The Ruby Rose and the Big Little Angels 3 Blog

  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

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 Pra

 

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

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

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 drift

  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 bust

    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 s

 

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

 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?

  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.  

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 cou

    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

 

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

  Do you take any vitamins, supplements, or medications

  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 some

  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 d