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.