Foley, River and Pocket Attempt to Blow Up all the Fireworks

 

For all dogs, but especially those sons and daughters of Yorkshire, England, the Fourth of July is the worst night of the year. I know humans complain that we dogs make noise, but no creature on Earth raises an annoying cacophony than an American celebrating its independence. While we can adjust to the fireworks sponsored by local municipalities, which are usually short, it is the illegal backyard displays that last all night and seem to be occurring on every block that frightens us and can disrupt the digestion of our precious bodily fluids.  

I hoped to take legal measures to stop this terrible practice during the past year, but battling COVID and the election dominated lawmakers’ schedules last year.

I vow to redouble my efforts to end the practice in 2022.

But, that did not solve the most pressing problem:  To wit - stopping backyard fireworks this year so dogs can have a peaceful night. For that, I had to rely on my sister's Pocket and River Song and the secret codes I procured that allow dogs to upload themselves anywhere in the world by typing in a URL, then sitting on the mouse.

Thanks to top-notch angel scouting, we discovered that all fireworks before they are distributed are kept in a large warehouse in Raliegh, North Carolina.  My sisters would have to go there and destroy the fireworks before they were distributed.

    I gave Pocket the codes because River simply cannot be trusted with them.  Last month, when the house was quiet, and the humans were asleep, my sisters bravely uploaded themselves inside the factory where I awaited them as a ghost.  It was a simple plan:  Fireworks don’t work when they are wet.  

While my sisters could not transport water over the Internet, the Lord gave them their own irrigation system.  Pocket pees all the time; while River is a less frequent urinator, she can fill an entire pad with one piss.  

Pocket and I once had the adventure to help a skunk escape from a dumpster covered in snow.  

She drank bowls of water and then peed on the snow until it melted.  And her bladder is even weaker now. I had not told Pocket of the fireworks plan since she usually responded that my brilliant schemes were a “bad idea.” But, once my sisters were downloaded in the warehouse, I told them that a peaceful Independence Day for our species depended on them peeing.  River, who is willing to put anything in her mouth, wagged her stubby tail and frowned in joy; Pocket whined “again” (jeesh, the dumpster incident was ten years ago), but she hates fireworks, so she began to drink.

I got a message from my supervisor asking me to do a swear-in ceremony at the Bridge.  I told my sisters that I would be back and to do nothing but pee.

I should have known that was too much for them.  When they both had full bladders, they prepared to pee Pocket suggested, since they didn’t know how much time they would have, to urinate on the loudest fireworks first.

It was too dark to read the boxes, so River suggested they light a match.   They began to search for one in the darkroom when three incidents happen simultaneously.  One is that Pocket walked into a gas can and spilled it; the second is that River found a lighter and lit it, then I appeared as a ghost, frightening River, who dropped the lighter. I realized what was about to occur and screamed at them to run.  My sisters barely got outside when the building blew.  People say it was the most spectacular fireworks display in North Carolina history.  But boy, were the dogs living there mad at me.  Worst of all, the good fireworks were kept in the cellar, which was fireproof.

Big fireworks had foiled me again.  But I have not begun to fight!  I will not rest until the Fourth of July is as quiet as a baby’s room at midnight.

Even if I have to make a lot of noise to do it. 

 

Wordless Wednesday

 

Beat This Caption

 

I literally do crap bigger than you in the morning.

Monday Question

 

As a pet, what is your idea of a perfect day?

Toto's Tails From Rainbow Bridge: Toby's Song

 

Toto wagged his tail and looked at his mom with bright eyes as she said goodbye and went to work. When she was gone, he collapsed on the floor. “It gets harder every day,” he said to his brother Max. 

He was referring to arthritis that made it almost impossible for him to move. But, he would not let his mom know how much pain he was in, saying that she had enough to concern herself with. She needn’t be worried about him. 

“She’s already concerned about you,” Max told him. “She knows something is wrong. You can’t hide your pain forever.”

But that was exactly what Toto planned to do. We dogs are excellent at hiding our pain until it becomes too overwhelming to conceal. Toto was close to that point, but he always had a smile and tail wag for mom until it came. 

But our parents are often wiser than we give them credit for being. Toto’s mom watched him closely, often out of the corner of her eye, where secrets are revealed. She saw her beloved boy struggling.  When his pain was obvious as she directly looked at him, she knew it was time for a vet visit.  

Upon learning of the appointment, Toto told Max he would be back, confident of his ability to fool the vet. Not wanting to contradict his brother, Max told Toto he would save some kibble for him. He knew Toto could not see himself.  If he did, he would know it was his final trip. 

When a parent helps their dog cross the Bridge, they can often feel light-headed, weak knees, and nauseated. They attribute that to their grief. Actually, it is from the wave of pain and illness that are removed from the dogs’ bodies when they pass and hit the parents unexpectedly. 

It affected Toto’s mom immensely because she had given the pup her heart and could not retrieve it before passing. When Toto got to the Bridge, he realized it was still beating in his chest. He felt terrible about taking it but knew the heart would get him through some long lonely nights. 

He was greeted by all the pets his mom had lost in her life, led by sister Abbie. They laughed at reuniting, then cried over his passing but soon were laughing again.  Like rain on a humid day, sadness doesn’t last long at the Bridge, and when it dissolves, there is no trace it existed.  

     Toto also met the feral animals that lived on the mortal side without food, shelter, or love until his mom helped them.  To them, she is the real Angel.  

While Toto knows he left his mom with a shattered heart, he has a family:  led by Max, who has sworn to make her heart stronger than ever. After Abbie passed, the pack did so under Toto’s tutelage and, having taught them everything he knows; he is confident his surviving siblings can do it again. 

Life is measured through heartbeats and durability. Toto passed because his body had been broken beyond repair, but his heart, filled with love, will never stop, especially as it is beating right along with his mom’s. 

Foley Tells the Tale of Monty Who Wil Always Walk With His Dad

 

Every dog boasts that their parents are the best, but Monty, a labradoodle, hard facts to support his claim.

    Monty and his dad Carlos loved hiking.  Every weekend brought another adventure.  Monty not only loved accompanying him, but the higher he went, the smells became stronger and more exotic.  Monty, a very well-trained pup, climbed off-leash and was allowed to explore places his dad could not go, but he always came right back when his dad emitted a sharp whistle.

    As Monty aged, his dad noticed his best friend’s energy waned, and their rest periods grew longer.  When Carlos took Monty to the vet, his fears were realized.  Monty had leukemia, and there was nothing Carlos could do but keep his friend comfortable.

    Monty still wanted to go with his dad on their hikes, but his spirit was stronger than his endurance.  When Carlos knew he would have to give Monty the greatest gift by freeing him from his pain and sending him to the Bridge, he decided to take his friend on one more hike.

    Carlos recognized that Monty could not climb, so he decided to place his best friend in a wheelbarrow and push him up the mountain.  It was an arduous task, but it was powered by love. 

    While they climbed, with Monty lying on a blanket in the wheelbarrow, their fellow hikers, who had come to know the man and his sweet dog, stopped to say goodbye to the pup.  Monty was full of smiles and licks.  Finally, Carlos pushed Monty to the trail’s highest peak; he removed the dog from the wheelbarrow, and they looked over the trails they had freely climbed when Monty was younger, and they snuggled together. 

    Ten days later, Carlos held Monty on his lap as he departed for the Bridge with a heart full of love. 

I saw Monty run across the Bridge and transform from a tired, sick dog to a pup bursting with energy.  He patiently took the Angel oath; then I introduced him to Cassie and R, the black dog, two Angel friends who were dedicated hikers themselves. They promised to take Monty into the mountains to find the trails he took with his dad. The Bridge is a two-way mirror of the mortal world. It reflects the land we once romped in, and we can see the mortal world while all the living humans see shadows.

     They asked me if I wanted to accompany them. I was not much of a hiker, but I was up for an adventure. They generously waited for me as we walked the trails Cassie took with her father, and the high mountains and valleys R made his own. 

Then we came to Monty‘s trail, and we saw his father slowly and sadly walking alone.  We motioned to Monty to join his dad. Only we could see his ghostly form following the man’s footsteps.  Monty was trying to use his angel power to be seen.  While he didn’t take Corporeal form, he did in a flash appear, step on a branch and snap it, and was gone again. 

His dad stopped walking.   He knew there was nothing on the trail that could make that sound. Then he sensed Monty rubbing his muzzle on his leg. A recognition came over him, and as he moved on, he slightly smiled, knowing he would never take this walk alone again.  

Foley Remembers a Big City Adventure with Pocket

 

I knew Pocket wasn’t feeling well earlier this wek, so I decided to fly down as a ghost to see her and reminisce about some of the great adventures we had together.  “Remember when we went to New York?” I asked. She groaned and said she would rather forget.  I knew she had lost her sense of daring-do, and I would have to restore it. 

She was just a puppy, four months old when I learned that if I went on the computer, typed in a zip code, highlighted it, then clicked it, I would upload to where the zip code was from. When everyone was working, I took Pocket from her crate, held her paw, and uploaded us to New York City. 

Pocket and I landed in the lobby of the Empire State building. “We are going to go to the top!” I said excitedly. “I bet we could see our house from there. Pocket balked saying she was scared. “It’s perfectly safe,” I told her, “unless you put your paws on the glass. Then you will fall to a terrible death.  Now follow me.”

 I snuck through a door that was jammed open.  The only thing that was between us and summitting the building was a few stairs.  When I told Pocket we just had to climb a bit, she said: “Are you crazy?”  I told her it would only be a few floors.  After 87,000 steps, Pocket laid down and told me to get her after I reached the top. I was beginning to regret bringing her.  She was a drag.  

I went to the top, looked at my people, took a picture of our house, then went back down only to discover, Pocket was gone.  I checked the stairs and floors.  I shouted her name, but she didn’t answer.  I had to find her.  I couldn’t go home alone.  Pocket hadn’t been around long enough to worm her way into my parents’ hearts, but she did cost money, and that would be missed.

I ran around the streets asking if anyone had seen a two-pound Yorkie pup, but they all pretended they did not understand my barks.  I remembered I had a superior sniffer and that Pocket smelled faintly like pee.  Sadly, so did the entire city.  Then I heard a familiar yip and ran down an alley pursuing the sound.

I saw Pocket with a group of stray bulldogs.  I caught up to them and confronted the leader, telling him I wanted my sister back.  “Forget it, lady,” he said. “Pocket is with us now.  She’s still got all her lady parts and is young and fertile.  She can raise a gang of her own.”

“I am going to be a stud!” simple Pocket boasted.  I explained to my sister that our parents would miss her, but I had told her that they didn’t need another dog for so long she started to believe it.  “I am better off here,” she said.  “You are right, I can’t be housebroken, and I don’t listen.  Mommy and Daddy won’t miss me.”

I reminded her of the soft touches she would get at home, the big bed, the unconditional love.  “But I won’t be getting dumpster chicken,” she said before spitting up something gross.

I asked her what she wanted to come back home, and she said the ability to pee wherever she wanted, me to treat her with respect,  and the space in the bed by my parents’ knees, which is the warmest.  I offered her two out of three, and she agreed.   

But, we still had a problem.  The street dog would only let her go if I fought for her.  I knew it would be challenging, but I was tough and a great knee biter.  We charged at one another, then he bit me and tossed on to the top of the Statue of Liberty.  

Then I saw Pocket lunge at the big dog and push him back, ordering him to leave her sister alone.  She showed such ferocity the gang ran away.  We reunited at Lady Liberty’s big toe.  We snuck into the office and uploaded us home, getting there just before the humans did. 

When I got done with my story, I could tell Pocket felt better and got some of her grit back.  I want her to be happy, healthy, and wise but will settle for two out of three.  I do not want my sister to come to the Bridge anytime soon.  When she does, I know she’ll never leave.  I swear she will be here for an eternity.