Foley's Tails From Rainbow Bridge: A Tail's Tale

 

Because I am a distinguished and well-known angel blogger I was selected to attend a meeting of Yorkie champions.

I went to the groomers to make sure I looked and smelled my best. I was picked up in a pumpkin carriage and brought to the celebration.

I walked up the front steps and came to the Great Danes who were working security. I handed them my invitation. The Dane looked down on me, then said he needed to speak with someone. 

This was embarrassing.

Then he returned and said I was denied entry.

Outraged, I asked why.

“It’s your tail,” he said.

“What about my tail?”

“It is long, curvy, and hairy at the tip. A Yorkie has a docked tail. You do not meet the breed standard.”

I began to respond then stopped. The Dane was a fine dog but knew nothing about Yorkies. I asked to see the dog who made the decision.

A perfect Yorkie, with long hair, bright eyes, a strut, and a docked tail came out. On her collar was the name Princess. She looked at the invitation, then at me, and said there must be some sort of mistake.

You tell it, sister.

“This dog never should have got the invitation, she has the wrong tail.”

I was incensed. I had a perfect tail. It was one of my finest features. Also, it was natural. The docked dogs have to be surgically changed. How could I not be the breed standard if I had an original part? Anyway, it wasn’t my fault I never got my tail circumcised.

Princess checked on her I Paw and then said the cruelest thing. “I see the problem, there has been a mistake, this invitation should have gone to Pocket.”

Pocket? She was the breed standard? She has no strut, no style. But she did have a docked tail. I was disgusted.

I took the pumpkin of shame back home, went inside our warm, well-lit home, and found Pocket curled up on the couch. “This invitation was for you,” I said tossing the invitation at her. 

“I thought it was for you,” Pocket said.

“Me too, but I guess I am not the breed standard.”

“Well, if they won’t take you then I won’t go either.” Pocket made my little heart swell. “I know you wouldn’t go if I wasn’t allowed.”

Of course, she knew that was my exact plan. I kissed her on the head and told her she was no.

I needed to stop worrying about breed standards and being considered a champion. 

I was me, with my beautiful tail.

I planned to start my group, an exclusive club of full-tailed Yorkies. Then I abandoned the idea: Because Pocket would not be allowed.

And I learned that the true beauty of a dog is in their hearts, not their skin.

But still, it was a shame no one would be able to check my talk,