Has your parents made and changes to your life or schedule since the heat dome has arrived?
I am an angel judge so I am required to answer all prayers, even the most annoying ones.
The most annoying prayers come from my Dad.
Monday night I got an alert that he was praying again. I sighed, looked at my IPaw, and read the prayers, then rolled my eyes, and did a brain meld with him to give my answer.
“No.”
And yet the nerd persisted.
“Come on Foley do this for me and
If I had a bone for every time he said that, I would have more bones than a python (they have 600 vertebrae, which equals to about 1800 bones in their body, you can look it up.
“For the last time,” I said, curtly: “Angels don’t who wins the NBA title.”
“Oh Foley,” he pled, “I am a simple man of poor circumstance who has little joy in his life, so throw me a bone here, just influence this one game.”
I opened his prayer file. “Let’s see: In 2013 you asked me to help the Red Sox win the World Series, and pledged to go to church every Sunday if they win. They did, you didn’t.”
“I have to work Sundays,” he answered.
“So do preachers but they still manage to make it to church on Sunday.” I consulted his file. “January 2015, if the Patriots the Super Bowl, I will never ask you for anything again. You made the same prayer in January 2017, and in 2019, all Patriots won, and yet then prayers haven’t stopped.” I paused. “Then October 2018, if the Red Sox win the World Series you would give a tithe to the Church, which I know you meant to do when they won until you knew what tithe meant.”
He agreed he had been bad, but promised to do volunteer work for the little sisters of the poor if the Celtics won.
And I agreed.
Then did nothing.
If the Celtics can’t win with a 3-1 lead at home with Porzingas playing there is nothing divine intervention could do.
They won without my help, but my Dad did not know that, so I went into his happy dreams and reminded him of the little sister's promise.
“I will soon, I have to make some adjustments to my schedule.”
I knew he wouldn’t, and I would soon get another prayer from him that I would ignore.
Sports players are annoying. We angels never have anything to do with the outcomes of sports contests.
Except to make the Yankees lose
But that’s a matter of good and evil.
I am an angel judge so I am required to answer all prayers, even the most annoying ones.
The most annoying prayers come from my Dad.
Monday night I got an alert that he was praying again. I sighed, looked at my IPaw, and read the prayers, then rolled my eyes, and did a brain meld with him to give my answer.
“No.”
And yet the nerd persisted.
“Come on Foley do this for me and I will never ask you again.
If I had a bone for every time he said that, I would have more bones than a python (they have 600 vertebrae, which equals to about 1800 bones in their body, you can look it up.
“For the last time,” I said, curtly: “Angels don’t who wins the NBA title.”
“Oh Foley,” he pled, “I am a simple man of poor circumstance who has little joy in his life, so throw me a bone here, just influence this one game.”
I opened his prayer file. “Let’s see: In 2013 you asked me to help the Red Sox win the World Series, and pledged to go to church every Sunday if they win. They did, you didn’t.”
“I have to work Sundays,” he answered.
“So do preachers but they still manage to make it to church on Sunday.” I consulted his file. “January 2015, if the Patriots the Super Bowl, I will never ask you for anything again. You made the same prayer in January 2017, and in 2019, all Patriots won, and yet then prayers haven’t stopped.” I paused. “Then October 2018, if the Red Sox win the World Series you would give a tithe to the Church, which I know you meant to do when they won until you knew what tithe meant.”
He agreed he had been bad, but promised to do volunteer work for the little sisters of the poor if the Celtics won.
And I agreed.
Then did nothing.
If the Celtics can’t win with a 3-1 lead at home with Porzingas playing there is nothing divine intervention could do.
They won without my help, but my Dad did not know that, so I went into his happy dreams and reminded him of the little promise.
“I will soon, I have to make some adjustments to my schedule.”
I knew he wouldn’t, and I would soon get another prayer from him that I would ignore.
Sports players are annoying. We angels never have anything to do with the outcomes of sports contests.
Except to make the Yankees lose.
But that’s a matter of good and evil.
I was taking my pre-supper walk and roll, where I walked along, until I found something that smelled right to me when both me and my dad stopped like we were performing for judges. To our right, a couple of hundred feet ahead, were two prehistoric turkeys with their beaks stuck the ground.
We have reached an agreement with the turkeys. One: We leave them alone to hunt and peck; Two: They don’t hunt and peck us and three: We go elsewhere for Thanksgiving so the turkeys don’t have to witness us carrying the plucked carcass of unlce Fred into our house, then see us defile his body with butter, shove a side dish into him, then cook him. Honestly, it is a much better deal for us.
One of the unwritten rules is that turkeys have the right of way. People and dogs let them pass unmolested, and cars stopped for them, so what happened next was very disturbing.
As the turkeys happily enjoyed the pickings of a couple of seniors' lawns the door flew open like it was hit by a Nazi finally knowing where Anne Frank was. But, it was worse.
It was a man, wearing jean shots, with the whitest legs I have seen. His black belt was overlapped by a belly that belonged to a man who has said, at the end of every meal, for 80 years, that a little more won’t hurt. He had a blue t-shirt on, which proudly declared that he had gotten crabs at fisherman’s wharf. His head was bald, except for two strips of white hair just over his ears. And his face was bright red.
We all paused, waiting for what happened next when suddenly the man moved like he had 80 years ago when someone chucked a grenade into his foxhole. His arms were extended over his head like he was at an Eddie Floyd concert. He began to shriek and wave his arms. Then he chased after the turkeys. There was wing flapping and squawking, not from the turkeys. Like a modern-day Gavrilo Princip he broke our treaty and perhaps, unless cooler heads prevailed, would lead to another great turkey war.
We stayed frozen, witnesses to history. Then the man turned, and sat on his steps, staring at the birds across the street. Then the man made a rumble, followed by a cough recognized by anyone who had a family member with congestive heart failure.
Daddy and I did the bravest thing possible. We slowly backed up until we came to another street which we quickly walked down not wanting to be caught up in the turkey counterattack.
We haven’t walked that way since.
There are murmurs in the trees. The squirrels are stocking up like it was winter’s eve. The wind whispers through the trees something dark and mysterious.
Our treaty with the turkeys was dead, and we prepared for war. One army had an advanced air force, great talons on thier feet, and mighty wings to soar into the sky.
The other army eats dinner at 3:00 PM, need two naps a day, misplaced their weapons ten years ago, and always have to pee.
I am thinking of joining the turkey army,
I like our odds.
All the passengers laughed at the man with the toilet paper trailing behind.
“What a fool,” a woman said being most unwise
Another said “Obviously another Harvard educated master mind,”
A laughing woman offered a prayer for humankind.
Yes, they all prided themselves on their wit
Knowing they were superior to this toilet paper-dragging misfit
But then all the jocularity they quit
When the toilet paper man stepped into the cock pit.
“Oh good Lord its the pilot” a woman yelled
Belief in safety was quickly dispelled
Then prayers, sells and cries were expelled
Because they were in danger unparalleled
One woman wondered “Is then pilot a fool?”
Another asked: “Do you think he remembered the fuel.”
A third wondered if he had graduated from pilot school
A fourth asked if he could win a spelling bee vs Paula Abdul
Then the plane went into a nose dive
And people screamed and made deals with God to survive
It was now clear at their destination they would not arrive
Their families would never see them again alive.
A man realized what they must do before they died
To ask God to forgive them for the way the pilot deride
And they are allowed into heaven, all their many sins set aside
Then they waited for the crash, all certified
Then the pain leveled off a development most sublime
And they cheered the ridiculed pilot cheering as the plane did climb
In the cockpit, the smiling pilot confided in his navigator and partner in crime
Leaving a trail of toilet paper, then a nose dive got them every time
Margaret, it's Tom. Did you get an eviction notice? Because I got home today, and our tree was gone. Of course, I know it is our tree, our initials are on it.
Where is your favorite spot to be that's not a sleeping spot?
Ruby's answer: On the mat in the living room in front of the TV stand where my snuffle mats and bones are.
Have you noticed how few people have on television have dogs? That may be why they have so many problems. And, if they do have dogs, they are either a nuisance or a superhero, rescuing their humans when they are face down in a ditch.Early on in my relationship with my parents, I let them know, that if they were dumb enough to fall in a well, get caught in a flood at the Old Mill, or end up stranded in a ditch I would not get help. All dogs would do the same.
Or so I thought.
Because, last week, a dog named Blue proved me wrong.
Brandon Garrett is a true dog dad. He has four, that he takes everywhere, That included a trip to the mountains.
Last week, while on a drive on Hells Canyon Scenic Byway in the Wallowa Mountains in Oregon when he missed a turn, drove through the guard rail, and deep into a ravine. The five passengers were unhurt, but there was no way up the canyon, and they were too deep in the woods to be seen from the rarely-traveled road.
Brandon lined his dogs up. Three of them were shaken, but one, Blue, the leader of the pack, and the most fearless looked into her dad’s eyes awaiting his instruction.
In truth, they were more than man and dog. They have always had an understanding of their wants and needs without using worse. So Brandon didn’t have to say “go for help.” Blue gave his dad one long look of devotion and then scampered up the hill.
Brandon had every right to believe that Blue would complete his mission, but they were a long way from a house or business, so Brandon knew it would take time. He pitched a tent to provide himself and the stranded dog's shelter.
When Blue reached the top of the ravine he had to decide which way to go. He backtracked to the campsite that they had departed from where members of their family were still camping. At first, the humans thought that Blue had been forgotten, or run off, but the dog was frantically running towards the humans, then running away until one of the men realized Blue wanted to be followed.
When they started to trail Blue he ran forward barking excitedly. He led them up the road, and for four miles until he stopped exhausted at the point where his dad’s truck could be seen from the road.
The family could not get down the ravine, so they called search and rescue, who had the equipment to bring Brandon and the three dogs back to safety.
One of the rescuers asked Brandon if he was worried and he chuckled no. Blue had never let him down.
While we are all proud of Blue he did raise the bar for dogs. Families in need will expect dogs to save them.
We all are going to find our inner Lassie.
Or more appropriately our inner Blue.
I had finished my walk with my Dad, having inspected the homes and gardens en route, and barked instructions on how to bring them up to par, when I was troubled by something in the driveway
It was a stiff mouse.
I pulled my not-very observant Dad towards it and sniffed the mo, but there was no sign of life.
Poor thing. Someone had killed it.
Might as well eat it.
That’s when the mental alarm in my Dad’s head sounded. The one that is set for whenever I am going to eat something I shouldn’t.
I hate that damn alarm.
We dogs hire humans to train our parents, amongst other things, to inform us when we shouldn’t pick up something to say “leave it.” At this critical juncture, like most humans under stress, he forgot his training and said no at different speeds and tones while jerking me backward by my harness, like I was a confused horse trying to mount a newly in-heat milk cow.
It was rude,
But, I had to put his overeager leash jerking aside to concentrate on why the mouse was in my driveway.
I was afraid it was a Siamese message meaning “Tiny Mousey sleeps with the fishes.”
That night I went to the floor vent and barked to get the lead cat who lives under the house, Mrs. Haversham’s attention,
I knew the cats were down there, but I had to wait for Mrs. Haversham to make her way to the vent slowly. I asked her what the deal was with the mouse in the driveway.
“It was a gift to your parents to thank them for letting us live below the house and feed us the minimum amount of food to sustain life.”
I asked why leave a mouse?
“We’ve been pooping in the gardens but no one noticed, we had to up our game.”
Oh, I had noticed. It was something else I was pulled away from mid-bite.
I said I understood, but was still confused about the mouse.
“We’re feral cats,” Mrs. Haversham said. “What are we supposed to leave? It is either poop in the garden, a dead mouse in the driveway, or hacking up hairballs to spell thank you on the steps.”
Mrs. Haversham had a point so I thanked her. Mrs Haveresham said I was welcome, then added it was also a warning of what would happen if dinner was forgotten.
I knew it was a Siamese message. I asked her what poop in the garden meant.
“It meant I was sniffing the flowers and had to take a shit.”
How clever.
I thanked Mrs. Haversham and let her go back to the other cats who were, from the sound of it, playing golf by clubbing a birdie.
I will have to keep my eye on them. They are worthy adversaries.
And I can only hope if we get another Sicilian message it will be a skinny mouse but a dead rabbit, signaling a kitty street gang from the 1850s wanted to rumble.
I have learned to respect the kitties under the house, but not to trust them.
Thelma told Steve she needed to go to the mall
Which interfered with his day of watching football
Swearing to himself he thought “of all the unmitigated gall.”
But if he didn’t he knew he would have no peace at all
He hurried to their destination like it was a race
And he ignored the cross look on his wife’s face
he got to the jammed lot he looked for a parking space
He was certain there had to be one someplace
There was only one place in the parking lot
And he sped to it like a gunshot
When a woman in a red car came up on his blind spot
And took his spot' spurring a vocal onslaught
Steve shouted “you bitch, you cow, you whore.
I am going to key your door.”
The woman then did something he abhor
She turned her back and to him, she did ignore
Steve sat in the lot his face beat red
Thinking of all the ways he could make her dead
But he formulated another plan instead
“I think I can slide in between them,” he said
Before Thelmas could scream no
He hit the gas and they did go
He hit her bumper and his car lifted like it was picked up by a tornado
A satisfied Steve said “how you like me now ho.”
They had to climb out of the car
Steve had to pull her out like the last pickle in a jar
Steve hurried her in where she could shop and he eat at the snack bar
And light himself a victory cigar
But that was the end of his fun
A police man came to him with a drawn gun
It happened to her, so Edith Bunker could say what he had done
Steve had parked on top of a subaru filled with nuns
Dear Mr. Chewy: This morning I called your customer service number because the bag of Friskies your company sent me had expired. I was on hold for two hours and when someone finally answered it was a Bassett Hound. Do I look like I speak Bassett Hound? I couldn't understand a damn thing he said, and when I said I wanted to talk to a cat he cut me off. I demand my account be credited and I am sent a bag that hasn't expired.
Signed
Ernest P. Snuggles Jr.
Thank you
Thank you
This is a question for your parents
If you are sitting with your pet on your lap, and you have to pee, do g you move the animal, or hold it in, not wanting to disturb the pet, and hoping they will move soon?
With each passing day, we are getting further away from the cyber place where so many of us met and made lifelong friends.
I think of that place each day, as I walk the streets of Rainbow Bridge, seeing the many friends I made there when we were young, invincible, and the days lay before us, seemingly an endless amount.
There are only a pawful of original DS members still on the mortal side.
This week that number decreased by one, because Molly from Fall River crossed the Bridge.
When I first met her she was a newly minted rescue, who, like all of us, was bound to change the world one human at a time.
Most of us were content to share stories about our days and spin mighty yarns about our adventures. We got some humans who weren’t comfortable being themselves on social media, coming out of their shells, walking behind their dogs, who were in the spotlight.
Our parents were happier with us being the ones getting attention, and when they saw how much their pups were loved, they began doing something that they had said wasn’t for them: Recounting their day on social media.
But Molly, a rescue, knew her siblings, Sully and Nora, could fill that void. Molly was to change her mom in a more personal way.
Molly came into Momma Lisa’s life as the dog not chosen. There were two dogs available when she looked at the dogs and someone was coming in to take one. Momma Lisa said she would take the remaining one, on such decisions worlds can change.
Molly was left behind, and Momma Lisa welcomed Molly into her pack.
Molly repaid her by being the sweetest, happiest dog in the world, and inspired Momma Lisa to become involved in the rescuing world. She began volunteering at a rescue, doing home visits, and transports. Molly led her to volunteer, where she helped countless dogs, and gave her a feeling of contentment nothing else did. Momma Lisa has made lifelong friends in rescues and helped bring another Molly, another happy dog, to a family in need of joy.
Now Molly has graduated to the Bridge, leaving her family and friends, because the Powers That Be need a dog angel to work with dogs without hope, to help them find it, which will lead them to their forever home.
Momma Lisa has lost many dogs, and the pain is never the same, but the passing of Molly, who brought so much into her life was particularly hard.
But, Molly wants her mom to know whenevver there is a dog surviving on the streets, or when a rescue is brought into a home, or a rescue is being transported by Momma Lisa to a new family, to look in the dog’s eyes and she’ll see Molly.
As with every passing the mortal said is lessened , and the immortal side is enriched, but it was especially true in this instant.
There is a new reason for rescue to hope..
And she is called Angel Molly
It is time for another garden inspection which dovetails nicely with my good Arty and Rosie’s nature Friday.
The Clemenzas are blooming around the light post in Blake’s garden. Mommy says they are clematis, but I like the name Clemenza better.
Blake’s garden is yet to bloom but the flowers look like they are about to burst open.
In River’s garden, the Wild Woodland sage is setting up a summer of purple reign.
The Great laurel azaleas are showing off in Foley’s garden. They are also known as Lady Eleanor Cathcart. Daddy’s mommy, the original owner of the Saint Anthony statue was also a lady named Elanor. Coincidence? Clemenza says there is no such thing as coincidences.
Foley ordered her garden to be surrounded by pavers. She says it makes it look like a magical English garden. Whatever. At least she won’t be hounding our dreams now.
Also, she wanted her garden solar angel to be higher than Saint Anthony, which was accomplished by an orange driveway snowplow marker and tape. When Saint Anthony heard about him not being lower, he said “what a bitch.” Foley took it as a compliment.
Mommy just planted new guinea impatiens. Last year they lasted until the middle of October, longer than the Yankees (side Yankee burn.)
The hundred-year-old Ruby Rose bush has a lot of promising buds. I make sure it is pruned, and healthy. The responsibility of a 100-year-old bush is daunting for a little dog. Just ask Eva Marie Saint.
Finally this morning Daddy bought this hanging plant at the supermarket. Then he bought a slab of bacon at the nursery.
He often gets confused.
So that’s where we are in the first week of June.
I will be back with a further update.
Your intrepid garden correspondent,
Ruby Rose
Max and Felix met Larry at the club
A born braggart he liked spinning tales at the pub
He showed off a new watch which he won playing cards
Playing on the wings of a plane like other diehards
Felix and Max were not to be outdone
They thought they were the world's greatest daredevils bar none
They knew a stunt needed to be performed
And the brothers had a brainstorm
What is better than playing cards on the wing?
Playing a game of pong and ping
They would play table tennis midflight
And those watching below would be filled with delight
Finding a pilot would not be easy
Flying with men on the wing made them queasy
But they found Wild Bill a World War flying ace
Who in later years only flew with a shit face
They knew they needed to be bolted to the wing via their boots
While weaning a jumpsuit
They would perform a volley
And people on the ground would say good golly, Miss Molly
Wild Bill started the engine and took off
And the way the net blew Max realized they should have played golf
When the plane stopped its climb
Felix served the ball, and the stunt was sublime.
This was before people understood relativity
Because the ball did not got straight but to the cock pit causing activity
Wild BIll had a battle flashback
And began to take defensive manuevers thinking he was getting flack.
Max and Felix fell and gripped the wings
And for ten minutes they did cling
Until Wild Bill hit a barn
But that’s not the end of this yarn
Max and Felix survived the crash
With broken bones and a terrible whiplash
When Larry visited and was told they did it because of him he frowned.Then said, “you dumb bastards when playing cards we never left the ground.”
I cannot live one more day with that stupid, farty, ignortant dog.
He stepped in my water dish, he ate my food, and he peed in my bed and I only found out when I woke up in the wet spot.
You need to fix this. You brought it into this house you make it leave.
Now, if you will excuse, I am going to my tree to lick my leg and hack up a hairball.
How much outside time do you get in the summer?
Since I am a civilized dog who does her business inside on a pad I am out, at most for a half hour walk 'n' roll, and then some days about an hour sitting with my parents looking at the gardens.
Has your parents made and changes to your life or schedule since the heat dome has arrived? I am a mostly indoor dog finding the habit of ...
