Tuesday, February 28, 2023
Monday, February 27, 2023
Do you ever make your parents mad?
What do you to make them mad?
How do they react when they are mad at you?
Occassionally, they get mad at me
Usually because I don't respect personal space
I walk on top of them and I like to stand on Mommy's chest which she says hurts.
Mommy says my name in a different tone to signal her displeasure
I sit on the top of Daddy's recliner while he sit in it, and when I decide to move I jump over his head and land on his lap like a ten pound bowling ball.
He says my name in a high squeaky tone and then groans.
He says he is going to wear a cup full time, whatever that is.
Sunday, February 26, 2023
Ruby turned in her latest report last night: Here is your copy.
I am blessed to become part of a blogging family.
It is a privilege to provide humor and heartwarming stories to our friends. When caretaking of it was passed on to me, I was told to protect the blog. It is my family legacy, like the Yellowstone ranch, but with fewer horses,
That is why I was shocked that our blog had a warning message. I could not figure out why and required representation to fight this scurrilous charge.
She arranged a meeting with Mr. Blogger, a canary who oversees blogs for the Google Dynasty, and their patriarch Barney.
At the meeting, Foley demanded to know why there was a warning on the blog she had created. When Foley pressed for what was said, Mr. Blogger pulled up the blog.
It was the Poetry Thursday blog. I had been given a photo of an older woman holding a rolling pin. “It is the last two lines,” Mr. Blogger said. Foley read them.
“You mean when she wrote….”
“Don’t!” Mr. Blogger shouted. “If either of us says it, then I will ache to censor myself, which had been outlawed, at least in the red states.”
Foley, a believer in the freedom to bark, was incensed that our freedom to speak was being curbed. “It was just a joke, which, according to the comments, people found funny.”
“We have to protect our readers. Someone could do damage to themselves because of your sister’s poem.” When Foley asked why Mr. Blogger said, “pee hole splinters, my aunt had it. She landed on a branch wrong. Two months later, she hatched wooden eggs.”
“Well, we don’t have many bird readers.”
“I disagree; birds often read your blog to relax before they poop on your mom’s windshield.”
“Well, regardless,” an increasingly peeved Foley said. “It’s not like she lied, began an insurrection, and almost overthrew the government.”
“Oh, that’s allowed and a real profit driver for us.”
Foley sighed. “I promise if you remove the warning from the blog, I will ensure this young pup doesn’t write anything wrong.
“But what about my bawdy limericks?” I asked.
Foley put the kibosh on them.
The matter of our appeal is under advertisement. When a decision is made, a bird will poop the decision on our car.
And they say I am a dirty writer.
Next Poetry Thursday, I am rhyming “sedition” with “nocturnal emission.”
Friday, February 24, 2023
Many dogs have experienced the shock of their parents introducing a new dog into the pack. I had four and did not miss the three who went to the Bridge very young. My parents looked at me, wondering if I had wished them into the cornfield. Who, me? I plead the fifth. I didn't physically hurt them but I didn't bark a tear when they departed. Now that we live together as angels, it can lead to some unpleasant dinner conversations, but they have forgiven me, which means they are better dogs than me. I am still upset. They intruded on my mom's time with me, but I didn't let it show.
Editor's note from Pocket Dog; she does let on every day.
In the autumn of 2009, Sierra faced the same problem. One day her mom brought home something so full of energy, wild, and playful that she could only call it a Blob.
At the same time, Pocket and I, looking to honor our friends, decided to do a Pup of the Week blog, and our initial winner was The Blob.
A lot has changed since then. Sierra, Pocket, and I all went to the Bridge, and the Blob grew up to be Nase, head of the Salzman pack and owner of her mom's heart, who got her through the loss of Sierra, and years later Tiger, who came into the pack after Nase, and departed before her. Nase also welcomed Bodhi to the family and taught the boy everything he needed to know for the day Sierra went to the Bridge.
This week, Nase ran out of heartbeats after serving his family with honor. His soul left his body and soon climbed out of the river, on the mortal side, now free of pain and the ravages of age. Then she crossed the Bridge and ran up the steps to be reunited with the many friends she made in real life and online.
Nase had been preparing her mom and Bodhi for this day, and they were leaning on one another. Nase hopes walking through grief will be easier for her mom with Bodhi behind you, but you can't predict distress; you need to meet it head-on and bull through.
After Nase reached Hobo's Landing, where I waited to swear her in, Nase was greeted by his big sister Sierra, who hugged her, told her she was proud of how Nase had lived her life, and protected their mom.
"I thought you were going to say welcome, Blob," Nase said.
"Never again," Sierra promised.
"You are a Blob no more."
Thursday, February 23, 2023
It is Poetry Thursday once again
When Sam and Teddy challenge my brain
By giving me a photo to inspire me
Then writing it down for the world to see
I think back on my youth, those sun-filled days.
There were friends and many games to play
We would go on swings, climb on bars
Play astronaut and drive the race car
No matter what we played, we would declare a winner
Just before we all went home for dinner.
There was no pressure to win
And I was the best at a game called spin.
A dozen of us would stand on the horseless merry go round
The big kids would spin us, and our shouts made quite the sound
They were joyful shouts of glee
We would never again feel so free
I was best at spinning.
Which I always ended up winning
Not by who could stay on the longest
Or who could push the most and be declared the strongest
It was the furthest and not by time
But using an old clothesline
They measured how far from my playful comet
That I could projectile vomit.
Tuesday, February 21, 2023
Monday, February 20, 2023
Friday, February 17, 2023
Once again Angel Sammys and Teddys Pawetaton have provided us a photo for Poetry Thursday
Here is my meager contribution
They found Old Joe on the kitchen floor
His head caved in, it was obvious he would live no more
Next to him was his wife Millicent
Holding a rolling pin and saying she was innocent
The blood on the pin proved it was the murder weapon
Wielding it like it was a trepan
The police arrested her for murder
And to the station, they did take her
They brought her into the interrogation room
Where they let her sit and fume
Two men began to ask her questions
Not wanting to hear her “I’m innocent” suggestions
They asked her why she had the pin
And she said it wasn’t for sin
They asked him if she used it for cookies
And she said that was for rookies
They asked if she used that for pie
And she said no with a sigh
She asked why she was holding the pin
And she could only grin
The chief interrupted their interrogation
With a story that would shock the nation
It was the victim’s brother who did the deed
And after much discussion, Millicent was freed
Before she left a curious detective asked
If the pin wasn’t for breakfast
Wasn’t for cakes
Wasn’t for anything you have to bake
What do you use it for
Millicent stopped her hands on the door
And said “I will tell you, you syph'litic parasitics
It is one of my favorite aphrodisiacs.”
Monday, February 13, 2023
Sunday, February 12, 2023
Something that all of my mom's dogs have in common is that they all like to eat. Even Pocket, who would turn her nose up at food because her belly was sour, enjoyed eating when in the mood.
When Pocket and River Song were ready to transition, they announced their attention by turning their nose at food. A bell tolled for them on that day, and no parent wanted to hear it.
When River passed, my parents began questioning the food they were feeding her. They decided to make half my food kibble mixed in brother, combined with green beans and pumpkin, and an all-natural, fresh frozen food. After investigating the different products, my parents choose Ollie.
It came in a big box, and steam came from the container because it was so cold when it was removed. When I tasted it, I let my parents know it was well worth the money.
The problem with these companies is they like to tell the consumer when they sell their product, and three months later, a massive box of food came from us from Ollie's. It contained over $200.00 worth of food I was supposed to eat in a month. Have they seen me? Where was I supposed to put it? This problem also affected my parents, who thought keeping the product cold broke our refrigerator.
Although my parents loved me, spending $200.00 a month on dog food was a little pricey for them, and that's more than their pizza budget. So they decided to use the food and try other wet foods to see if I liked them.
The problem is that you can't go back once you have the excellent stuff. I knew a couple of times a week, they substituted the expensive food for canned, but I still ate it because I am a good girl. But last week, I had to draw the line.
They bought canned food from the pet store. I can tolerate this, as long as it looks like something a human would consume, but this was one of those pates that come out of the can in a solid mass, sits in the bowl like a rock, and feels the same way in the digestive system.
So I ate around it, but the big slab turned everything in the dish into an uneatable mess. So, I walked away with half the dinner unconsumed.
Of course, my parents freaked out. They tried to spoon-feed me, then began giving me treats to ensure I wasn't broken. It only took them two more meals before they realized I didn't want to eat that crap, which was a surprise because I eat crap.
But the crap I eat is made right here at home.
My parents are going to try to find a new frozen fresh meal for me that doesn't come like a care package to a soldier in Ukraine.
I hope they find some too.
I only have enough food through 2025.
Friday, February 10, 2023
When I first met Aunt Lea, she had a brother, a husband, and three excellent dogs: Sandy, Bo, and Maggie. This week, after a long life and her begging, borrowing, and stealing extra heartbeats, Maggie went to the Bridge, leaving Lea the last surviving member of that group.
People are kind and mourn Maggie's loss and send words of encouragement, but Maggie is not one to mourn. It is Momma Lea who finds herself the last leaf on the tree. Passing brings peace: And surviving brings more sorrow.
When Maggie crossed Sandy, Bo, her father, and uncle were waiting to greet her, which they did, then the two men and the three dogs became a mass of licks, scratches, kisses, and belly rubs.
Leaving her beloved mom was hard for Maggie, but becoming an angel was the start of something new and joyous. People go to the Bridge every day, making the mortal world sad, and they arrive at the Bridge, causing everyone to be happy.
As people get older, the amount of loved ones as the Bridge grows, and it is hard to remember that there is still love in the survivor's life. They might be the last leaf on their trees, but they are also part of a forest that has lost leaves and knows how to survive.
It is challenging to describe Momma Lea's situation after losing so much, s luck, but she still owns her house, and she had the angels of Earth, Nikki Bear and Nellie, who came to Momma Lea as strays. What is unique about the stray human experience is that most of us are picked by our parents, but strays choose their humans and are devoted to them.
It takes a special person to be trusted by a stray. They have seen the worst of people, which is how they know to pick the best humans to approach and join their families.
Momma Lea has taken in several strays, having been chosen for her pure heart.
Like how Europeans came to America, life is a crowded, loud, filthy, smelly ship. You do get to choose your companions, but some get off early, you have to stay on until it's your turn, and you will all end up in the same place.
Until then, you need to enjoy the ride, and the best way to do that is to snuggle with pets who chose you as their parents.
Someday we will all reach the same destination, and people will feel bad for us when we do.
We mourn the survivors at the Bridge, where we are free of pain.
Thursday, February 9, 2023
Its Poetry Thursday!
Here is the photo Sammy and Teddy provided to inspire us.
Below the photo is my humble offering
Timmy was surprised by the new girl in his class
With the sweater, the glasses, and the shapely little gravitational mass
He could not take his eye off of her
The cute new transfer
He imagined how their life would be
With him with her and he with she
She will make any meal I choose
Unless she thinks I have weight to lose
She and I will watch the game
Unless the time the Bachelor start time is the same
We will spend every weekend going on tours
As long as I finish my chores.
I will go fishing with my friends
Unless her family had a function, I must attend
I will live free as a bird
As long as it is what she preferred
Married life will be for me
Save for the occasional third degree
Where did I go, with whom, and why
And if I don’t answer right, she will cry
If I do wrong, she will yell herself hoarse
With threats of imminent divorce
Her mother shall come live with us
When she needs help in the art of cuss
Six children will we have with each other
All dumber than another
As for my mother
We’ll see her one-weekend midsummer
Perhaps marriage isn’t for me
I prefer to live a life free
I didn’t want a woman in my hair
Which is why I got detention for kicking her chair
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