It's always the way, you want to have a peaceful subway ride after a stressful day at work, and some cluck tries to sell you insurance.
We got another Ruby Rose Report. Here is your copy.
When I moved north to my cherished forever home, I did not have all the information I needed before I made my decision. I would never pick another house, I love my parents, but I didn't know our home was in the lower left corner of the Bridgewater Triangle.
It is the center of many paranormal events, including animals not native to the area, like panthers, Bigfoot, ghosts, poltergeists, pterodactyls (reported by a local police sergeant) space ships (seen by two local television reporters, and Pukwudgies, hairy, elf-sized creatures who spread mischief.
The State Hospital, where my parents walked Baby Pocket and Foley, was full of spirits, some of which could be seen in the windows of abandoned buildings if the sun hit them right. Foley was born with a third eye and could see mysterious creatures.
So have I.
I didn't know the strange little creature outside my window was a Puckwudgie. Nor did I know I was one of the few who could see him. He was having a grand time in our park knocking over trash cans, scratching cars, and howling along with the wind at night.d
When I barked at him, I was unaware that he was invisible but could be seen if someone stared for a long time, which would be caused by a persistent dog barking. The Puckwudgie told me to stop barking, which, as any parent knows, only makes a dog bark louder.
Then he cursed me, which I thought was funny. No one believes in curses.
The next day Daddy's iPhone died, and since he needed it for work, and was eligible for an upgrade. He got a new one. The helpful salesman said that the monthly bill would decrease significantly if Mommy got a new phone too, and they would get free phones. Daddy agreed. Then he was told he needed a recent case, cord, plug, and glass protector times two. Also, he had to pay more for this, that, and the other thing, and by the time he was done, he spent more money than a new phone was worth.
When Daddy got home, the refrigerator repairman was leaving. The verdict was the freezer was dead. Daddy went online, found one, and ordered it. Mommy asked what would happen with the old refrigerator, and Daddy called back and asked if they would remove it. Not only did they say no, but they were leaving the new one on the curb. With no way to get in, Daddy had to cancel the order, and Mommy won't let him buy anything on his own again.
I wondered about the curse when Mommy's IPad, her only link to the outside world, wouldn't start, and the apple icon kept flashing. So Daddy went to Best Buy and bought a new one, putting the weekend cost close to $4,000.
I knew the Pukwudgie's curse had taken hold, so I spent the night spinning around, spitting over my tail, and farting sideways, the only way to break a Pukwudgie curse.
Hopefully, the Pukwudgie has done its worse, and the curse is broken before so much money has been sent they need to cut back on dog food.
I will knife a Pukwidgie before I let that happen.
I watch as humans rush out to buy lottery tickets so they can win millions of dollars. Dogs don't have lotteries, but we idol the jackpot, even when we weren't aware we had purchased a ticket.
Subject for your approval: A senior beagle named Ginger who had been surrendered to a shelter by her family, and, in a country where youth is idolized, Ginger's chances of being adopted, even into a subpar home, is slim.
Ginger was content to live in her foster home. It was warm, the food was good, and it was better than the pokey, but she wasn't getting the individual love all dogs need.
She was unaware when, to her south, Freddy Girl went to the Bridge. Also, she did not know the significance when she and her brother Tommy made an appointment to see her in a dream.
The siblings were bickering when Ginger arrived for her meeting with them. Freddy told Tommy she had a plan for her dad to go to the Bridge when she did, but he insisted on boarding up the windows during hurricanes. Tommy said the project wouldn't have worked; they just would have got wet and ended up living in the yard.
For four hours, Ginger was tested to see if she qualified to be their dad's new dog. Ginger needed to learn what all the fuss was about, and she had to question if this was worth the trouble.
Two days later, Ginger was given the news that she had qualified and would soon go to the best forever home. She knew the pair of beagles loved their dad and was sure she would too, but the "best?" She would see.
There was more work for Tommy and Freddy to do. Their dad was in his mid-80, and Ginger was several miles away. The foster parent agreed to meet him halfway for the exchange, but the Beagle duo visited him in his dreams and convinced the foster dad to bring Ginger the entire way.
She arrived Saturday afternoon. Before she entered the house, she could tell, as all animals know, that this human was unique, he loved dogs with all his heart, and his newest arrival would be no different.
As soon as she entered the house, a feeling of love Ginger had never known overcame her. She could smell her predecessors, feel their love, and see such kindness in her new dad's eyes. She understood why the beagles were so particular with their choice because she was now the man's pet who had done more for people and their dogs than anyone else.
After a meal of top-flight food, Ginger ran into the yard next to Tommy and Freddy, who only she could see.
And she understood she had won the greatest lottery of them all, worth more than a billion dollars.
She was now the only dog of the most loving dog dad around.
And her dad couldn't be happier.
Foley and I have split up the duties, Foley will welcome dogs who arrive at the Bridge, and I will help facilitate a dog finding a forever home. When Jacques, Francois, and Cricket said they wanted a young brother, I went to the Land of Those Yet to Be Born to find the perfect Pom to join their pack.
I interviewed a group of them, and there was one I thought would fit perfectly. I set a dream date for the three current pack members to meet the new applicant. Before that, I needed some information, including his name.
"I am Napoleon Bonaparte!" the little Pom announced.
"How cute," I told him, "you are named after a famous general."
"No," he said proudly. "I am Napoleon Bonaparte. After an extended stay as a minion, I completed my rehabilitation and was offered a chance to return. I chose to be a Pom."
I was ready to dismiss him as a nut job, but Foley said it is not unheard of; Genghis Khan became a golden retriever puppy dog who loved belly rubs and is now living with a family in Happily Ever After. Pol Pot hopes to be a Siamese cat, but he still has a long training to complete to get there.
Foley said I should leave it up to the trip to look for a new sibling, so I met with them, told him all of Napoleon's beautiful attributes, and hols he should be a great sibling, except that he thinks he is the former leader of France.
"That is fantastic," Jacques said. "We all have French names, and he will fit in perfectly if he doesn't invade Russia in the winter.
I set up the final meeting, and the four of them got along like a group of mimes at the Louver. Napoleon told them stories of his gallantry, and his soon-to-be siblings were enthralled. "He's the very model of a modern major general!" Cricket said.
"Hey," Napoleon said. "No English songs, and if I see a Corgi, I am biting it in the butt twice.
Napoleon is still jealous of Great Britain.
Napoleon had some growing up to do before he moved into his forever home, his first since Saint Helena. When he arrived at his New York headquarters, his mom and sibling instantly fell in love with him and put away most of his ideas of conquering nations.
As long as an English Bulldog doesn't move in next door.
It's Pretty Poetry Thursday
Here is the inspiration provided for us by Angel Sammy and Teddy
Here is our offering
Nora's parents one said
Looking at the stuffies on the bed
You get more and more
But they never come in the front door
Nora noticed it too
There were a few that were new
Then she noticed Suzie Lou Beat was wearing a tent
Lifted it up to find out she was pregnant
She knew this activity must stop
So she called the Build a Bear Workshop
They said their must be a glitch
And if she brought it in they could take care of it with a stitch
After more stuffies were on the bed
And not allowing any copulation without stuffies being wed
She backed out of the garage her little put put
And tossed in the back seat the little slut
But soon she found there the doctor left something out
Soon randy male stuffies covered the car
Stopping her from driving far
And Nora cried from the front seat
"Never give a ride to a stuffy in heat.
O, that she knew she were!
Her eye discourses; I will answer it.
I am too bold, 'tis not to me she speaks.
Juliet: Get off my balcony, you weirdo!
You think I am going out with a tabby?
Dream on, you big loser.
I wouldn't let you on my balcony if you were packing salmon
Dammit, there goes another life.
Namely: My crate bit me.
I am a Chewaholic. Like the nympho high school cheerleader you all made fun of but secretly wanted to be for a day, I am not happy unless something hard is rubbing against my teeth. Usually, for me (and the cheerleader), it is a bone, but sometimes you want something more.
I am fortunate not to be in my crate very often, but when I am, I ask myself, "what does this bitch taste like?"
Because it is dangerous and untameable, the crate is kept in the bedroom, which none of us enter, except in at least pairs, for safety reasons. Heaven helps us if the crate catches one of us alone.
On Friday morning, my Dad went out to buy me treats and whatever crap they consumed. My mom was taking a shower. She does this daily, and it is frustrating. I spend all day getting the smells arranged on her, and she washes them off. I was lying on the bathmat as all my beloved fragrances circled the drain. I was chewing a bone when it stopped doing it for me, and I needed something more substantial.
Then I thought of my crate, plastic and metal gate, two great tastes that go great together. I began chewing the side of the crate near the black tabs that keep the top and bottom connected. They are a great surprise treat, like polar bears eating an igloo and finding a creamy human center.
I was getting my teeth in the perfect part of the crate when the top and bottom parts of the pieces met. Suddenly the crate shifted, and my lip got caught in between them.
It bit me!
I had been assaulted!
I yipped and ran to her. She picked me up and realized what had happened. She calmed me, placed me on the floor, and went to the crate, which I was sure would be put in the shed jail, where warden Saint Anthony would rehabilitate it. It could be a planter.
But she just turned it against the wall, so I didn't chew the same spot (like it was my fault!), and the crate couldn't see me.
I had to accept that it was for punishment, and the worst thing to befall the family since I arrived was over.
Jeepers, how will she ever get along with the sofa if a dog can't trust her crate?\
Hi mobsters! It is time for Friday Fill Ins.
Four legged Furballs and 15 and Meowing have provided the statements to be completed in black and the answers of me, Ruby Rose, are in red.
Here I go!
This week’s inspiration as provided by Angel Sammy and Teddy
Carrying what she assumed was a great big bone.
Then to the heavens she did beg.
Please don’t let that be a leg.
She cried. “Luke, what did you do?”
Luke answered, “I just brought something home to chew.”
“But why did you bring the leg?” Sandy said.
He answered, “Because I couldn’t get a good bite on the head.”
She knew she had to find the appendage’s owner
And hope she could persuade them not to make Luke a goner
she remembered she used to baby sit
The neighborhood peg-legged pirate
With Luke by she side she knocked on the door
And saw the one legged pirate letting out a roar
He threatened to go to the police because his leg was taken
And Luke’s soul would be forsaken
But Sandy said he would not be doing anything shady
Because the leg he was using belonged to a lady
Sometimes I don't understand my parents. This week they allowed a tornado into the house and expected me to play with it. I am a Florida girl, and I know a tornado is a most unwelcome guest.
This Tornado took the form of a plastic treat puzzle. I think the Tornado considered itself wise to take an unlikely cast, but the word tornado was on the packaging—a tornado's downfall usually springs from not reading the fine print.
As soon as the￼ Tornado was removed from the box, I knew it was trouble. There were three levels, each with an opening for treats to hide. To get to the goodies, I had to spin the Tornado manually. I am not going to stir up a tornado to get a treat, and I ignored the thing.
I felt terrible that many of my tasty treats were caught in the swirling vortex; I wanted to free them from the awful Tornado and give them a home in my belly, but if I tried to intervene, I could get sucked in and then thrown miles away, where I wouldn't be able to find my way home.
The worst part was my parents sided with the Tornado. They told me to rescue the treats out of it, and I cautiously stayed ten feet away. My right front paw is the brave one, and it kept stepping forward, but my other sensible claws pulled me two steps back.
My Dad decided to face down the beast. He got on the floor and put his face on top of the Tornado. He pretended to eat my food to show me it was safe. Jeepers! I knew how to eat. He was wrong if he thought he would convince me to trust the Tornado. Sure, it didn't have the power to lift his big butt off the ground, but I was one-five hundred of his size. A mighty wind might not knock over the tree, but the leaves will be blown away.
My parents retreated to their chairs. I kept looking at the Tornado, wondering if I could steal a treat. I slowly snuck up on it, backed off, charged, extended my neck, and saved the treat. Having done it once, I did it again and again until all the kibble was safely in my tummy.
The thrill of victory was short-lived. This following day I found out that the treats had moved back to Tornado Alley and needed saving.
"Once again into the breech," I announced as I sprung into action to save my treats again.
Honestly, the Tornado never had a chance.
We were once all young and seemingly immortal. Then Time came for us, and we transitioned to the Bridge. A new generation formed in our wake￼. We thought our work as an angel was done￼. Then the Time came for the next generation to shed their earthly bodies and become angels.
It is always a shock when a second cyber-generation dog earns their wings￼. My replacement River stunned my parents when she arrived at the Bridge in June 2022; River Song was the one who would make everything all right again.
Then came Ruby, a third-generation cyber animal, and the world seemed right again.
One of the most popular dogs in the cyber dog revolution were the Labbies: Dodger, Raja, and Loga. They were close friends with an unruly dog from Arizona named Brody, who went to the Bridge fine too early after repeatedly eating things he shouldn't. When the Time came for a new generation of Labbies, mama Wendy chose the moniker Brody to honor their excellent friend.
When you're a pup, Time goes by slowly. When you turned four, puppyhood seemed eons ago. The more you age, the quicker Time passes. After 20 years of existence, everything that has happened in life occurred in the last three years. When I got a message that I would swear in Brody, I figured there must be tragic circumstances to cause a young dog to arrive. I remembered he was six upon arrival in the pack, but I thought that was two years ago instead of half a dozen. Brody, representing the second generation, was 14.
The Labbies were waiting for Brody to cross over, as was Brody I, still full of life years after becoming an angel. I quickly gave Brody a shortened version of the oath because I knew he had loved ones waiting for him. I had barely finished the words when Brody I bowled him over and gave him more licks in a minute than he got in a year.
Brody II arrived missing his mom and was nervous about his new life, but Brody I and the Labbies won't let Brody II alone long enough to slip into sadness. Brody I, the Labbies, and Brody the New, began running and barking and haven't stopped.
Brody proved to be a Bridge between the first generation of Dodger and Raja and the newest pups Callie and Sienna. They will carry the spirit of the second generation into the third and beyond.
And the legend of we social media pioneering dogs will continue into a third generation.
I have been given the following sentences to fill in
Ruby Rose's contributions are in red
Welcome to Poetic Thursday, hosted by our pals Teddy and Angel Sammy
at Two Spoiled Cats.
They have given us this picture for inspiration.
Chad was a cad,
A man most bad
He could not stay with one woman
And changed them faster than he did his linen.
One day he felt poorly
And burst into his doctor’s office rudely.
The doctor gave him the once-over
And the full disclosure.
He said he had gonorrhea,
And then said see you
Leaving me with no idea
Of what could rhyme with gonorrhea.
Chad was sad
Because he was a bad lad
With many sexual liaisons
Who he needed to come clean about his actions,
So he contacted them all
And, to save time, rented out Carnegie Hall
To tell them to take penicillin
And that he was a villain,
But the word of his diagnosis got out,
And the women agreed he was a lout,
So they met him in a row
Causing Chad to say “oh no”
He told them all of his diagnosis
They all turned as if under hypnosis
To face the dirty putz
And swiftly kick him in the nuts.
I haven't seen snow yet.
My parents say the can't wait to see how I react.
Spoiler alert: Since I don't like to go outside when it is 60 degrees and sunny so changes are good I will not take to snow.
Have you encountered snow before?
If so how did you react the first time you saw it?
This week’s drama concerned my kong, which disappeared Tuesday.
My parents stay up later than most, usually getting in the big bed around 11:00. Two hours earlier, they have a snack, and I get a Kong stuffed with treats to keep me busy and to provide me with a significant amount of bed energy
I jump around between the chairs and the loveseat. I put the Kong in my mouth and dropped it, hoping a few treats would fall out. If I grow weary, I jump in the recliner I share with Momma and chew until I fall asleep.
When it was bedtime Mommy, per usual, looked for the Kong to wash it so it would be ready for me the next night. But, Kong could not be located. After several minutes of furious searching, it was decided it would best to curtail the search until morning.
I don’t know if they figured my Kong had slipped out for a nightcap and would return by morning, but I didn’t argue. The bed is my favorite spot. I chew on toys and my bones until I am tired. If I ever encounter Mr. Bed, I must thank him for his most useful invention.
After breakfast, my parents began searching for the missing Kong. First, all the furniture was flipped over to ensure it wasn’t hiding there; hands were jammed between cushions. The upshot? No Kong in the comfy furniture.
Daddy is more mobile than Mommy, so he got on the floor and looked under all the tables and wooden chairs. Still, no Kong. And this raised a problem. There was nowhere else to look. They began looking in places it couldn’t possibly be. In drawers, the refrigerator, the trash, pocketbooks: No Kong. They went back to check where they had already checked—no Kong.
This raised a serious issue. There was nowhere else to look. My parents looked at each other than at me.
“She couldn’t have.”
“It wouldn’t fit in her mouth.”
“Maybe she tore it up and swallowed it?”
“Her teeth aren’t strong enough to eat a hard cookie.”
“And if she ate it, she wouldn’t have eaten breakfast, I don’t think.”
“If she ate it, she would be dead.”
Then they looked at one another and me because it wasn’t anywhere.
I couldn’t have.
Then they did something which always works when locating a lost item: They bought a new one from a big river in South America. That didn’t work, either.
They looked at me again.
Something became clear. They were not sitting down until they found it. I went to Mommy’s recliner and began to sniff. My Dad asked me if I found it, then opened the recliner.
As can be seen in this picture, there is an opening at the foot of the recliner. This is where I like to put the things I chew. I left it there when I fell asleep, and when Mommy stood up, she put the footrest down, and the cushions on either side of the divet came together, hiding the Kong.
When the hidden Kong was located, I was given many pets and scratches for being smart. Also, I got another Kong. For one brief shining moment was believed to be strong enough to rip apart a KOng.
If I had known how well hiding my Kong in the chair would work out, I would have done it long ago.
2013 marks ten years since I have gone to the Bridge. To celebrate, I founded The Foley Monster School for Troubled Dogs and enlisted several friends to be teachers. Today we met with our first student: Blaze.
I had quite a group of professors: Tommy Tunes, Blaze’s angel brother Max, Geordie, and a professor training Freddy Girl. Our mission was to teach Blaze not to pull on her leash, knock her mom over, runoff, and let the poor women sleep through the night. I knew it might take several sessions. Human training was not working, and that is why we were needed.
Max, who had recruited Blaze after the former had gone to the Bridge and thought his replacement understood to be gentle with their mom, awoke our student. Blaze jumped up, saw the angels with their tails and fur raised, then relaxed when she saw it was Max. Blaze’s bottom dropped when he recognized the stern look on Max’s face. Knowing why he was getting visited by one more ghost than Scrooge received immediately told Max that he was sorry for injuring their mom when she charged after a cat on a walk and knocked their mom over.
Max said he knows Blaze had a good heart and would never purposefully hurt a soul, but she was still ruled by her instincts, leading her astray.
Professor Tunes began the training. Max stood behind Blaze, holding a leash attached to the trainee’s collar. Geordie, Freddy, and I pretended to be critters running back and forth in front of her, and Blaze did not move an inch. We congratulated ourselves on our fantastic teaching ability when Blaze suddenly began running, pulling Tommy onto his face, and dragging him several feet.
Blaze slipped the leash and ran off into his dreams. When we asked him what had happened, Blaze said she had smelled a cat. She was more likely to run from scent than from sight. I noted that one of us would have to smell like a cat next time.
“How do we do that?” Freddy asked.
“Sleep in the litter box for a week,” Geordie answered.
I didn’t think we would get dog volunteers, so we would need a cat next time. We decided to move on to practicing sleeping. We told Blaze all she needed to do was go to sleep. She said it would be easy. She shut her eyes.
We all fell into a nice snooze for 20 minutes before Blaze excitedly woke us up to tell us about her sleep, then repeated it every 10 minutes until she was napping and we were all awake.
We would have to go back and develop a new plan for Blaze. She was wild and untamable but very sweet, and her mom loved her. We needed to make Blaze a little easier to love.
And if that doesn’t work, do what humans do with their kids and find a good pharmacist.
After 21 years, Tien had given everything she had, and it was time to cross over. Some people say when a pet parent and animal, like Momma...