told her there was nothing to do but wait when she informed me of a further complication:  She had to poop. I told her to spin around and aim for the bowl, but she refused.  “I am not going to poop in the toilet like some human!” She exclaimed. “Dogs drink out of there!”

I decided to challenge her with a game. I told her to turn around and poop through the door.  If she could get it near the center of the pee pad lying on the floor in the hall, she would win.   River is an expert pooper.  She knew it was better to squeeze off a few little ones instead of one long log. This gave her better trajectory, and by the third one, she had placed it directly in the middle of the pad. I had never been prouder of her. 

As the last poop settled on the pee pad, I heard my mom’s car turn into the driveway.   I told River to send out her most pathetic whines, which she did.  My parents heard her, rushed into the house, and rescued her, then covered her with 1,000 kisses. 

 Not bad for a dumb dog stuck on a vanity.

Tails From Rainbow Bridge: John Will Hopefullly Be the Last to Die From a Mistake

  

One of the worst, most heartless rules that humans inflict on one another is making humans choose between being homeless or having a dog.  For one man, the choice leads to a tragedy.  Angels have been tasked with changing disasters into something good.

    I learned how destructive this policy was when I encountered a man named John.  He was in Doggyspace Park surrounded by a dozen dogs who came to the Bridge homeless.  I asked the man how he came here, and he told me a tragic story, even by Rainbow Bridge standards.  

    John lived a troubled life, but, in his later years, his pain was curbed by the love he received from his dogs, Theo, Tinkerbell, and kitten Gizmo.  

    During his life, John had been through homelessness, addiction, and mental health issues.  After going through rehab, John decided to start his life anew.

    Gizmo was the first pet to come into John’s life. Previously he relapsed, and a friend gave him the cat to add purpose into his life and him a reason to stay clean.  The little kitty followed him everywhere like she was a confused dog.  A couple of years later, he brought Theo and Tinkerbell into the family.  

    John struggled financially for his entire life.  He could not afford his rent and was evicted.  According to local laws, John could not get help with his housing until he was homeless.  He managed to keep his dogs with him until they found a new home.  

    John was given emergency housing, but they would not let him take his pets.  He was unsure what to do, but friends convinced him he would not be able to keep them with him on the street, and there was hope, if he took the shelter, that he would be reunited with his beloved pets. 

    He was depressed without his pets and considered leaving the shelter but was told that he would never be eligible for emergency housing again if he did. A friend of his, Dee, was working on an appeal that would reunite him with the ones who shared his heart, but John could not handle the loneliness, and he took his own life.

    Dee began to work on changing the law.  She got the town council to amend the regulations to refuse housing that does not allow pets and still get assistance.  It is a minor victory for animal lovers, but much too late for John.

    Furthermore, a bill has been introduced to make it illegal not to allow pets into a rental unit if the parent can show they are a responsible owner.  Many us angels have spent time in the dreams of legislatures to try to make this bill a reality.

    Unfortunately, it is introduced in England.  They lead Americans in compassion by as much as they do tea consumption.  That emotion is seen as a weakness in the 50 states. 

    Because John took his own life, he had to go before a panel of angels to rule if he was allowed into the Immortal World before his time.  I was one of the jurors, and, after hearing John’s case, we unanimously voted to let him into our kingdom.

Those on the mortal side view death as the end of something, but it is also a beginning, and for John a rebirth.   John is happy for the first time in his existance, living in our village with dogs, and staying away from the humans who had caused him so much heartache in his mortal life.   

    John has become the pied piper of Doggyspace.  When he walks through town, he is followed by dozens of angels.  When he stops, he drops to his knees and plays with the pups, emitting a laugh he never found on Earth. 

Wordless Wednesday

 

Beat This Caption

Excuse me, I thought I heard you open the treat jar.

Monday Question

 Do your parents have a popular song lyric that they change, insert your name, and sing to you?   What is the lyric?  Do you think your parents are weird when they do it?

The Titanic Dogs: The True Story

 

John Jacob Astor IV was not a man who learned to accept no for an answer.  When he booked his voyage on the Titanic, he planned to take his Airedale, Dividend, with him.  When he was told the ship had reached its quota of dogs, Astor changed the dog’s name to Kitty, reported to the liner it was a cat, and figured, upon boarding, he would pay off whoever was counting dogs and cats.

    A couple of hundred dollars got the crewmen to say that Kitty was a cat.  Of course, being a gentleman of extreme wealth, Astor did not take his dog to the poop deck.  He had a servant do that.  One cold evening, Kitty took his last walk above deck when he stopped, smelled the air, and noticed the unmistakable scent of ice.

    He began to bark at his handler, but Astor told him not to pay Kitty any attention.  Knowing that doom was imminent, Kitty pulled on his leash until his collar snapped.  He ran to the Bridge barking that they were headed for ice, but he could not convey his meaning in time.

    Every dog on board knew from the sound, and the change in air temperature, that the ship and been ripped open.  Kitty ran to his dad, who was smoking a cigar, and brandy drinking, to tell him they had to flee the sinking ship.  Astor would not listen, and when Kitty persisted, kicked him in the ribs to shoo him.  Kitty was always trained to do things for his parent, but dogs help those who would help themselves, and if Astor refused to do anything, then there was nothing Kitty could do for him.

    Kitty left her dad and began to run through the ship’s corridors barking that the vessel was sinking.  To the passengers, it meant nothing, but to the 13 other dogs on board, they understood fully and began to try to get their families to the lifeboats, with mixed results.

    Two Pomeranians, one named Lady, and a Pekinese named Sun Yat-Sen, who belonged to the Harpers of publishing firm Harper & Row, was smuggled on the boats. At the same time, other dogs were either denied entry to the life rafts or left behind by their panicked owners.  They were determined to have perished during the sinking.  But now, thanks to the tale said to me by Kitty, I know the truth.

    While everyone was climbing the stern to get to higher ground, Kitty led the abandoned dogs towards the water.  They found a floating door, and, even though a Setter named Rose insisted there was only room for her, they all fit on it;  Rose was shoved to the back so that everyone could get on board.

    They floated to an island just off Newfoundland’s coast, where they founded their dog nation.  They lived there for generations, with Kitty as king and a much less selfish Rose as queen.   Three of Kitty’s ancestors became king until one day they decided they wanted to live with humans again, barked at a passing ship, and were brought on board.  No one knew how they got there, and they would be shocked to learn they were the offspring of the Titanic Dogs. 

    When Kitty went to the Bridge, he found that all of his father’s ill-doings caused him to become a minion, and now he is sentence to pick up Kitty’s poop for 200 years.  

    Next time a dog barks ice, you better listen.

Foley Intervenes to Stop River From Attacking Pocket in Bed

After the last fighting-in-bed incident between my sisters, I had seen enough.  I don’t care if they attack one another. I do worry about River’s size advantage. I have worked hard to keep Pocket from coming to the Bridge and taking her into my home. I don’t need River sending her to me in a fit of pique.  

I summoned my sisters for a dream meeting. The topic was not about fighting but one close to my heart. When River bit Pocket on the back of the neck while sleeping, causing her to bleed on the sheets, she disrespected the bed.  

My sisters got to sleep on the big mattress too easily. I spent my first few nights in a crate next to it.   While suffering through that lonely cold night,  I promised if I ever got the chance to sleep in the bed, I would respect it wholeheartedly.  When my opportunity came, I kept my word and treated the bed like a heavenly sanctuary. 

Pocket got the bed her first night by whining incessantly until she broke you and was allowed into the bed so you could get a night’s sleep. River did not have to work for the bed either. You were still grieving my loss and needed a dog who wasn’t like Pocket, all skin, and bones to sleep next to you at night. 

Because they never spent a night out of bed, they didn’t appreciate it and disrespected it.  It was time for me to straighten them out. 

Immediately River placed blame for their tussles on Pocket correctly, pointing out that I lived with four other dogs spread out over my lifetime, and the only fights I had were with Pocket. “She’s an instigator, I tell you, an instigator,” River barked. 

“How can I be an instigator if I’m curled up at the end of the bed sleeping?” Pocket inquired 

“You twitch in your sleep, and that wakes me up. Regaining consciousness makes me cranky, and I lash out at the first thing I see the smaller than me, which is you. Also, I don’t trust you. I even wrote a poem about it. 

“Wake up with a start at night  filled with fright 

Kill Pocket Dog kill Pocket Dog

The little dog curled up at the end of the bed does she bite?

Kill Pocket Dog kill Pocket Dog

C-U-L-L Pocket Dog.”

“What a stupid poem,” Pocket observed. River said it wasn’t; they snarled at one another and began to tussle. Pocket of the very few teeth and River of the smushed in face barely laid a bicuspid on one another, but they still had a chewer’s chance at a knockout bite, so I shrilly whistled until they stopped.

I told them if they fought in the bed again, I would give them nightmares about being abandoned in a big field in the snow with coyotes on their tail.  

“Mommy doesn’t like us fighting on her lap either,” Pocket informed me.

“Then you must respect her lap and the bed.”

“How about Daddy?” River asked

“Let’s not get carried away,” I told them. “You are little dogs, and there is only so much respecting you can do. Anyway, we are doing him a big favor.  Once River stops attacking Pocket, he won’t have to go to bed holding the leash clipped on River to stop her from charging Pocket.  He will be relieved he no longer will be strangling himself three times a week.  Although River does like her bed bondage, he still might have to keep her bound just for fun.

But I don’t see it coming to that because River will never stop, which I understand because no one is more annoying in their sleep than Pocket.  

Foley's Tails From Rainbow Bridge Stories: Louis and Miley Bite Off More Than They Can Chew

  

Some dog’s prayers can be pretty annoying. Luckily, they don’t reach the level of stupidity that human prayers do. They make requests that some millionaire gets a base hit or kicks something called a field goal.  Some dog prayers that come across my desk could be handled by the requesters if the dogs showed a little bit of grit.

    Louise and Miley, two poodles living in northern California near the mountains, kept praying for guidance about what to do with the vermin in their yard.  The prayers went from paw to paw, with no one wanting to commit time to something the duo should have handled with some fierce barking.  They persisted in prayer, and finally, one day, when the duo’s parents were gone, I flew done as a guest to check on them.  

    I first checked out their yard.  There were a couple of bothersome chipmunks and fearless squirrels but nothing that the poodles couldn’t handle themselves. When I went to the house, I saw that they had a pet door installed, which was even more infuriating.  They could go out to the yard and chase away whatever came inside, while dogs who were locked inside could only bark.  These pups didn’t need angel intervention. They needed a life coach.  Fortunately, I do both.

    When I appeared as a ghost, I had anticipated that it would scare the two anxious dogs, but they hardly reacted to my presence.  Maybe they were the kind of pups who are only brave inside their house.  I sat them down on the floor, landed on their comfy couch, and told them that they needed to be masters of their yard and that whatever out there was more scared of them than they were of it.  To rule their yards, so no animal dare come into it.  

    Louise and Miley thanked me for the talk and promised that they would rule the yard as I instructed.  Then  Louise jumped on the back of the couch and began barking.  “It’s here,” she said to Miley, and then the two of them ran out the door barking.  I was proud of them.  I looked out the window and was shocked by what I saw.  The vermin in their yard was a large grizzly bear.  Then  I saw Louise and Miley running at it with bared teeth. 

    I flew after them barking the word “no.”  I anticipated having to rush back to the Bridge and swear them in.  The bear then got on its back legs, roared, and ran for its life.

    Louise and Miley ran around in circles barking in celebration.  I told them to get back in the house and suggested that they never bark at a bear and chase it away again. They laughed and told me why they would do that when they just got control of the yard?

    All I could do is hope that they continued to frighten the bears and remained unharmed.  As I was flying back home, I passed a bear angel coming to the mortal side.  I asked him what he was doing, and he said he had to give a pep talk to a bear who was frightened by two poodles.  

    I agreed with him that it was strange and wished him the best of luck. I can only hope he is not as good an angel as I am.  If he is the next time Louise and Miley charged the bear, they might not be as lucky.

    It should be fine.  Bears are fierce when they are mortal but cuddly at the Bridge. I was sure he would tell the bear to keep the peace.  At least I hoped so.

Wordless Wednesday

 

Beat This Caption

 

The moment John realized his dog Barney would never be a COVID sniffing dog

Monday Question

 

Do you take any vitamins, supplements, or medications

JD Tries to Make Wendy's Arrival at the Bridge Perfect

 

I was awoken this morning to the sound of someone cutting my hedges. I got out of bed and went outside, where I saw the little ball of white fur I am lucky enough to call my friend JD trimming the bushes. 

I inquired what motivated his need to landscape. “My sister Wendy is arriving today. She is perfect, so I want everything is spotless for her. 

“The Bridge goes on for millions of miles and is ever-expanding,” I explained. “You can’t trim it all.    Why don’t you come inside, and I will give you some bone broth and stinky cheese.”  I knew how excited JD was about his sister's arrival, but no dog can resist bone broth and stinky cheese. 

     After he ate, he told me he needed to get back to trimming. I said I had seen thousands of dogs reunited at the Bridge, and they didn’t care what the scenery was, just who greeted them.” 

“You’re right,” JD exclaimed, standing abruptly and knocking over my broth boat, then he apologized profusely. I told him not to worry because someone would be by to lick it up soon. He stated that he needed to look perfect for his sister. He took me by the paw and dragged me to Tiara’s beauty salon. 

Tiara, a beautiful Shih Tzu, opened her shop with her sister Lovey when she arrived at the Bridge. If there was a special occasion, the dogs flocked to her shop to become even more beautiful than they already were. JD is an exceptionally well-groomed dog, and Tiara tried to explain she could not improve on his looks, but he insisted. I suggested a rinse and blowout, and they both agreed. 

I must admit JD did look fetching after being blown and fluffed. I looked up and noticed we were late. I yelled to JD that we would have to run to get there on time. We were intensely motivated because JD wanted to be the first to hug his sister, and I had never missed a swearing-in ceremony. 

We got to Hobo’s Landing, and I was fortunate that my sister Blake had brought my robe and gavel. Wendy had just begun her journey across the Bridge, where all the pain and misery she had accrued while living was washed away. Overcome, JD ran down the steps and tried to jump on his beloved sister, but he mistimed his leap, sailed past Wendy, hit the ground, and rolled into the River.  

Poor JD crawled out of the water, soaked and smelly with his fluffy white fur matted to his skin. “Oh, Wendy,” he said. “I so wanted to be perfect for you.”  Wendy hugged him, placed a kiss on his cheek, and told him the moment could not have been better. She then led him up the stairs and was sworn in as her mom’s newest angel.  

Wendy had been Mama Silvie’s constant for 17 years. Some dogs became part of the pack, and others went to the Bridge during her lifetime, but Wendy persisted. Having a long life does not make passing over easier, especially for a devoted mom. In the end, those 18 years went by in a flash of light. 

Wendy still has three dogs, lead by Ari, working with the angels to keep their mom happy.  It will not be easy as this punch was one of the strongest she has taken.  But, no one can stay sad all the time when there are cute, barking, little white dogs running around.  And if she squints out of the corner of her eye, she will see JD, Wendy, playing with them in shadow form.

It is going to take more than just going to the Bridge to keep Wendy away from her. 

FOLEY'S TAILS FROM RAINBOW BRIDGE: WELCOMING KARLEY

 

They teach humans to hold on to life long after they should have relinquished it. This belief goes back to the stone age, when every life was genuinely precious. What they have failed to learn through two thousand millennia is that death is a gift. 

 

Passing over is not the end but a glorious beginning of a peaceful life, with no war, sickness, money, or worries. Being mortal is brutal, short, and unforgiving. Passing over, if you lead life properly, is a beautiful reward. 

 

Still, one of the requirements for admittance to the Bridge is to stay on the mortal side as long as you can, like some sick dance marathon where there are no breaks, play the songs faster as time passes dances become more complex. Worst of all; There is no quitting. Someone must tap you on the shoulder and permit you to stop. If you quit, you won’t be allowed into the undying lands and forced to walk the ground between the two sides until your heartbeats are scheduled heartbeats expire. Only then do you get to see your loved ones again and experience immortal life. The Powers That Be make an exception if you can show just cause for arriving early, which is akin to crossing the border and declaring refugee status and equally as successful. 

 

Aging is hard, and if you don’t have someone to do it with, lonely. Many times the best companion to age with is a dog. Even in our latter years, we rarely need the attention senior humans do. And we don’t care about our health, only yours.

 

For Mama Linda, aging has been a rugged cross to bear. The devil who has picked the dances she performs to stay on the mortal side has made them very fast and tiring. It has robbed her of her breath and sentenced her to a life on oxygen. To combat what the devils have stricken her with, the angel sent her the most excellent companions she could have: Dogs, the eldest being Karley.

When Karley came into Mama Linda’s life, she played with her elder sibling and now angel Daisy, who was honored to gracefully age with Linda. Karley, who has been a puppy for so long, spent little time as an adult before being considered a senior. 

 

`Daisy taught Karley that there was no greater responsibility than taking care of their mom. When Daisy departed for the Bridge, Karley assumed the role of a nurse. She even saved her mom’s life, rousing her out of sleep when her oxygen mask slipped off.

 

The gods of aging were no kinder to Karley than they were to her mom. The fates inflicted her with a deliberating kidney disease which caused her intense pain. She never complained and tried to hide her suffering, but a mother knows. She could not watch Karley hurt a day more, and while it was the most difficult decision she ever made, she called the vet and scheduled an appointment to end Karly’s pain.

 

When Karley arrived at the Bridge, all the pain and suffering she had experienced during her mortal life was gone. Her mom took it all on. The unbearable ache was the price humans make to save their sweet babies from anguish. 

 

Luckily for Mama Linda, Daisy leads a pack of experienced angels who know how to ease her suffering. Shortly after her passing Mama Linda was awoken by the sound of Karley’s deep grunt, alerting her mom in her dreams that she was alright. 

 

Life has not been easy for Mama Linda, but the forces of good represented by the pups still with her. and her mighty angels fight daily to bring lightness into her dark days.