Beat This Caption

 

I'm in the freaking shower!

How often do I have to tell you kids don't bother me in the shower.

I can't get five minutes of peace!

Monday Question

 

 Do you ever make your parents mad?

What do you to make them mad?

How do they react when they are mad at you?

Ruby's Answer

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.

 

 

 

The Ruby Rose Report: A Warning from Mr Blogger

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.”

14 Years Later Nase is Once Again Pup of the Week

 

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."

Poetry Thursday

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.

Wordless Wednesday

 

Beat This Caption

This week's picture

 So I said, whoa, lady, who you calling a sloth?

Monday Question

 On National Pet Day, how do your parents show their love for you?

In kisses, in cuddles

In warm laps, in cups of kibble

In blankets, in smiles

in scratches, in bones

In five hundred twenty-five thousand, six hundred minutes

That is how I measure a year being loved

The Ruby Rose Report: Snuffle Mat

 

In response to my Wordless Wednesday photo, many of you said you weren't sure what I was lying upon.

It was a Snuffle Mat.

An entire mat made of snuffle.

It is also an extraordinary snuggle mat because treats appear magically down the bottom.

My parents like to have a snack a couple of hours after eating. Like all types of coupling humans attempt to do at night, we dogs do not allow it. Going back to Foley, we dogs have, when our parents are in their living room chair eating, have jumped on their chest and said: "Can I have some, can I have some, can I have some, can I have some, and when I get some, then repeat the entire exercise a minute later. 

We all had different ways of behaving during human snack time. Foley would sit on the arm of the chair and patiently wait for a bite of food (until she thought she had waited long enough, then she let out an ear-piercing yelp). Pocket was not food driven and was happy with a small plate. River needed a challenge: She had a bone stuffed with treats, a Kong, and a lick mat. 

I am between Pocket and River regarding appetite, and I never miss a meal but delicately eat, like a Florida lady at the Cracker Barrell. They started me with food stuffed in things, like Kongs and bones, but I am not food driven to the point that I will work up a pant to eat. I didn't like the lick mat, which was too much like doing the dishes. 

I have already reported about my tornado brain game, which I solved in record time. I still like to spin it around, but I can solve the tornado faster than my parents can chew, so there was the same problem.

Then, while I was eating snacks, they would throw treat for me, and I would run after them, which I loved, until, two hours later, I threw them up all over the bed (the day after sheet washing day to boot.

That is when they turned to my Snuffle Mat. They are pieces of fabric sewn into different shapes depending on the mat. Treats appear at the bottom of the mat, and a dog has to hunt them down. 

When I get tired, I lie down, and when refreshed, I wake up, and the treats are still on the mat! I have always found it complete. It's like the Hannakuh Candles, but it's a mat! And smells better.

I have heard that treats are put in the mat by parents, but that makes less sense than parents buying Christmas gifts, putting them under the tree, and pretending they are for Santa.

Some souls will believe anything.

Friday Fill Ins

 

I am here to play fill in the blanks. The statements are provided by Four Legger Fur Balls and 15andcounting. The statements are in black, and my fill ins are in red 

All responses are by me: Ruby Rose, a one-year-old Brussels Griffon. 

1. I was pleasantly surprised to discover that my back paws taste sweeter than my front paws.

2.  I am disappointed with my front paws. Why can't they taste sweet? I got some sour front paws. 

3. I come running when I hear the treat jar open. I can't miss treat time. If I do, I will only have my sour front paws to eat. 

4. I didn’t believe the government shot down my big white door dash balloon that was carrying my order of sweet and sour paw from China until I saw it for myself. 

Poetry Thursday

 

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.”

Wordless Wednesday

 

Beat This Caption

 

Don't flatter yourself.

This rose isn't for you.

I'm keeping it…

Monday Question

 How many toys do you have, and what is your favorite.

Ruby's answer: I have about 40 different toys, most of which I have inherited. I play with most of them. My favorites are bones. The two I use the most are a Kong Bamboo bone and a plastic wishbone.

The Ruby Rose Report: No Food From a Can

 

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.

The Last Leaf by Foley Monster

 

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.

Poetry Thursday

 

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