The Sounds of Spring (It is Mostly Pocket Barking)

It is now May in our sleepy village.  Winter is quiet here.  There are no children, only adults who have traveled far on life’s road and have settled for a simpler, slower life.  Foley called them the prune people:  Their diets consisting of food to keep the plumbing moving and their skin shriveled by age.  I call them the zombies, as they walk by each day, aimlessly, searching for what I do not know.  

Winter muffles all sound, except for the occasional snow blower; but spring brings the frogs singing their love songs, the constant sound of lawn mowers humming somewhere in the distance, and finally the sound of a Pocket dog roaming her territory again.

Yes, I am out, I am loud, and I am loving it.

I bark at everything.  Zombies walking (they may give me attention), Zombies walking dogs (I half want them to play with me, and half want them out of my neighborhood), Zombies working in their yards, dogs tied up in their yard (to say hi to the dogs and to berate their parents for leaving their dogs tied to a tree) and to anything new in the area (I remember how everything was on my last walk and bark if something new is there.)

My parents try to quiet me.  They have talked to trainers who recommended noise to distract me.  They tried a spray bottle that made a noise.  I didn’t hear it.  When I bark the sound in my head is very loud.  Then they tried to get my attention with a water bottle.  I appreciated being cooled if in the middle of my walk.   Another trainer said to use a special command that is not used at any other time.  My parents chose “Un-huh.”  I went bark, bark, bark, they went “un-huh, un-huh, un-huh” until we turned into our own rhythm section “Bark, un-huh, bark, un-huh, un-huh, un-huh, bark.”  They have even tried a soft kick on the butt which stops me for a second, to bark at the foot, but I am right back to it.  (Don’t worry, it is a gentle kick, if it were hard I would write a ten blog series about being suffering from dog abuse).

I am not the only family member who causes unrest in the development when we walk.  Daddy has declared war on poopie bags.  “Why won’t these damn bag separate?  What are they glued together?  I can’t even find the perforation.  Finally, I found it.  Christ, which end is the opening?  The damn thing won’t open!  What am I just supposed to pick it up using the side of the bag?  I hate this thing?”  

“Bark, bark, bark.”

“Un-huh, un-huh, un-huh.”

I am sure there are a lot of complaints at the manager’s office.

I hope when we are asked to leave because of all the noise we make our next neighborhood is this nice.

Now I need to get back to my rounds.

Bark, bark, bark, bark.

Call Pocket the Midwife

When I was a young dog, living in Foley’s shadow, trying to measure up to my famous sister, the attorney, I made claims that I was a doctor.  I even placed ads on animal social networking sites.  I soon learned the only reason Foley let me practice medicine was that she was cleaning up on malpractice suits.  I immediately took down all the ads and stopped my medical career.

At least I thought I took down all the ads.  I had advertised on individual zoo sites about being a midwife.  There, it remained without response, until last weekend.

I got a message from April the giraffe, who needed a midwife.  I tried telling her I was no longer practicing but have you ever tried to reason with a giraffe in the midst of a two-month long labor?

I dug out Foley’s codes to download herself through the Internet tubes, and I punched them into the computer, then jumped on the keyboard, and was transported to April’s exhibit.

She was walking around in tremendous pain.  “Midwife Pocket, I am tired of being pregnant, tell me what to do.”

I looked up at the giant beast.  I had to keep darting around because one misstep by her would squish me.  I thought about all the pregnancy scenes I saw on television.  “Breath like this,” I said. “Woo woo woo woo woo woo woo woo.”

She breathed “woo woo woo woo woo woo woo woo.”

“Let me check your progress,” I said.  I ducked under April and looked up.  My, that was a big opening.  
Suddenly a baby giraffe stuck it’s head out and said “Helllooooo!” then popped back inside.

“Hey you, baby giraffe!” I yelled.  “You get back out here right now.”

The baby stayed inside and said, “Sorry, no one is home, come back later!”

I almost got squashed by a giant hoof.  “Baby giraffe!” I yelled. “You need to come out, it’s your birthday.”

“My birthday!” it yelled.  “Then he fell right out to take part in his birthday party.”

After months of preparing for this birth you would think the zoo would have put a net under April to catch her offspring, but no, it just fell out, right on top of good, old, Pocket   The President may think he is doing damage by dropping the mother of all bombs but he should really be dropping the sons of mother giraffes because when those land on you they mess you up!

Once a baby is born there is no use for a midwife.  I slipped over to the computer and uploaded myself back home.

Then I made sure all posts about me being a doctor was erased from the Web.

But this was a high-profile pregnancy and I wouldn’t be surprised if, after my success, Pocket the midwife is called upon again.

Wordless Wednesday

Pocket and the Big Bangs

Two weeks ago I tried to be brave when one man came to do small jobs on the outside of the house.  But what would I do when a whole team of men arrived?

Wednesday night Daddy took me aside and told me that there were men coming to the house, it would be loud, noisy and scary, and I had to be brave for Mommy

On Thursday morning I was snuggled in bed.  Then the noise began.  It sounded like an oliphant eating the house.  I climbed on top of Daddy’s head and began barking.  He grabbed me and took me outside to do my business.   There were so many men there and they were ripping our little house apart.  I let out a couple of small barks of protest but I just wanted to get back in bed.  I snuggled with Mommy while Daddy took River on then he got back in bed.  He laid on his back, held me with the crook of his arm, and we stayed that way for most of the morning.  The shades were drawn, the lights were off, and we couldn’t see what was happening which kept me calmer.

When we got up River and I ran to the window and barked at the men who her ripping, sawing, hammering and yelling to one another.  But I was brave.  I ate all my food and I produced good poops  When Daddy went to work I stayed with Mommy and protected her.  I even stayed brave when they worked after dark.  My Mom needed protecting and I was just the dog to do it.  

Friday they woke us up again.   It was a repeat of Thursday.  Happily I was still eating and not producing my nervous loose poops.  Finally the men picked up all their work, cleaned everything, and we had new siding and shutters.  Mommy promised me no more men working, no more banging, no more noises.  Both she and Daddy were very proud of how I handled the situation.  I was still eating and producing good poops.

On Saturday Mommy’s Grandbaby Megan came for the night.  She is wonderful and we love her very much.  But sometimes I get overly excited when she comes over and that excitement leads to me not eating and bad poops.  But not this time.  Again I handled everything like a champ.  By Sunday our lives were back to normal.

Sure I was nervous, and excited, but I kept eating and continually swallowed all that anxiety until Monday when it exploded from my mouth and out my butt.  The tummy problems I had kept at bay for four days took over.  I had an unsettled few days not wanting to eat my breakfast and being finicky about eating supper.

I am back to normal now, eating and doing my business with no issues.  I did try my hardest to be brave and not to have bad poops.  Almost made it.  But it’s like Foley used to tell me:  When a turkey flies you can’t blame it when it only stays up a few seconds.  

Wordless Wednesday

I am A Monkey by Pocket Dog

I don’t know how or when it happened but apparently I am a monkey.  

It’s not that I act, or look, like a monkey:  I don’t throw my feces; I don’t swing on trees; I don’t walk on two legs but I am a monkey.

I don’t know why River isn’t the monkey.  She kind of looks like one.  She dances around on two feet when she is excited or wants food.  She runs when Mommy offers bananas.  I usually  turn them down when offered.  If they are on my dinner plate I will eat them but that is just to be polite.

But one day, out of the blue, Mommy looked at me and said “How are you today monkey?”

I’m a dog.  No matter what my Mommy says I am going to wag my tail.  Well there was something about the way my tail wagged, and my smile, that made Mommy say “You like the name monkey?  Are you a monkey?” and again, simply because of the voice, I got on my back legs and put my paws on her legs.  “You are my little monkey!” Mommy said.

I knew right then I had to put a stop to this.  I did not want to be a monkey.  I was determined if Mommy called the name Monkey I would not run.  I was lying on the couch, nice and snuggled up, when I heard Mommy say “Where’s my little monkey?” and while my brain said stay my legs betrayed me, carrying me into the kitchen, and my eyes said “Your little monkey is right here!”

And now I am a monkey.  Mommy looks down and says “How are you monkey” and my darn tails starts wagging and my eyes light up.

It was hopeless from the start.  If your Mommy calls you lampshade and she does it in a sweet voice you’re a lampshade.  So I guess Monkey isn’t too bad.

At least I’m not a River.  

. 

Wordles Wednesday

Wordless Wednesday

Pocket is Afraid She Will be Replaced By a Robot

I am nervous by nature: I worry about my parents when they are gone; I worry about them when they cough or wince; I worry when there are loud noises, activity outside, and critters in my yard.  Now I have something new to be worried about.  I am in danger of being replaced by a robot.  

An Australian researcher Jean-Loup Rault suggests that human’s insistence on over breeding is going to create too many people which won’t leave room for us dogs and we are going to be replaced by robotic dogs.

Oh man, I don’t want to be replaced by a robot.  I have put in years of work to gain my Mom’s trust and somewhere in a laboratory is tin on wheels programed to know everything it took me years to learn.  And it doesn’t pee or poop either.  Oh it might leak some motor oil now and then but no where near as much as I leak.

This report says that humans interact with robotic pets in the same way that they interact with real ones.  Oh my gosh:  Who would want a troubling little thing like me when they get the same thing from a robot who doesn’t come loaded with the problems I have?  

Mommy and Daddy both assured me that they would never take a robotic dog over me:  They want the love and devotion only a real dog can provide.  But I have to watch my step.  When I get yelled at for barking, or leash pulling, or some other infraction how tempting is it going to be for my parents to prefer a dog who can be quieted by the removal of batteries?

Having watched humans interact, and see how some of their children forget about them one they have grown, wouldn’t people be better off with robot humans than robot dogs?  The problem with the world isn’t humans not getting along with dogs but humans not getting along with other humans.

I wouldn’t want a robot parent myself but if they had warm laps, walked well and knew how to feed on schedule I might be persuaded (but not now, no robots will ever replace Mom and Dad.)

Humans making robots to replace them.  What can go wrong?

Wordless Wednesday

The Thing Under the House Exposed

I found out what was living under my house, and subsequently found out why our heat was sporadically working,and of course it was all Foley’s doing.

Our heat stopped working one day, and while the calendar says spring, it is still quite cold.  River and I were shivering in the bedroom when we heard paw falls, and smelled something quite odiforous.  We ran to the vent and yelled out “who dares enter the home beneath two scary dogs of such statute.”  (I was exaggerating but I believe River was quite serious.)  

“It is I, Puxatony Phil!” a voice called out from beneath the floorboards.

“Puxatony Phil!” I said shocked.  “What are you doing here?”

“I needed a break from the constant tourism,” he said.  “People pestering me, looking up my hole.  Foley stopped by and told me you had some heat issues.  I agreed to live under your house, get away from all the curiosity seekers, and get back into shape by running on the wheel that makes your heat work.  Next year when they pull me out of the hole I don’t want them talking about six more weeks of winter.  I want them talking about how wonderful I look in spanx.”

I thought it was rather late in the year to lose weight by keeping our heat going but Phil assured me that the cold air would continue, and who was I to argue, he is Punxsutawney Phil.  In fact he told me that six is the highest amount of upcoming weeks of winter he can predict, but given his druthers, he would have picked 12.

The next week was cold, and when I peered down the grate I saw Phil running as hard as he could to keep the heat working.  On Friday night there was a big bang under the house.  It was dark and I could not be sure, but I thought I saw Phil slinking away in the night, abandoning his quest to slim down and leaving us huddled around one small space heater for warmth until a new heating unit can be installed.

If any of our human friends are driving between southeastern Massachusetts and western Pennsylvania and see a plump rodent waddling down the road you have our permission to run the fast bastard over.

Ask Aunt Foley: Backtallk

Dear Aunt Foley:   I was enjoying Hobo Hudsons’ new book Bioterroisim Seized the Sea (here is a link if you have not read it.)  Hobo was telling the tale of his trying to get to you to obtain your Marauders’ Map of the Internet when he made a comment that he believes I have a crush on him.  I became very concerned.  While I admire Hobo and look up to him as a wonderful big brother I do not have a crush on him.  He is a married man for Bridge’s sake!  I contacted his wife Lily who told me she did not believe I had a crush but this comment made me very worried, I do not want to be thought of as a dog house wrecker.  As you know I have a nervous stomach and have been spraying out my poos ever since I read this.  Can I sue Hobo for pain and suffering and slander?  Pocket Dog.

Dear Pocket:  As you know Hobo is always one step ahead of all other dogs.  He had his Mom list herself as the author who chronicled his adventures thwarting bioterrorism on the high seas.  He anticipated that someone would decide to sue and insured they would sue his Mom so his interests would be protected.  You cannot sue because of your upset tummy.  Everything (the sudden fluttering of a bird’s wing, the phone ringing, rain) brings on digestion issues.  Also, having slept next to you for six years I can state that you do not have a case because you often mumbled “Hobo” in your sleep.  

Dear Aunt Foley:  You know that is not true.  I wear a mouthguard at night because I grind my teeth.  How could I mumble Hobo’s name with a mouth guard between my teeth.

Dear Pocket:  Excuse me Pocket but this is how it works.  You ask Aunt Foley a question, she answers it, and you accept the answer.  You don’t write back!  Also that wasn’t a mouth guard, that was a squeaker you pulled out of a toy.

Dear Aunt Foley:  I lived my entire life with you twisting things around to make you look good and I am not going to have both you and River doing it.

Dear Pocket:  I never did that you are lying.

Dear Aunt Foley:  I am not lying:  Mom!

Dear Pocket:  Mom!

 

Wordess Wednesdy

Wordless Wednesday

Wordless Wednesday

Pocket's Book Tour

            Unlike Foley, who, when compared with Kanye West, would be called the one with the inflated sense of self-worth, I am a private dog, but when our book sold dozens of copies, and was briefly included in Amazon’s top million books, one of us had to go on a publicity tour, and, since Foley is currently booked on the main stage at Otis Campbell’s ice cream shop for eternity, that task fell into my small lap.  I would like to include some of the highlights:

            Good Morning America:  Way too early in the morning America.  I spent the entire interview cuddled on George Stephanopoulos’s lap.

            The Today Show:  My book agent thought another morning shows was a bad idea so he booked me for the last segment with Kathie Lee.  Things started poorly when I thought Hoda was her dog and went downhill when I drank their wine and puked on Hoda. 

            Live with Kelly and Michael:   No one told me there was going to be a giant.  I am freaked out by giants.  I thought I saw a kibble on his tongue and I tried to climb through the gap in his teeth to get it.  I got stuck and they needed the jaws of life to get me out of the giant’s jaws.

            The Daily Show:  Mr. Stewart was very nice.  He came to see me in my dressing room.  He asked me how much I worked a week and I said a couple of hours. Mostly I sleep and eat.  He said that sounded good to him and he quit the show.  Afterwards my twitter feed got filled up with death threats.

            Late Night with David Letterman:  He insisted I do a stupid pet trick.  I became flustered and peed on his floor.  He watched me, said “what the hell I’m out of here,” and peed next to me.

            Tonight Show with Jimmy Fallon:  Good news!  I beat him in beer pong.  Bad news!  I peed all over the ping pong table.  Now some of our book profits are going to buy the Roots a new table tennis set.

            Late Night with Seth Myers:  Of course I am sure you have heard of the poop incident.  Now Triumph the Insult comic thinks I am trying to steal his act.  It made the Puppy Conan segment look like a little dribble on the floor.

            After my disaster on Seth Myers my agent decided no more TV for me and we tumbled out of the top million sellers, but that’s OK.  We did it so we would have memories of our friends and the stories of our lives would be transcribed forever.  Well, Foley did it for fame but  she was pretty famous to begin with.

            So back to the bed and the recliner for me.  Hopefully River will go on our next publicity tour.  How much trouble could she cause?

            Maybe you should all up your insurance beforehand. 

For the further adventures of Pocket Dog click HERE

Wordless Wednesday

Wordless Wednesday

Will I Ever Get Outside Again by Pocket

          I used to go outside.  Honest:  I did.  There are even pictures on this site somewhere of me outside.  But I am afraid I am never going outside again.

          Last week it snowed so much I buried myself under the covers and didn’t come out for two days.  This week it snowed again and now we are surrounded by snow. 

          I look out my window and I don’t even have to look down to see snow.  I could jump out the window and land on the snow and go on a walk if I wanted to (but I am afraid of sinking.) 

          I don’t know where all this snow is going to go.  Mommy says in six or seven weeks we will be back outside preparing the gardens.  But I don’t know how that is going to happen.  That is an awful lot of snow to move.

          The closest I come to the outside is the porch where my pee pad is.  I want to look outside to see all my small animal friends but the windows are frosted over.  River never makes it that far.  She has pee pads in the hall and a pee couch in the living room.

          Where are my bird friends?   Are they warm and safe?  And all my little friends who live under ground?  How are they staying safe and are their nuts warm?  These are the questions that keep me up at night.

          Mommy still swears that we will be back in our yard in less than a couple of months.  I think she’s nuts.

          Hey Hobo, buy stock in pee pads.

If you want to further follow the adventures of Small Tales click HERE

Pocket versus the snow monsters

          I am not sure what happened….but then again I seldom do.

          Monday night I could sense something bad was happening, both through my super Yorkie sense and the way my humans were acting. 

          Then the wind started.  I hate wind.  It whips and howls like monsters.  Mommy tells me don’t worry but I know could be monsters.  What better time for monsters to attack?

          We all climbed in bed to sleep together.  I am safe there.  The monsters can’t get me when I am under the covers because they can’t attack what they can’t see.  I made sure I stayed next to Mommy so she wasn’t taken by the monsters either.

          Daddy got up in the morning.  My super Yorkie senses picked up that he was aggravated.  He was saying words not heard in the Bible, going in and out, banging things.  I was sitting on the blanket shaking.  He came back in the bedroom and said he got the heat working after digging out our outside unit.  I have such a smart Daddy.

          A little while later the heat shut off.  Daddy’s not too smart.

          I didn’t like Tuesday at all.  It was cold.  There was this one weird black box that gave off heat called a space heater.  Mommy and Daddy put on all sorts of clothes and got under blankets.  And my Yorkie senses was picking up shared tension.  But as long as I was touching one of my humans I was safe.  This situation even affected River who peed on the couch which is strange because she usually pees on Mommy’s chair.

          We went to bed with all the covers over us and I was nice and snuggly.  The wind had stopped so there were no monsters.  But then, early in the morning, Daddy got out of bed in the 40 degree house.  I could hear him outside, scraping, slamming doors, huffing and puffing.  The monsters must be back and he was fighting them off

          Daddy wanted to let Mommy sleep while he slayed the monsters but she couldn’t because I was sitting on her head trembling.  Two and a half hours later Daddy came back in, cold, wet, and tired.  He had killed the monster, which he called the “Driveway” by shoveling it.

          Daddy then got in the warm bed again.  I was still very unsettled, listening to make sure that the monsters were truly dead.  Then I laid down next to Daddy under the covers, and he put his arm around me and I let out a big sigh, finally safe and at peace and together we fell asleep.

          The house was still cold when we awoke.   Two men showed up, who we weren’t allowed to play with, and the heat was turned on again.  Once they were gone I settled down on a human lap and my Yorkie senses quieted.

          I hope for the rest of the winter the heat stays on and the monsters stay away. 

          My little nerves can’t take anymore.

For more Pocket and Foley adventures click here