Pup of the Week: Barney The Cat

I have never had a great relationship with kitties.  I tried to get along with them:  Honest I did.  But when we lived in the condo there were two kitties who sat on my deck.  I would bark at them so much my head would hurt, but they refused to recognize my authority and remained on my deck until on of my parents grabbed the door handle scaring the cat away.  Then there was the cat who I approached as pleasant as could be only to have that kittie bip me on the nose.   And there was one cat who accused me of being an anti-cattie.  That caused me a kibble bag full of trouble

Little did people know that a cat would be one of my very best friends.  His name is Barney.  When we were on DS, we would talk about what was in our back yard, and how we could both see all the way to each other’s houses.  We would make up stories about what we saw.  We shared many laughs.

Then I went to the Bridge, and then DS closed, and, while our moms still talked Barney and I didn’t have our long, playful conversations any longer.

I don’t know how Cotton found out that Barney and I were friends but when she learned that Barney was coming to the Bridge Cotton told me, and asked me to round up all of Barney’s pup siblings.  I found Gracie, Jondalar, and Keri.  They said they would find the other pups, and their cat family members, for Barney’s arrival.

Barney’s Bridge crossing seemed to come on all at once, then slow to a crawl.  On a Thursday he was fine, by the weekend, he became sick and went to the vets. Barney was dehydrated.  The doctor thought he might be in kidney failure.  A long series of tests would have to be performed on sweet Barney.

Barney stayed at the vet’s overnight.  He was doing better, but the vet said it was possible Barney was diabetic or had kidney problems, or diabetic problems, or liver problems, or no problems. Some of the tests would not be back until the following week.  Barney’s parents and his brother Andy were very worried and lost without their gentle, little friend.

The vet still could not pinpoint what was wrong with him.  It could have been kidney problems, diabetes, or something else.  Worse of all Barney would not eat.  He was sent home with medication and prayers.

Barney was not showing improvement and was back at the vets on Wednesday.  His mom was instructed to feed him via syringe until he got his strength back.  

When he got home that night, his mom found him lying by the water bowl.  When she picked him up, she discovered that he had peed where he lay.  He did not have the strength to get up.  He had lost power in his back legs, and he had even lost the ability to keep his tail erect.

On Thursday the vet gave Barney more fluids and sent him home to be with his parents, but on Friday his mom got the call that Barney could not be cured, and his parents had to send their perfect baby to us.

Cotton, who greets all the cats who arrive at the Bridge, came to me and we agreed to hold the ceremony between our spots at the Bridge because if there was ever a soul who belongs in both worlds, it is Barney.

I waited with his dog family, and his many dog friends, on one side of a semi-circle, while on the other side were the cat friends.  When Barney arrived, we all applauded his bravery, his devotion, and the love her showed every soul he ever met, even a cranky Yorkie like me.

After Barney gave the Rainbow Pledge Cotton invited all of us dogs to sit with the cats for the big welcome celebration for our newest Angel.  Between all the knowledge the dogs would teach Barney and all the secrets the cats would put forth he would be the smartest angel at the Bridge.  He quickly learned how to go back home and try to ease his parents and his brother Andy’s pain.  He was going to be a first rate, Angel.

We snuck away from the dinner and sat on a cliff looking over the window.

“I can see your house from here,” Barney said, sporting a grin.  I told him I could see his house too, just as we had all those years ago when we were young and healthy.   We put our paws on each other’s shoulders and watched the twinkling lights.

I felt so sad for his parents and loved one, but at this moment, as we sat under the moonlight, I was happy to have my friend back.

Barney is our March 30, 2014 Pup or the Week (It's Really About Our Grampy)

Unless you have been long time friends of ours you won’t recognize the names of Barney. They have been at the Bridge a very long time.  Barney was the first dog who ever owned my Daddy.  He came into the family because of our Grampy, who went to the Bridge this week.  Grampy worked in what was known back in the day as newspapers, which were a bunch of blogs all put together on big pieces of parchment and printed in multiple quantities. It is hard to imagine living in such a barbaric age.

My Daddy and Auntie had been pestering Grampy for a dog after Auntie’s dog Alice went to the Bridge.  They had read a book about a baseball playing beagle named Barney and insisted they get a beagle and name it Barney.  One of the pressmen at Grampy’s paper, Snuffy Smith, owned a dog who had a litter.  Getting a dog from a man named Snuffy Smith confirmed that the name Barney was well chosen.  There was an old comic strip called Barney Google and Snuffy Smith so it was logical that Snuffy would beget Barney.

Turned out Barney was not a beagle.  Without DNA testing we cannot even prove Barney was a dog.  She was, as Grampy’s nephew Bobby said, “part Dachshund, part Hound, part Bear.”  You know a dog had made a lasting impression on a neighborhood when he is mentioned three times in the receiving line at a wake.  Once as “Barney the thief” (just because he entered a man’s garage a half mile from Grampy’s house, grabbed a full 30 pound bag of Gravy Train, and dragged it home, dropped it at Daddy’s feet and announced:  “See I don’t need you people, I can feed myself.” Then Daddy looked up see the the bag’s rightful owner, Mean Mr Medas, stomping down the street following a trail of kibble he found after the bag ripped during the dragging.  Mean Mr Medas was not a fan of Barney’s.)

For ten years Barney ruled the neighborhood.  Having never been snipped Barney was responsible for making lots of little Barneys, performing the act once while Daddy was in the middle school.  Barney and his sexual conquest were on the front lawn consummating their relationship doggy style as Daddy’s school bus stopped to pick him up.  Barney, mid coitus, turned to the children on the bus with a huge smile on his face, as if to say “kids, you’re not old enough for this yet, but trust me, it’s great.”

Barney lived his life his way until he went the to Bridge.  When he got older, and slowed down, he still got into scraps, relying on Daddy to rescue him, which once led to Daddy having his hand bitten between the thumb and index finger.  Barney still chased cars, but didn’t have the moves he used to, twice getting hit and needing to go to the hospital.  And then one day at home Barney stumbled and went down, with bleeding on the brain, and she quickly passed away at a local dog hospital.

It wasn’t until Grampy was crossing the River of LIfe to the immortal side when I realized how much he and Barney were alike.  I wasn’t allowed to swear Grampy in.  They got Judge Roy Bean to do it. He swears in all the humans who might bolt and try to cross back. Like Barney, Grampy had short legs, a round waist, a big smile, sparkling eyes, and a cheerful howl when amused.

Like Barney Grampy protected his turf at all costs and his turf was his opinion, which he firmly believed was correct, and, if followed, would help improve the city.  Like Barney his bark was much worse than his bite but his bark could be very powerful and hurtful and those who he directed it at cowered.

Nana’s job was family apologist, and she spent most of her time apologizing for the two of them.  If Grampy wrote something to upset someone she apologized, if Barney chased a boy on a bike she apologized, if Grampy was digging up information on someone for a story she apologized, if Barney dug up someone’s garden she apologized, if Barney took a big dump on someone’s lawn she apologized, if Grampy wrote something that took a big dump on someone’s career she apologized, if Barney impregnated a young, innocent pup she apologized, if Grampy impregnated a young girl she would have shivved him right in the kitchen.  She was kind but she didn’t mess around.

At their height they were both a man in full and a dog in full.  Neither of them suffered fools graciously, and fools were anyone who didn’t recognize their dominance.  They taught lessons, Grampy to young reporters, with hard words and a red editor’s pencil, Barney with powerful legs and a talent for infighting.  In our little town, and in Barney’s neighborhood, everyone knew their name.

And neither went into the goodnight quietly.  Both pushed their bodies further than their aged bones could carry them.  Barney lost fights he once won, Grampy was eased out of his job at the newspaper, although he kept writing for more than 20 years as the paper knew it’s voice was his voice.  One day Barney went down and couldn’t get back up and his parents were told he had maybe a day left, and the next day he was gone.  One day Grampy went into the hospital and was told he wouldn’t last the night.  And this is where they parted, because Grampy fought back and lived for another two years.

But it was a hard two years.  He had several falls, three trips for rehabilitation, each time determined to come back better than before.  He was be repaired as good as the day he fell, but his constant ditching of his walker to prove he was better would lead to his next fall until March 18th, when he fell, breaking a rib, arm and hip.

Grampy came through his surgery fine, but developed pneumonia, and he didn’t have the strength to fight back, and on the 25th he crossed over the Bridge.

Which brings me to the lighters.  Grampy had two lighters.  They went through Korea with him, through the birth of his children, his newspaper career, through cancer and chemotherapy, though his retirement, his pacemaker surgery, his gallbladder surgery, Nana’s heart surgery and following three months of complications before she passed, his kidney surgery, his getting healthy after heart failure, his first broken hip, his three trips to rehab, and his fading memory that caused him to misplace everything else but those two lighters.   He insisted that he always have those lighters.  Of all his worldly possessions he could save, those lighters would be first.

But on March 18, when he fell, those lighters disappeared.  Grampy barely had the strength to press his life alert bracelet,, he didn’t have the strength to grab the lighters.  Auntie, who responded to the call with the EMT’s could not find them.  Amanda, his caretaker, could not find them, and neither could Daddy.  They were gone.

Thankfully, if Grampy had to pass, he passed without realizing \the lighters were missing.  That was until after he got sworn in.  I had followed Barney to the human sde of the River.  Grampy reunited with Nana and his sister and her husband, who thankfully had brought a bottle of Scotch, then he went over to give Barney a long overdue scratch.  Barney pulled him by his pants leg (in case you wondered humans come over fully closed, thank God) to a spot of dirt and Barney began to dig.  I was going to help him when I remembered that I was a judge and I had got a manicure that morning so I let him finish.  When he was done Barney picked up the lighters in his mouth and put them at Grampy’s feet.  Grampy gratefully picked them up,, told Barney that he was a good dog, better than his kids who had lost his lighter, then Nana slapped Grampy for being snarky. and they resumed their relationship which should, as Auntie said in her eulogy, cause a lot of electrical storms in the Northeast this year.

So now Grampy is with me on the immortal side of the Bridge and he has already scolded Cronkite and Murrow for sloppy journalism.  I am sure he is going to cause some arguments up here, but that’s OK, it’s only for eternity.

It is on the mortal side of the Bridge where he will be missed.  This quote was used for me when I crossed and I will end this blog with it, because he is as deserving of it as I was.  

“Well they built the Titanic to be one of a kind, but many ships have ruled the seas

They built the Eiffel Tower to stand alone, but they could build another if they please

Taj Mahal, the pyramids of Egypt, are unique I suppose

But when they built you, brother, they broke the mold

Now the world is filled with many wonders under the passing sun

And sometimes something comes along and you know it's for sure the only one

The Mona Lisa, the David, the Sistine Chapel, Jesus, Mary, and Joe

And when they built you, brother, they broke the mold

When they built you, brother, they turned dust into gold

When they built you, brother, they broke the mold

They say you can't take it with you, but I think that they're wrong

'Cause all I know is I woke up this morning, and something big was gone

Gone into that dark ether where you're still young and hard and cold

Just like when they built you, brother, they broke the mold

Now your death is upon us and we'll return your ashes to the earth

And I know you'll take comfort in knowing you've been roundly blessed and cursed

But love is a power greater than death, just like the songs and stories told

And when she built you, brother, she broke the mold

Boy Daddy and the Monkey

These are the days of the middle blanket. To crawl in so you're so deep there's no light, no hint of the outside world that throbs with pain and despair. Just block out the world, block out the light.

But I have responsibilities. So many of you count on me to give you a smile. It's hard, especially when you've spent so much time gathering the pieces of your shattered heart and trying to remember how they go back together. All of this has contributed to the worst case of Foley Block I have had since I ate that wheel of cheese out of Ron Burgundy's refrigerator.

What to do when you've got grieving followers begging for the structure of a few words to either bring a smile or raise a chuckle? I went down to the old sea chest, opened it with my nose, and pulled out Daddy's first dog Barney's diary.

I flipped through, and hopefully this story will do one or the other.

"It was my second summer with the Gays. Life was good. I was the bull of the woods. The toughest bark in the neighborhood. When a Lollipop was in heat I was the one to beat. I was fathering children like Wilt Chamberlin on a cross country book tour. My strong legs, my large butt, and my sharp teeth, made the male dogs quiver. If one of them crossed my path in pursuit of Lollipop stick, I would lay them bleeding in an alley. Nothing upset my world.

Then one day Boy Daddy came home stinking like monkey.

I smelled Boy Daddy as soon as he got out of the car. I walked over to him, having spent an afternoon of lady mounting, in a pleasant mood, when I smelled it. "Get over here!" I whispered because I didn't like to talk in front of his Pop. We went over to my dog house. I made myself a Scotch. Nothing like a little Johnny Walker after a day of love making. "Now Boy Daddy," I said. "I have a very finely attuned nose, and I would swear, even if I know it can't be true, that you smell like monkey."

Boy Daddy smiled. "I just my picture taken with a monkey," he said.

I sighed, lay down, put my paws over my eyes. I couldn't look at him. But I could still smell the stank of monkey. "Why did you have a picture taken with a monkey?" I asked.

Boy Daddy explained that he was spending the afternoon at the newspaper where his father was editor. At the end of the day, after everyone had gone home, a man came in the newsroom walking with a monkey. Boy Daddy, like all boys, are fascinated with monkeys. I don't know why. I think they are vile and disgusting creatures who throw their own excrement instead of dining on it like civilized animals. He went over to the monkey, while the man explained that he was with a small circus that had pitched tents in town, and they were looking for someone to take a picture with the monkey for publicity.

This was during a magical time called the '70's, when no one spade or neutered their dogs, allowed them to run around freely, made them sleep outside on something called wood chips, thought Jack's pretending to be an overly effeminate homosexual on Three's Company was the height of humor, stayed home Tuesday nights to watch Barnaby Jones, smoked in restaurants, bought Emerson, Lake and Palmer records, drank a lot, drove home, were helped by police officers if they couldn't make it, and allowed their kids to have their pictures taken with monkeys if it would sell a few newspapers (they also read something called newspapers, then used them for us dogs to pee on and caged birds to poop on.)

So Boy Daddy, his Pop, the man and the monkey went downstairs to the press room. They got the photographer Emmett, (in the 70s men were named Emmett, wore striped suits and fat, bright ties), put Boy Daddy in a chair and then put the monkey on his lap. They took the monkey's right arm and put it around Boy Daddy's neck, and Boy Daddy grabbed the monkey's hand with his left hand. "Now make sure you don't jerk the monkeys arm or move suddenly" the man said.

"Why shouldn't he do that?" Pop asked.

"Last week the little monkey ripped a kid's arm off when he moved suddenly, and a week before a kid got his ear bit off."

So Boy Daddy sat as still as he had ever sat before. And drunk Emmett (did I mention drinking on the job was another fun part of the '70's) slowly snapped pictures while the monkey decided how good Boy Daddy's ear would taste.

When they were done the monkey climbed down and Boy Daddy asked why he didn't bite him. :"I don't like Portugese food," the monkey said then walked off with the man.

I put my paw on Boy Daddy despite the monkey stank. I told him that while he loved his Pop, sometimes Pops don't make the best decision, and made him promise me that he would never pose with another monkey again, and to keep away from that guy Emmett because he gave me the creeps.

I then told Boy Daddy he would have to take a bath. He told me he was going to take a shower but I was sure that wouldn't cure it. I told him to remove his clothes. He did. (It was the 70's: people were naked often in the 70's.) I went in the shed and got the steel tub that I got my twice yearly bath in, and the heavy soap, dragged over the hose, filled the tub, had him sit in it, poured in the heavy soap, and with my teeth and paws scrubbed off the monkey stank as best I could. When I was done I buried his clothes in the back yard.

From that day, until I leaped to the Bridge, I do not believe Daddy saw or touched any monkeys. I would have known even when I got older and my smeller got worse. You can't miss monkey stank. I don't think he did after I went to the bridge either. Being stripped naked and roughly washed in a cold tub by a big black mutt helps kids learn lessons.

This is the end of my diary post about the monkey. I'm off leash again. God I love the 70's. Going to get me some strange.