River Song and the Big Bed

Being a small dog has many advantages.  One of them is being able to sleep comfortably in the big bed at night.  If I want to snuggle with my parents, I can, but if I get tired of their constant twitching, or their overly excessive body heat, I can move to the end of the bed and sleep independently.

Sometimes I love to snuggle in bed, but it has to be on my terms.  I walk up the mattress to where my parents are sleeping and then launch myself like a 14-pound cannonball against their backs.  They wake up momentarily.  The comfort of my body lulls them back to sleep.  But if I am asleep and one them rolls over then snuggles next to me I stand up, stare at them, give them my most disgusted look, and reposition myself.

I don’t mind sharing the bed with my parents, but Pocket can be a bother. A couple of weeks ago I got a new harness with a plunging neckline.  It is very sexy.  Pocket was still wearing her old tag ring which was slightly open because of the number of times her notifications have changed.  That night Pocket slept too close to me, and her ring caught on my harness.  I was stuck next to her for the whole evening.  Hideous!

Sometimes sleeping in the bed baffles me.  I like getting under the covers, but I can’t do that because I am standing on top of the blankets and when I try to go under something is weighing everything down.  My parents have tried to show me how to step off the blankets and go under the covers, but I don’t understand.  Stupid covers!

Of course, with everyone moving and thrashing sleep gets disturbed and when that happens to me, I lead with barks and bites.  Pocket is usually my target.  My parents awaken and reach blindly to grab and separate else.  One night, one of us, gave Daddy a good bite on the thumb.  Pocket says it wasn’t her because she doesn’t have the jaw strength.  Now that is the definition of a weak excuse.

Occasionally a dingleberry turns up in the bed.  We try to convince our parents it is a sign of a Foley dream date.  While it is the type of thing, Foley would do I don’t think we have our parents convinced. They run from the bed like there was an angry lobster under the covers.  I say dingleberries happen.

I do love the bed.  I hate getting out of it, even to eat.  I would spend all day three if I could.  I would make an outstanding invalid.

If anyone wants a dog to sleep with, let me know.  I have lots of experience, and I am great in bed.

Or so I have been told.

Wordless Wednesday

Beat This Caption

And when I press here it goes "SQUEAK"

Monday Question

if you wrote an autobiography what would the name be?

Pocket:  Poops and Shakes.  The Story of a Nervous Little Dog


River Song:  Pleasure Me With Belly Scratchers;  The LIfe of a Spoiled dog

Abigail and Hollly are our February 4, 2018 Pups of the Week

I always have a special place in my heart for a Yorkie mix, even those I don’t know well.  While I have many friends who knew and loved Abigail the Munchkin I was just making her acquaintance when she was called the to Bridge leaving her broken hearted Mom behind.

Abigail was met by her brother Bertie who preceded her to the Bridge.  Their union was remarkable to see.  Abigail ran with a joy she had not shown in years when she saw her brother.   They met and Bertie, the larger of the two dogs, rolled on his back, and Abigail ran around nipping at him.  Then they stood and joyfully began to chase each other’s tails.  It was all we could do to get them separated so Abigail could begin the procedure of becoming an angel.

Abigail, in the mortal world, was the perfect combination of her litter parents, part Yorkie and part Jack Russell.  She lived in what we Yorkies call the old country, England, where she was happy to play the role of the lovable clown.  In the summer she loved playing in the garden  When winter came to her little town she did not act like some prissy lapdog.  She dug into the snow nose first and rejoiced in the wet and cold.  She met every day of her mortal life with a sense of adventure, as she does at the Bridge.  

She loved to snack on her Mom’s ice cream and didn’t mind getting dressed up in silly costumes so her mom could immortalize her in pictures.  Halloween and Christmas were two of their favorite holidays, and Abigail posed for dozens of photos.   She was a beautiful muse for her artistic mom.

Abigail, in both the mortal and immortal worlds, is a terrier after my own heart.  She shares my two greatest interests:  Eating and sleeping.  Despite being half Jack, Russell Abigail has proven to be an original Yorkie because she comes from the motherland of Yorkshire, England close to the River Ouse.  Losing Abigail is even harder on her mom who recently took ill and was nursed back to health by her sweet Abigail.

Now Abigail and Bertie face their biggest challenge.  They have to let their mom know that they are still there for her, and love her very much, without their mom being able to see them or talk to them.  They are trying very hard with dream and ghost visits, but it is hardest for parents to recognize angel visits when they are grieving.  Aunt Sylvia needs some prayers to get past her grief and recognize when her angels appear.

I also greeted Holly from Da Weenies in Florida, our Blogville friends.  Her pack and parents had the privilege to live with Holly for more than seventeen years.  Holly was expected to arrive at the Bridge last year because of liver failure but thanks to prednisone and her strong will she got another year as a mortal dog with her family. 

 Eventually, the affliction that none of us can conquer, old age, forced Holly to leave her pack and parents.

She lost her hearing, her sight, and her legs began to fail.  She still had a hearty appetite, but she lost weight.  Finally, her parents decided her mortal body had given every ounce of devotion it could.  On Holly’s final night with her parents, her Mom stayed up with her feeding her milk bones until she fell asleep in her mom’s arms.  Holly was placed in her bed and Jennie, Holly’s baby sister crawled into bed with you, and they snuggled for one final night.

Holly crossed the Bridge running with her sight and hearing restored and no pain.  She was met by her litter mom Bailey and sister Sarah.  They played and ran like pups.  Holly’s parents wished that she would spend her time at the Bridge running free but like all angels, a lot of Holly’s time will be spent watching over her mom and searching for a way to let her know she is OK until the day arrives that they are all together again.

Tails From Rainbow Bridge: A Visit From Daddy's Boyhood Dog Barney

My Dad’s boyhood dog Barney, a mixed breed with thick, stubby legs, a long, stout body covered with dense black fur, stopped by my cottage this week.    I don’t see much of Barney.  On the mortal side, he was a strictly outdoor dog, except for hot days or cold nights when he settled in the cellar by the stairs, and he continues to enjoy being outside, chasing bunnies filled with stuffing, jumping in the dirty swamp, and exploring every inch of the land beyond Rainbow Bridge.

He brought a stuffed rabbit he caught because he hates to arrive empty-mouthed. He sat with me at my kitchen table but I could tell he was antsy being inside so we went outdoors to the picnic table.  We began to discuss how dog's lives had changed from when he ruled his neighborhood in the 70’s to my ‘never being off leash’ lifestyle at the turn of the century.

“I know you enjoyed the pampered life Foley,” Blake said taking a long drink of water and letting out a loud burp.  “But you missed out.   When my parents got up in the morning, they unleashed me from my run, and when I came home to eat at night, they leashed me again.  I didn’t say what I was doing all day, and they didn’t want to know.  Except for the summer when I got hit by a car and had a collapsed lung, and a few random times when I raised enough of a ruckus in the neighborhood that my roaming was curbed, this was my life.

“The 70’s were a different age.  The food was terrible, a couple of crumbled Gaines burgers was considered a delicacy, my water dish was outside, and if it froze I just accepted my thirst, and no one bothered to spade their dogs.  It was a time of bad food, cold water, and random sex.

“One morning I caught the scent of a girl in heat.  No one could track down a hot chick like me.  There was a house on an adjoining street that was built with two wings on an angle with one point of entry.  There was a fertile female inside.  I banged on the door yelling ‘Open up bitch! This is the woobla goo with the green teeth, let me in!’  She declined.  

When her parents returned home, I refused to allow them entry as I growled and snapped at them.  They went to a store down the street and called the dog officer, who was familiar with my work.  After getting a brief description, the dog officer contacted my parents who drove to the house to pick me up.  When I saw the car, I said ‘Hey honey, my ride is here,’ and then jumped in the vehicle to be chauffeured home.  That got me a month in solitary attached to my leash.

“Another time I was hanging out with your Dad while he was waiting for the school bus.  A randy beagle crossed the yard.  She stopped, our eyes met, she gave me a brief nod, and I mounted her like Sir Edmund Hillary on Everest.  The school bus pulled up with a bunch of innocent middle school children inside, and they saw and me and the lollipop going at it on the front lawn.  I gave the students a big smile that said  ‘someday kids you’ll be having this much fun’ and then swatted the bitch on the butt with my paw as the bus pulled away.

“That was a more valuable lesson than anything those kids learned in school,” Barney said.  He then excused himself, because he could smell the wild in the air and had to answer the call.  I watched him run off into the woods.




I did admire Barney’s freedom, and he always had great stories, but I prefer being a homebody than an outside dog and I also knew, in Barney’s world, I would be the one getting paw swatted in the butt.

Pocket Prefers Pooping Solo

Where was I?  Oh, that’s right.  My favorite blogging subject.  Midnight poops.

I prefer to take my midnight stroll solo.  Daddy is welcome.  Someone has to pick up the poop.  But I would prefer to leave River behind.  She has no patience for anyone’s pooping except her own.

When River doesn’t go with us, she hops over to the kitchen window and peers outside with a sad look on her face.  She forlornly watches as we walk up the street up till we are out of sight.  She stays there until she can see us then she begins to howl.  It is rather pathetic.  Even though she is inside where it is warm and dry, and with Mommy, she is so unhappy.

Most of the time, when she doesn’t go out it is for her own good.  It is either really cold or very wet, two things that she can’t tolerate.  Usually, River anticipates when it is time to go outside and pees on her pads just before Daddy grabs the leashes.  You would think she would be happy not have to partake in accompanying me for the midnight poop of Pocket Dog.

She is fine staying inside when we stay in the yard, but once we turn up the street, she becomes jealous.

In my opinion, taking her with us is worse. Daddy holds our leashes in his right hand keeping his left hand available for poop grabbing.   I need to take a couple of hundred steps before I can entertain the possibility of pooping.  River pees first but then she wants to go back in the house and starts walking in the wrong direction.  I join Daddy in providing enough force to drag the stubborn Griffon up the street.

When I finally reach my poop spot, I begin to spin, spin, spin, spin like a spinning top.  I can spin around thirty times before I pop a squat.  Spin and squat the is my system.

 When River is with me, she can pull me out of my spin, and when that happens, I have to start twirling again.  I have a poop system, it works for me, and I am not changing it for my impatient sister.

Daddy has to hold River’s leash with his free hand until I squat.  Then he lets go of the leash to grab a bag while I am squatting and River begins to walk home.  Have you ever been dragged forward mid evacuation?  It is disruptive, it is painful, and it is inconsiderate.  If River doesn’t  respect my poop system, she should stay home. Certain things are sacred. 

I do hope River’s pulling during my pooping become more of a problem than her sad face in the window when I got out with Daddy at night.


How much is that doggy in the window?  Not enough to interrupt a good