Foley's Tails From Rainbow Bridge: What a Dog Wants

Let me tell you, as your faithful dog correspondent on both sides of the River of Life for 16 years, do not try to figure out what a dog wants or needs. It is you.

Minnie, a pittie, was held by her dad, Michael Naylor, as a newborn. We indeed imprint on the first person we see, but if we don’t get total love from the person, the imprint washes away. But she did not have to worry that this would happen with Michael. That moment they looked at one another he surrendered his heart to her.

Michael, a father of three, took Minnie wherever he went, and if the place didn’t take dogs, Michael didn’t go.

His wife and children loved Minnie too, but she was her dad’s dog. 

It would be nice if that was how the story ended, but stories of constant happiness don’t spread but those of constant sorrow do.

The sorrow began in 2021 when Naylor was diagnosed with chronic pancreatitis and kidney issues, and then pancreatic cancer.

As Naylor grew worse he realized he could not take care of Minnie.

But, to Minnie, she didn’t need walks, food, or water, just him. Dogs can live off of love.

Naylor’s love for Minnie was just as strong, and he decided that her devotion to him was unhealthy. The big dog had to be dragged from Naylor’s room, and the first chance she got she ran back to him,

Naylor had prepared for the worst.  He did not want Minnie to suffer watching him die. So he made the worst possible decision for both him and Minnie.

He surrendered her, out of love, to a nearby shelter. Minnie was so distraught it was impossible to adopt out for a year.

Meanwhile, Naylor’s life without Minnie was unbearable. He handled her tags like they were a rosary, and would visit the shelter during outside hours so he could get a glimpse of her.

In 2023 Minnie was adopted by another family and Naylor gave up taking medication, eating, or going to the doctor. Without being able to see Minnie he gave up on life.

Minnie only had love for one person in her heart and while she liked the nice people who adopted her she would not bond with them, and within a year was surrendered back to the shelter. Minnie was placed on the adoption list.

Naylor had gone off the shelter’s website every day, like a captain’s wife on the widow’s walk yearning for a sign for his long overdue ship. 

I saw Minnie’s picture and weakly announced he was getting her back.

Shortly after that Naylor found he had been misdiagnosed, and with proper treatment would be fine. With getting Minnie back his endgame, Naylor began to work hard to get healthy for the first time in two years.

When Naylor entered remission he contracted the shelter, two years after letting Minnie go. She was still there. Naylor found her playing in the yard and called her name. Minnie’s ears went up, her tail began to twirl, and she jumped into his arms.

Tears were shed that day by all involved, enough tears to cause a monsoon at the Bridge when they fell.

After two years Minnie was home and happy. 

And Naylor, with his heart and soul intact again, was soon returned to full health.

So, dear humans, remember, no matter how bad things get, your dogs want you.

Only you.

You are all they need in a world without end.

Amen.

Poetry Thursday

 

Once again, Angel Sammys and Teddys Pawetaton have provided us with a photo for Poetry Thursday

One Christmas my Dad said he knew where Santa lived

We begged to takes us, we did not want to be deprived

My skeptical older brother said we were being jived

So my Dad put us in the car, and told us to be quiet until we arrived

Being kids, and excited to meet Santa, that was a promise we needed to break.

Thinking we were going to see Santa our emotions did overtake

Suddenly the car veered right and an old mountain road Daddy did take

And he drove high into the sky without hitting his brake.

The road was narrow, steep. And filled with potholes

We pleaded with my dad to turn over the controls

And he told us to stop being Christmas trolls

The top of the mountain was his goal

My little brother told my Dad that Santa lived at the North Pole not on top of a hill

But my Dad insists we chill

The North Pole was a lie created by Santa but he meant no ill will

He needed privacy and didn’t want his shop overrun like a jolly Bastille.

And so we continued going higher

And none of wanted to call him a liar

But we knew he didn’t mean to steer us into a quagmire.

But we had all paid the price for his theories created by him that did conspire.

It was a treacherous route

And we almost fell of the mountain during our commute

So we were stunned to see at the top of the hill a cottage and workshop covered by festive lights throughout

Then we saw someone walks towards us wearing a Santa suit

When we saw Santa we knew there was a glitch

And when my Dad said “we are here Santa,” the elf’s face did twitch.

The he said to my father “you are one dumb son  of a bitch

You just climbed Mount Crumpet and I am the Grinch. 

\

Wordless Wednesday

 

Beat This Caption

 

I am telling you for the last time, the reasons are because of the price of Meow Mix, because you let dogs cross the border into our yard and dig in the garden, taking away my job, and because I am tired of you looking at me and saying: 'Did I feed you?" ten times a day (and the answer is always no). That. and his knowledge of pussy grabbing, is why I am staying here with Trump" 

Monday Question

 

Are you getting anything for Christmas?

I might get a bone, and Mommy usually gets something related to me, but I am not a big gift dog.

Foley’s Tails From Rainbow Bridge - The. Mortal Side Loses an Dear Friend

Despite being at the Bridge, and passing 11 years ago, I am still shocked by death.

I love all my friends online. They still make me smile every day, even at the Bridge, and after my passing, and Pocket’s then River’s’ they have been a great support for my family.

I thought all of that would end when I was tossed off the group Doggyspace after the great purge of 2008, but now I know I owe a debt of gratitude to the weasels who made that decision because it led me to blog and friends I never would have met.

One of my closest friends was Bouncing Bertie, a dog who lived an exciting life. Bertie and his mom Gail lived in Scotland, by the water, and while I considered myself an active dog I had nothing on Bertrie and Gail.

They took long hikes by the water, through the fields, and the forest. Gail would bike too. Mommy wondered where this woman found the energy. Of all the people in our bogging family, she was the most active. A true force of nature who would be around forever.

Bertie joined the Bridge, and quickly found his replacement, Nobby, who had new puppy energy and was able to keep up with Gail.

Until December of 2024 when Gail slowed down, needing more rest. I thought it was one of those illnesses that people get, that sidelines them for a bit. But when I saw Bertie preparing a new room at his cottage on a cliff.  

It was inconceivable to me that the strongest and most active dog mom I knew could be coming to the Bridge, but the first thing you learn about the end of life is that it never makes sense and is rarely fair.

Gail always put her dogs first so it was no surprise that before she passed she made arrangements for Nobby to have an equally caring family and to still be able to go on the walks he loved.

When Gail crossed the Bridge she did so with her old vigor, and she was met by all the dogs she had loved and lost, led by Bouncing Bertie.

And when I go to the river’s edge I see them happily walking together exploring her new world just as she had on the mortal side.

When Gail passed it rocked Blogville, leaving a hole, but it will be filled by another, and the world will keep spinning.

If a little less joyfully

The Ruby Rose Report: All Ruby Wants For Christmas

 

I wsd thrilled when River came down as a spirit to visit me. She was the one who selected me for the prime position of family dog and it is by far my greatest achievement.

“Have you sent a letter to Santa?” River asked me.

“Why is he lonely?” I asked.

“No, you send Santa a list of what you want for Christmas, and on Christmas Eve he will bring it to you.”

“Like the Amazon man?” I asked.

“No, you don’t have to pay for what Santa sends you.”

“You mean like when Mommy returns a package from Amazon with a few parts missing she has kept because she can repurpose them for something she needs.”

“Oh, like stealing,” I said.

“No,” River said growing exasperated. “Amazon is so big they don’t notice the missing parts, so the only way she could get in trouble is if you do something stupid like putting this conversation verbatim in your blog.”

I told River she didn ‘t need to worry about that. The we returned to the conversation of Santa, who brings gifts to the good little souls on Christmas Eve, “To help him get the right gift for you,, Santa wants you to give him a list of what you want.”

I thought about it. “I don’t need anything,” I said

“There must be something. How about toys?”

“I have more toys than I know what to do with.”

“The bones.”

“Oh no, I have lots of them too. I just got a Himalayan Yak bone. Who knew a serpa’s frozen vomit could make such a great bone.”

“Then treats.”

“I have so many of those I will be eating them through spring. Plus I am trying to keep the weight down.”

“Ruby!” a frustrated River barked. “You have to ask for something. If no one wanted anything for Christmas what kind of holiday would that be?”

I didn’t say it but maybe a time for family,  for worship, for food, and for helping others, but I didn’t want to be labeled a socialist. “How about something for  Mom and Dad. Mommy needs new knees.”

“Santa doesn’t traffic in body parts,” River answered.,

“And Springsteen tickets for Dad.”

“You have better luck with the knees.”

“Then peace of Earth and good will towards men.”:

“Oh Ruby, you don’t want to be one of those people who end up giving everyone books of Life Savers.”

We were at an impasse. River said I had until Christmas Eve to think of something or I risked bringing down the entire system.

Personally, I can’t wait for Christmas to be over.

It is way too stressful. 

Poetry Thursday

Once again Angel Sammy and Teddy Pawrtation have provided us with photo for Poetry Thursday 

    

It was all Josie’s mother's fault

Of that, there was no doubt

But stressed out mom’s don’t admit they were wrong

So Josie and the pussy cats had to make the evidence gone

During breakfast, Josie’s mom said she would only be gone a minute. 

Suzie stopped eating and ran her spoon across her cereal bowl to see how far she could spin it

But she was a toddler and didn’t know about centrifugal force

And soon the cereal, the bowl, and the milk were far off course

It all crashed down and spread across the floor

And it began to spread to the kitchen door

Josie was about to let out a great cry

When she was stopped by her cat Loreli.

Loreli, the pack leader, meowed at the other cats

To get down and lick up all that went splat

Josie was so moved her friends were so quick to clean 

She shimmied down the chair like it was a trellis and the troublesome teen

Then they began to lick up the mess

And they made great progress

They were done by the time Josie’s mom entered the room

Saw her daughter on the floor with cats and that her baby had fallen she did assume.

She blamed the chair

And she did swear

That no one would know the truth

Her baby fell from her chair as her mom hit the vermouth 

But when Dad returned home he knew something amiss

His baby Josie wouldn't give him a kiss

Because after driving warm milk off the floor Josie and the pussycats made a rhyme never heard in a Shakespearean sonnet. 

Josie and the pussy cats did simultaneously projectile vomit. 

 

Wordless Wednesday

 

Beat This Caption

 

How the Hell do you get into this thing?

There is no zipper.

There is no clasp.

Pebbles is getting frustrated.

Weekly Question

Do you like when the house is decorated for Christmas?

No. There is suddenly parts of the living room floor that I can go on because they put an unsteady tree there. I know trees. Outside, you can stand and put your whole weight on the tree and it stays up. You wag your tail by an indoor tree and it topples over. And it's your fault. It is the longest five weeks of the year.

 

Foley's Tales from Rainbow Bridge: Riley and his Boy

Boy and his dog

Went out looking for the rainbow

You know what they learn

Since that very day

Walking by the river

And running like a blue streak

Through the fields of streams and meadows

Laughing all the way”

• Van Morrison's “Redwood Tree

 

Riley was born, like so many pups roaming the mortal side after I departed for the Bridge, so I only got to know him from my daily visits to Blogville, and the stories his sister and the Bridge, Xena, would relay to me on a cool night in the moonlight.

 

Riley never sought the limelight. He was content to let his sister Zena be the storyteller in the family All Riley needed was the love of his family.

 

And one in particular, his boy Andrew.

 

I write a lot about the relationships between dogs and their parents, particularly their moms. The relationship is the second purist pet-human relationship in the world.

 

But the purist relationship is between a boy and his dog.

 

Dogs are a boy’s best friend, and every day together is an adventure. Boys have things they don’t want to share with anyone else, things that could cause them to be ridiculed, fears that cannot speak, except for one, his dog, because their ears are meant for listening and their eyes for understanding. 

 

They were puppies together, learning about the world simultaneously: How far they could go, how much they could take. Some things went very wrong, and they kept that secret, one of several from the parents.

 

These are the most glorious days of a dog’s life, but they can tell that the boy is changing, getting bigger, smelling like an adult, and the long summer days full of foolish days are becoming as precious as the last burst of light when the sun is setting, and soon night will come.

 

Before the day comes, when the child becomes a man, he takes a part of his boyhood and gives it to the dog, so, when they are together, even if the kid is now a father, he can be a boy again.

 

Often the boy leaves the house because that is what boys do when they reach a certain age, and the dog slows down and begins his transition to the Bridge because that is what dogs of a certain age do.

 

When the dog is ready to depart, the boy comes back to his parent's house, and says goodbye, but he leaves that little bit of boyhood with

  the passing dog so it will have someone to play with while he is at the Bridge.

 

And that is why I saw Young Andrew running past me at the Bridge, through the fields and meadows, laughing all the way, because men will always be boys with the heart dog of their youth, and the dog will always be with the boy. 

Reposted with the Margin corrected Ruby Rose Report: A Thanksgiving Break Out

Thanksgiving was going to be a nuisance. It always is and leaves us with little to be thankful for: We are either going to have a house full of people too busy to spend time with the dog, or we are left behind, when drink and joy will fall, without us.

The day before Thanksgiving something equally annoying happened. The fake tree was erected in the living room, taking away one of my five beds. How is a little dog going to be able to get by with only four beds? (Not counting the big bed.)

I don’t mind the tree, but I hate the fascist soldiers that protect it. And I wish it was in a corner and not by a window, My Great Nana didn’t like when her daughter and son-in-law put their tree, and when they went out, and she babysat, she tried to scooch the tree over and knocked it, fully decorated, on the floor. When her daughter returned home, Great Nana said the wind got in the house and it blew down, but now that it was on the floor, it gave them a chance to put the tree in the right place.

So I won’t be trying to move the tree even if I could get past the soldiers.

The parents spent a lot of money on the fake tree, probably more than a real tree, and anyone who has seen a rock video knows fake friends cost more than real ones.

I bring this up because months ago the pin that holds the crate door shut broke, but they decided not to get another one because they are cheap, and they said I am a good girl,  the gate could be held in place by a bungee cord, and I have never tried to get out, so what was the harm?

The thing with these temporary solutions is they work fine right up to the time they don’t. After a couple of hours, I got bored. I put my head against the door, and it opened a couple of inches. I pressed and it opened further, and soon I had broken out like Andy Dufrene without a poster of Raquel Welch or crawling through filth.

There was so much I could do. I could try to open cabinets and find food, or jump around on the furniture playing the floor is lava, or find something to chew which is forbidden, and go to town. But I chose to stand at the kitchen window and look out waiting for hours for my parents to come home. 

Give me a break, it was my first burst of freedom. Even Harriet Tubman got caught up looking out the window during her first escape.

And that is where my stunned parents found me when they got home Thanksgiving night, haunting the window waiting up for them. They decided since nothing was damaged and I didn’t seem upset and didn’t poop or pee anywhere untoward that they would stop creating me when they went out.

I think it is just a way to get out of buying another crate. 

Poetry Thursday

 Once again, Angel Sammys and Teddys Pawetaton have provided us with a photo for Poetry Thursday

Once again, Angel Sammys and Teddys Pawetaton have provided us with a photo for Poetry Thursday

Big Mac and LIttle Mac were playing ball in the yardWhile being watched by their neighbor Maurice the Saint Bernard

Big Mac threw the ball over the fence

Maurice picked it up and ran and the chase commenced.

Big Mac and Little Mac jumped in their truck

Both using that HBO word that rhymes with muck

Its not that they needed the ball

But, as Big Mac said “it’s the principle of the thing, and that is all.”

They saw their neighbors the Bacalls

And asked if they saw Bernard with a ball

They said no, looked at Little Mac and asked “does the ball belong to your son?”

“He’s my dog,” Big Mac said, having heard it before and he wondered what was wrong with everyone.

They went throughout the neighborhood 

And continually about their relationship people misunderstood.

Looking at Little Mac Big Mac said he couldn’t see the resemblance.

And they were just victims of circumstance.

When they got home Maurice waited

And said that he took the ball because he needed his curiosity sated

Maurice said it didn’t make any sense

But how did the big dog get a license

Little Mac “He isn’t a dog he’s my human dad.

And Maurice said he didn’t want to make him mad

But they looked more like relations than dog and man

“And I have one more question if I can?”

“If Big Mac is not a dog

What leaves me agog

And makes me ask at risk of being crass

Why does he spend do much time smelling your moms ass

Wordless Wednesday

 

Beat This Caption

 

What do your mean you acted happy to see the woman who lives here when she got home, then let her scratch you, then sat on her lap. How many times have I told you to be aloof. You're going to mess this up for all of us,

Beat This Caption

 Are you on any supplements, additives or medications?

Outside of Flagyl for the bad poops a couple of times I do not put anything in my mouth that isn't food or treats, or at least what I think is a food or a treat.

Foley's Tails From Rainbow Bridge: Maggie's Two Moms

 

There are heartwarming stories—perhaps just fictional tales—about a dog caught in a dilemma between two loving owners. Imagine a situation where both owners, standing an equal distance apart, call the dog's name with hopeful voices. The anticipation builds; whichever owner the dog chooses could become its true master. If you find yourself in a similar circumstance, keep in mind that a pocket full of bacon might just tip the scales in your favor.

But what happens when you love two people equally, one of whom is waiting on the other side of the Rainbow Bridge?

Maggie knows she is blessed, having two moms who loved her equally. 

She and her brothers, Toby and Pokey, lived happily with their mom, Laura, in Massachusetts.  But, when Laura suddenly passed the pups didn’t know where they would be living or if they would be together. 

Enter Kate, who met Maggie during a cross-country visit to Laura’s. Kate was prepared to take all three dogs to keep them together, just as Laura would have wanted. A new adventure awaited as the pack travelled southwest to Arizona, where a loving new chapter was about to begin.

While the three dogs were older, there was uncertainty about their future with Kate—and yet, the new family was determined to make every moment count. Kate cherished her time with thems she must cherish time with Kate, the woman who has given them so much love. 

But the horizon holds change. In Maggie’s eyes, staying is the least she can do for her new mom.

In this new life, Maggie prepares for the attention she has longed for. She envisions days filled with new experiences, adventures at work, and a different kind of love that blossoms each day. Most dogs may not have the chance for a second act, but Maggie is ready to seize hers.

As Laura visits her in dreams, excitement and concern swirl together. Laura knows Maggie is facing a struggle, and there’s a sense that a call home is on the horizon. But Maggie is hesitant, wishing to create more memories with Kate, who has already faced so much in her quest to give love to senior dogs.

Parents have a sense about their pets, and Kate feels the approach of change. As she watches Maggie carefully, the moment of truth feels palpable, everything leading toward a significant reunion. Kate senses that the time might come when she must make the hardest decision, one that echoes with anticipation of future joy beyond the p

When the moment arrives, and Maggie’s battle comes to a head, Kate knows instinctively that the time has come to reunite Maggie with her family.

As Kate prepares to say goodbye, she braces herself for the emptiness that will follow, 

At that very moment, Maggie races across the Bridge, leaping into Laura’s open arms, where Toby and Pokey wait with joyful howls.

While Kate navigates the remnants of Maggie's life—dishes and toys—Maggie is discovering her forever home, showering Laura with kisses 

And as Kate drifts to sleep without Maggie’s soft breath beside her, Maggie is curled up with Laura and her brothers.

Before sleep claims her, Maggie sneaks into Kate’s dreams to leave a farewell kiss and say thank you. Her thankfulness is, a promise of an enduring bond, even as time marches forward—embracing the bittersweet of endings and the joyful beginnings that await.

The Ruby Rose Report: Accidentally Growing Up

As the seasons shift and the days grow shorter, I’ve found myself adjusting my walks to embrace the warmth of the midday sun. It’s become a welcome change, though there are moments when I pause, turn back, and long for the comfort of home. My dad, my loyal walking companion, gently tugs at my leash, urging me onward. Yet, when I choose to turn back, it can feel like trying to move a 16-pound boulder with just a rope! In those instances, he sweeps in to lift me, carrying me a short distance before setting me down softly. While he holds me, the stubbornness vanishes, and I find joy in our continued stroll. It’s a delicate dance of small compromises that weave our bond even tighter. 

I often reflect on the day I first arrived at my new home, just shy of my first birthday, brimming with energy and mischief—something my parents find endearing. Back then, I thrived in two states: sleeping and playing, both pursued with unrestrained enthusiasm.

Now, as I approach two and a half years, my spirited antics have softened. I’ve become a more tranquil dog, content to relax and lounge peacefully—unless, of course, the faintest sound catches my attention, sending me racing to the window to bark at whatever elusive presence intrigues me. While I still indulge in my long naps, my playful side has waned.

During supper preparations, my devoted mom in the kitchen, my dad and I cozy up in the front room—a repurposed bedroom that has transformed into a pantry—where a box of my toys awaits along with the only rug in the house. This space fills me with joy as it’s where I love to play.

One of our cherished games involves Dad teasing me with a stuffed squirrel, making it hop across the floor while squeaking. I pretend to be uninterested, only to suddenly pounce, caught up in the thrill of the chase.

Yet now, at two and a half, I find the soft squirrel less engaging than before. As Dad places it on the floor and moves it around, I can't help but think, “This again?”

I suppose my thoughts must have shown on my face, as Dad glanced at me and asked, “You want to play with something else?” I could see the flicker of disappointment behind his eyes, the silent question lingering there: “Is she outgrowing this?”

I hadn’t realized that my playtime was about more than just my fun—it was also for my parents’ joy. I want to hold onto the spirit of my two-year-old self for as long as I can.

If not for my 

 sake, then for theirs.

The last thing I ever want to witness again is the look of disappointment in their eyes. 

Poetry Thursday

 

Once again, Angel Sammys and Teddys Pawetaton have provided us with a photo for Poetry Thursday

I want to live where the people are fewer

I want to live like Old Jim Brewer

I want to live high in the sky

I want to give humans a final goodbye

Lord give me isolation

I wanna live in my own nation

In solitude I find salvation

I want to live like Howard Hughes

And not have to talk to none of youze

I want to live like Bardot

And hide in the shadow

I want isolation

And never have to see no one

High up so I can touch the sun

I found my home high up on a rock

Far from the gridlock

No way to go up no way to get down

High above my stupid town

I was happy living high off the hog

When tragedy struck, the toilet did clog

Now I yearn for a ladder

Or at least a way to relieve my bladder

Splendid isolation 

Turns it is pretty dumb

If you try it I am sure you will concur

Isolation is fun and games until you need a plumber

Wordless Wednesday

 

Beat this caption

 

Walter Had been taught since he was a young pup that it was rude not to leave a little something under a Christmas tree

Monday Question

 Do you snore? 

I snore like a trucker on a three day bender with a respiratory infection and  a broken nose. Pound for pound, round for round, I am the finest snorer around. 

Foley's Taies From Rainbow Bridge: Talkin' Turkey

 

I lost the dog who taught me how to be a pet and a family member at just over a year old. Blake always had a spot in my heart, and now, as an angel, she has a spot on my couch living that Shih Tzu life and being a lollipop of leisure.

I became the lead dog at a young age, at first, to two dogs who passed too young, and too unexpectedly, and possibly because of healthcare malfeasance

Then came Pocket: My sister for most of my days. Pocket was scrawny and scared, only happy chasing her ball or sitting in a lap, so when a dog needed to step up to protect the family, it was always me, and then River. I was Sonny, River was Michael and Pocket was Fredo.

Now Ruby has the very important role of head dog with no backup. She is very good at cuddling and playing, but when it comes time to be family her bark is her only weapon, and when it doesn’t fool her enemy, she hides.

She barked at the turkey who had made a home in our backyard, but the turkey ignored her, and the backyard became the top of the list of things of which she was scared.

It was up to me to deal with the turkey.

I flew over it a couple of times. She was a mean-looking mother. Finally, I settled next to her in cardinal form and asked what was wrong.

“I am hunted,” she said.

I asked by whom.

“It’s Thanksgiving. People eat turkey. If you hadn’t noticed, I'm a turkey.”

I hate BWA (birds with attitude).

I assured the turkey it was quite safe. “You're a wild turkey, no one wants to eat you.”:

“Why?” the turkey snapped. “What is wrong with me that I am not good enough to be eaten.”

“Humans raise turkeys just to be eaten, and you’re lean, tough, and gamy.”

“But one of these people, unable to pay grocery prices, might eat me. I jump every time I hear a door shut.”

“The average age here is 76. In the morning people need four cups of coffee just to cut the cheese.” 

The turkey was still concerned. “I wish I was my cousin Ike. The President pardoned him.”

“I can pardon you,” I said, struck by t solution.

“You’re not the President.”

“Even better, I am a cardinal, and I can pardon you.” Then I did. The turkey was so happy she pecked my little head.

I watched her excitedly walk back towards her nest.

It was a shame.

She would have made a helluva sandwich.

The Ruby Rose Report: Stinky Unwashed People

I prefer a house that is quiet, and since my parents are wildly unpopular it is always silent here, since the only people who come over are Mommy’s brother and sister-in-law who come for dinner every couple of months. I show my displeasure by boycotting everyone until the start to eat and then I love them more than Elon Musk loves jumping.

So I was very disturbed when a noise that sounded like a Karen who mistakenly turned on MSNBC and then the remote broke, It roared, it shrieked, it called the cable company.

My parents both said “What the hell is that?” They ask this a lot, and there is never an answer.

The noise was coming from the laundry room, which is also where my pee pads are, which is a problem, because I need it quiet so I can concentrate when I perform my bodily functions.

The terrible noise was coming from the washing machine. “It’s busted,” I growled. They stopped it, unplugged it, and plugged it back in, because that’s the way white people think everything is fixed. It isn’t.

They played with the dials, and spun the drum, which did nothing because,
 “It’s busted.”

“Let’s see if we can make it happen again,” they agreed. This is what humans say when something happens, and it only works with making fire and discovering sex, never of which they can never stop doing.

They ran the washer again. The good news: There was no noise, the bad news: it didn’t spin. 

I guess that’s important. 

My parents said they needed a new washer, and fast before they ran out of clothes.

I never run out of clothes. I own one outfit and wear it all the time: To bed, outside, even when I crap. People have to change at least once a day, and some people more, like they think they’re Taylor Swift on the Era’s Tour.

Me, in my one outfit, don’t smell. Most animals don’t. So why do humans?

Because of dogs.

It is very hard for dogs to tell their humans because in a standing position we would have to recognize our parents by their knees, which is even harder because they keep changing their pants.

So, we prayed for an easier way for dogs to identify their people, and the God Lord gave them, smell, and the humans were so offended they have been bathing and washing clothes ever since.

People, do yourself a favor, let your stink rise, your dogs will appreciate it.