Our new blog layout

We are posting this to give big smoochy kisses to two of our very best friends, Kolchak’s and Felix’s Mom Aunt Jodi, and Zoe Boe’s Mom Aunt Connie, who did all the work in setting up our new blog:  Small Tales - The Adventures of Two Tiny Terriorists.  We named it Small Tales because our tales are small, as are our tails, and some of them may not quite be true.  And all of those who know us would agree we are Tiny Terriorists. 


The idea of doing the blog was Aunt Jodi’s.  She is a big fan of our blog.  Not as big a fan as George Clooney, but who are we to name drop?   She said that she had some ideas to make our blog more attractive for humans to read.  We asked her if it would raise the price of kibble, she said no, and we told her than what did we care?


First she contacted Zoe Boe’s Mom Aunt Connie.  She has done so many wonderful pictures of us there is a wall in our house devoted just to her art work.  Here is an example of Pocket and I with Zoe and Tanner Bub.

She did the pictures that are on our banner and they capture my eternal happiness and Pocket’s eternal confusion perfectly.


Then she asked us a bunch of questions about how we wanted the blog set up.  We told Aunt Jodi what we liked but really we were more like “I don’t know, whatever you think,” because she has such great taste.  One of our earlier versions had paw prints on the boarders but whenever Mommy looked at it she tried to clean the screen so we had to eliminate that.


We also told her that we wanted to be recognized as much as a comedy blog as a dog blog.  She asked us for examples of funny blogs.  The best we could think of were Smoochy and Tommy Tunes.  Frankly, humans aren’t that funny.  We decided it was best just to keep it with the emphasis on funny dogs and not morose humans.


For Aunt Jodi to do all the wonderful work we needed done on the blog we had to give her our password.  Pocket and I are very protective of our passwords.  We have been trained never to tell anyone that Bosco is our password.  No matter what we can never say Bosco.  And here Aunt Jodi wanted us to tell her that Bosco was our password to our g-mail account.


But those Gooogle guys, they are on the ball.  Even with the password (Bosco) they didn’t allow her access to our account.  Because she is a Canadian.  Thank the Heavenly Dogs Google is making sure the Canadians cannot access our account.  We all know of the damage done by the Canadian terrorist group EyKinda


We had to send her some answers to our secret questions and she was able to get on our site and get to work.  I don’t know why a human would be so kind as to do so much work on our site but we sure are thankful.  She somehow made our bland site look fresh and new and we will always owe her a debt of gratitude.


So thank you Aunt Jodi, and Aunt Connie, and everyone who reads our blogs and for making us look more talented than we are.  You’re the best.    

TWIB Notes: This Week in Blogging

Kol's Notes has a great way for us to remember the pups we have lost

Ashley Hill Owen writes another heartbreaking story of love, loss, and redemption in her Lucky Dog Blog .

When you are done with that blog continue on to her blog about a dog named Lucky. And if you like to contribute to the Lucky Dog Rescue click here.

Carny Dog shows us what happens when dogs laugh.

After lots of searching on the streets of Brazil the Dogs of Brazil blog reports the finding a the missing little white dog.

Life With dogs gives you tips on what to do if your are confronted by predators while walking.  It does not include my first choice, run like hell.

Minnie and Mack tell how they survived the great quake of 2011.

The No Dog About It blog recounts a dog parents worse nightmare.

Life With Dogs reports about the fate of Hawkeye, the military dog who became a You Tube star when he would not leave the side of his master's coffin.

Having had PTSD become a huge factor in our lives, and seeing how dogs can help, this blog from Mutterings and Things hit home for us.

From the files of Pocket Dog Dog Detective: The curious case of Jodi Chick

My name is Pocket Dog.  I make my living on the mean, filthy streets of our Elderly modular home park.  Everybody here knows me as a dog who can get things done.  I ask them not to question my means,  my methods.  I'm old school, a pack of butts strapped to one leg, a Roscoe on the other, a denim diaper all I need to cover my butt.  I work alone except for my office girl Foley.  She's an old lollipop but she's quick on her paws and knows when to keep her tongue in her mouth.  Dames like her are hard to find in this biz.  She's good on one of those fancy new typewriter things, me?  got no use for them gadgets.  Carry all my knowledge under my fedora. 

The other night Foley put on a pot of Joe and went back to working that fancy typewriter when she stumbled across a case for Pocket Dog Dog Detective.  Two of our friends Kolchak and Felix were again given a tip of the hat for their skills at spinning a tale.  To accept the kudos they had to write about unknown secrets, something that always peeks the curiosity of Pocket Dog Dog Detective.  One of these unknown secrets was their Mom, a dame named Jodi Chick, or a chick named Jodi Dame, (got to stop chewing my pencils down to nubs) was once an actress and a singer.   I told Foley to ask the Dame her real name.   But the chick balked like a chicken on her last egg.  She said we would never be able to find the name she used when she was a working girl.  Well no one throws down the gauntlet of a challenge at the paws of Pocket Dog Dog Detective without me nosing it under something where I will forget where it was and will be forced to use some of my simollions to hire a dick to track it down. 

I reached out to my friends Koli and Felix asking them to spill the beans on their Mom's identity.  But they won't open their clams for nothing but their Mommy's yummy treats.   I told them that trying to keep a secret from Pocket Dog Dog Detective was like trying to sneak a doughnut by Daddy at breakfast time, sooner or later, you're going to end up with the hole.

I went back to my office stumped like a tree attacked by an obsessive compulsive rabid beaver.  Foley came in, freshly groomed, smelling like the valley in the early morning after you spent the night staking out a nut hoarding squirrel.  She reminded me we lived in a village of old timers who have nothing better to do then stare at the boob tube all hours and do something called crochet.  I had her look up that Humanbook site, the best thing to happen to a dog detective since kibble flavored smokes.  She printed me up a picture of the Chick in question and I hit the hard streets of prune town looking for some answers.

I scratched at the door, and when Mr or Mrs John Q Grandma shuffled to the door I gave them the same spiel.  I was looking for a child actress.  My Mommy had to have her left toe nail replaced and she was a donor.  It was a hard story but in these parts you can't show up at folks' door with nothing but muffins and a smile, you got to bring out the hard times stick whittled from a 1,000 broken dreams. 

Some of these old timers have been sucking oxygen so long they wouldn't recognize a photo of their own kin.  Others refused to answer the door living in fear of what goes on the in hard streets at the end of the perfectly manicured lawn.  Others opened the door, barely let me get a word out, and then ran out the back screaming "talking dog!"  But one lady looked at the photo, and handed back to me quickly, saying she didn't know nothing.  Barely looking at a photo and saying you don't know nothing is a sure sign of someone with something to hide.  And I don't mean the burned pie behind the toaster oven either.  I scratched on her door hard and she came back.

I told her you could never be too careful walking the hard streets here.  You're walking down to get the mail and the next thing you know your in the back of a van with a bunch of Mexicans headed west to pick fruit.  It never hurts to have a little Yorkie watching your back.

The old dame considered this then came back and stuck a post it note to my tail.  I chased that damn thing for 20 minutes before I finally barked to my short legged assistant for help.  I told her I had a tail on a good lead and needed her help tracking it down.  When Foley arrived I asked her to get the note, and, for being so prompt I told her she could take a whiff of my butt if she so choose, but she's a high class dame and passed on the rosy experience.

Foley got the note and pawed it to me.  Curse the damn thing it was in that foolish fancy typewriter scrawl that Pocket Dog Dog Detective can't 'cipher worth a dusty raw hide bone.  But Foley said she just needed to paw it into the fancy typewrite and we would have our answer.

I followed behind her because she's the kind of lollipop where the view is best from behind.  She then entered the code into the computer and the video came on the screen.  And I had solved the case of a chick named Jodi.

Now you can see what Jodi Chick did before she became a Chick and a dog blogger and loving Mom.  And remember no matter how hard the case you can count on Pocket Dog Private Dog.

Here she is:  Let's Go to the Mall starring Jodi Chick

Great googa-booga balls we got a gift from Koly and Felix

Oh my gosh! Oh my gosh! Oh my gosh! (Crunch, crunch, crunch) Oh, excuse me, these are so good,

Guess what? Guess what? Guess what? We got a package from Kolchak and Felix today. We were so exited Pocket peed herself a little (OK she does that when the sun comes up but still).

Mommy opened the package and it was a beautiful tin with all these doggies on it. "Open the tin, open the tin, open the tin, open the tin!" we said. Sometimes I think Mommy hears our excited words as "bark, bark, bark, bark, bark" but we can't concern ourselves with that.

Then Mommy slooooowwwly opened the tin because she does things like that sloooowwwwly because she doesn't want to break a nail and oh for God's sake woman open the tin!

She got it open, and she pulled out, in a clear plastic bag, the most wonderful thing I have ever seen. A bag of wonderful, crunchy, tasty, heavenly, great googa ooga balls.

Oh we wanted them right away. We were up on our back legs walking around, begging.

But the balls were in a plastic bag, and the bag had a twist on it, and Mommy had to untwist it: sloooowwwwly. Mommy's worst game is Twister, she would be the first out of a twist dance contest, she can't order a drink with a twist of lemon: oh the hell with the wordplay woman open the bag!

Finally she got the twist off. Then she took two great googa ooga balls from the bag and handed them to us. I opened my mouth, and despite my bad teeth (a blog which is forthcoming but keeps getting interrupted by things like great googa ooga bals), I put the whole ball in my mouth (there is nothing funny written here, sicko!) and bit down.

Oh my gosh. Not since before someone snatched away my ovaries have I sensed such joy. It was crunchy, it was peanut buttery, it was very refreshing. Great googs ooga balls are the greatest thing in the world. I love my Mom but she can't make treats like this, or open a jar of peanut butter.

So my biggest, largest, most heartfelt, thank you to Kolchak and Felix and their wonderful Mom. Mommy said that we can only have a couple a day because they are special but we're going to try to weasel in some more.

So now it's time to go back to our great googa ooga balls. (Crunch, crunch, yum, yum, lick, lick, cruch.)

So good, so good, so good.