Dixie Gets a Much Deserved Second Chance

 

All dogs deserve a second chance, plus third and fourth ones. Shelters are full of pups humans gave up. Funny, dogs never give up on humans.  

This is a story about a dog now named Dixie. What her name was before did not matter. When a dog is abandoned, it loses everything and needs a new start, like a person in witness protection. A new name separates them from their troubled past. 

Dixie lived with a senior citizen who doted on her girl. The woman’s husband had passed two years previously, and her children were living 1,000 miles away. She did a good job raising them. They were independent and had good jobs and families. Unfortunately, they had little time for their mom.  

Dixie and her mom were supposed to grow old together. The woman told her Dixie she was her last and best dog, and since she was irreplaceable, her mom wouldn’t try. 

Dogs don’t make plans. We know how easily they are disrupted. We live for today and don’t count on tomorrow. Dixie’s mom’s idea came undone one morning when she didn’t wake up. No matter how much Dixie licked her mom’s cold face, she didn't move. 

Dixie knew her mom needed help. They lived alone and seldom had visitors. The mom was lucky if the kids called once a month. If anyone helped, it would be a stranger. Dixie went to the window and barked continuously for two days until someone saw her and knocked on the door.   When no one answered, they called the police, who went inside and found they could do nothing for the mom.

The authorities took the confused dog to the city shelter. It wasn’t until Dixie received a dream visit from her mom that she understood she was on her own. The woman was highly disappointed that her children would not take Dixie. They were sure someone would adopt her, but she was a senior dog in a kill shelter destined to follow her mom into the dark. 

Dixie‘s mom knew it would have to be an extraordinary person to adopt her baby. The dog still

had lots of love to give. While Dixie was content with joining her mom, the woman wanted her pup to live until it was her time, so she began searching for kind-hearted, understanding souls with love to give. 

Don and Missy Sullivan are two people who can relate to a dog facing mortality. They both spent the last year knocking on heaven's door. It became genuinely frightening when someone knocked back. Glad they were alive and being dog lovers, the Sullivans, thanks to Dixie’s mom, saw a post about the abandoned dog and knew she must be part of their pack. 

And that is how Dixie went from death’s door to the Sullivan's couch.   They gave her a much-needed second chance, and she has given them all the love in her soul. 

I was able to give Dixie something valuable too.  Everyone needs a past.  To her new parents, Dixie’s past is unknown.  Until now.

Did everything occur exactly as I have recounted?  All we know about Dixie what we don’t know so that it could have.  Dixie has decided she would like this to be her history.  I didn’t ask why, I just figured it was much better than the original.  

We all deserve to live, die, and have someone tell our back story. 

 

Foley Recounts Her Own Olympic Failure

I was upset when  I heard that Simone Biles withdrew from the Olympics because of emotional issues that caused her to twist her body midflight, costing her points, possibly leading to injury, and then she suffered the ignorant comments from fat white men who never get off their couch while their stubby thumbs dance over the I-Phone screens creating malicious posts on Twitter, a place where those who can’t do, criticize.

    The year was 2012, and it was the dog Olympics.  I was eleven years old, past my prime, and could no longer do the physical events.  But, that was not my forte.  In 2004 and 2008, I took home the gold medal in the 1,000 meter cute and was favored in 2012. 

    The event was not challenging.  You slowly walked 1,000 meters while looking adorable.  I had a distinct advantage that my birth family had not docked my tail.  It rose over my back like a furry flower, the tip drawing attention to my face.  That, combined with my dark brown eyes, perky ears, slim hips, and Mona Lisa-like smile, made me the odds on favorite.

    I was on the sidelines warming up before the event.  Pocket was my trainer.  It was mostly an honorary title because I did not need help.  I was perfect:  You can’t coach that.  

    Pocket was combing my hair with her tongue.   I had recently got groomed and was thrilled with my new cut.  Every hair on my body fell perfectly against my skin.  I began dreaming of winning another Filet Mignon medal, the game’s top prize.  I had to make sure I didn’t embarrass myself as I did in 2004 when I ate the medal during the ceremony.  Being cute makes me hungry. 

    It was ten minutes until the event began when Pocket stopped combing and looked at me curiously.  I asked her what was wrong, and she informed me that I had snarled.

    She must be mistaken.  I am not a snarler.  I demanded that she bring me a mirror, and when she did so, to my shock, I discovered she was right.  I had the slightest off-putting snarl.  I could not win a medal with that expression.

    No one knows what causes them.  They come on for no reason and don’t last long, but I could not compete while afflicted.  Pocket tried to help me by saying how cute I was, building my confidence.  But, the snarls kept popping up.  Dejected and sorry I was letting down the Yorkie team, I withdrew from the competition.

I was unprepared for the backlash I would receive.  Dogs on my team, and commentators, called me a quitter.  Despite all the medals I had won, I was now an Olympic pariah.  I wanted to hide, but I thought our team could still win the event, just with a substitute.  A minute before the dash began, I told Pocket she was taking my place. 

Pocket suffered from nerves, and I had to get her competing before everything in her body turned to water.  When Pocket began her walk, she was scared, but fright brought out her cuteness, and the judges fell in love with her.  She got perfect tens and won the gold medal.  Because of her sensitive stomach and food intolerance, I ate it for her. With Pocket's victory, people forgot my “quitting.”

Pocket would win the medal again in 2016 and then retired; the competition is too much on her sensitive stomach.  

Pocket and I were still competitive about our cuteness and would often match people in our neighborhood as judges.  It took a few consistently tied scores to realize the winners were the people who saw us and judged our beauty.

Now, at almost 14, Pocket has stopped being professionally cute.  She only does it at home.  And next week, River will take on the world at her first 1,000 meters cute.  I don’t know if she will win, but she has already brought us glory by winning the 400-meter frown.

Redd Dog 1, Rattlesnake 0

 

I’d do anything, for you dear, anything, except maybe get between you and a rattlesnake.  I don’t want to mess with one of them.  

To begin with, I was very fortunate to have you as a mother.  You never lived anywhere that had rattlesnakes.  I appreciated that.  Snakes are disgusting.  I don’t trust anything that moves but doesn’t have feet.  It is contradictory to all the laws of nature.

Plus, they have the rudest way of protecting themselves:  They bite.  I know dogs do too, but only as a last resort.  Snakes do it out of boredom.  And our bites might cause you to get some stitches, but snakes will kill you. 

But Redd, a 7-year-old Labrador retriever, let none of those thoughts bother him when his human found a rattlesnake that was ready to bite.   

I wish I could tell you that the human who Redd saved was doing something foolish.  He is 18 years old, and his name is Timmy Lockhart.  Instead of hiking barefoot on an unmarked trail, he was doing his laundry.  Of course, most teenagers would have rightfully balked at the task since laundry is boring, and now, they found out, it can get you killed.  

Timmy lived in San Diego.  You wouldn’t think of snakes there.  Mainly its beaches and liberals.  So, you would imagine Timmy was more likely to encounter David Hasselhoff or Bernie Sanders than a snake, although they can be equally deadly.

In San Diego, houses are slapped together quickly because it is a matter of time before an earthquake wipes them out, so why spend a lot of time building expenses?  Because of this, the family laundry room was separated from the house, and Timmy had to step outside to get to the dryer, where, under a table near the machine, a rattlesnake lay waiting.  

Lockhart was near the dryer when he heard the death rattle.  The snake slowly slithered towards him.  Suddenly, having heard the noise and knowing his human brother was in peril, Redd ran into the laundry room, situated himself between them, and growled at the rattler.  

Redd had a huge size advantage over the snake, but not the reflexes.  When Redd bent down to bite the snake, it struck at him, sinking its teeth into Redd’s tongue.  Before either Redd or Lockhart could react, the snake bit Redd on the neck and then slithered out of the room.  Redd knew he had venom coursing through him, and while he didn’t want to go to the Bridge, doing so saving a human was a noble death.

Lockhart scooped Redd into his arms and yelled for his mother, safely inside and not worried about sending her son into a snake pit to separate the whites from the coloreds.  She rolled her eyes, said, “now what,” and then realized that Redd, the only soul in the house she could stand, was in danger.  They rushed Redd to the vet; both afraid he would pass over in the car.  When they reached the doctor, Redd was given a few doses of anti-venom and kept for the night, while the mother took several shots of Seagram’s and Seven and passed out on the couch.

After two days, Redd was returned home with only nerve damage in the tongue that made him bark, “rush, rush,” and cause Geddy Lee to offer the family a million dollars to have Redd introduce his band at concerts.  Thankfully, Lockhart and his mom agreed the dog had suffered enough.

Sadly, despite Redd’s best efforts, the mom still will not go to rehab.

Wordless Wednesday

 

Beat This Caption

 

Don't tell Henry, but he's not the real father

Monday Question

Give us an example of how smart you are

 

Blossom Knocks on the Door

 

I had it. There were far too many Bridge crossings in July. It was time for a stupid and futile gesture, and I was just the Angel to do it. 

I ordered my minions to build a door on our side of the Bridge. Without a way to access the immortal side, no soul could pass. I was looking at my creation when I heard a human clearing her throat behind me. 

I turned to see Miss Laura looking at me sternly. “What is that!?” She asked like a cross mother who discovered her child had scrawled on the wall. 

I explained how I was blocking the entrance so pups could not pass over. “You are just making any dog who leaves the mortal world walk in limbo,” she explained. “It won’t stop them passing.”

I explained how limbo would become full, creating a pack of undead dogs who would spill over to the mortal side, creating havoc. That would inspire humans to find a way to extend dogs’ lives, thereby lessening the amount crossing over. It was ingenious. 

Miss Laura told me that it would not work out that way and to take down the door.  I explained my minions made it with solid steel and assured me a nuclear bomb could not bring it down. Then I heard the familiar sound of a galloping greyhound.   

Our good friend Wishbone raced past us and slammed headfirst into the door, which instantly shattered. He was dazed and groggily asked me who had built the barrier. I told him I didn’t know but would investigate. 

Then I saw what brought Wishbone to the crossing. His sister Blossom had passed to the Immortal World. This was the exact scenario I wanted to avoid. 

Blossom was a bloodhound from Iowa who was more of a family dog than a hunter. She was brought to a shelter in Kentucky at six months old. The workers fell in love with the sweet and gentle soul. They would have loved to keep her forever, but that would be selfish. Her family was out there waiting for her, even if they didn’t know it. 

It turned out to be one of my favorite families:  The Campbells, who had rescued Wishbone after several Bridge brushes. They learned of Blossom and immediately fell in love.  The dad drove from New Hampshire to Kentucky and brought the precious girl home to her new family.  She paid them back with sweetness and devotion for 13 years. 

But even the most beautiful songs must end, and that is what happened with Blossom’s tune this week.   13 is quite an achievement for a bloodhound. I don’t know what ended her life, but I know it is love that sustained it. 

Blossom was greeted by her Angel siblings Cleo, Ed, Dakota, and Annie. Also, there was Paula Malatesta, who originally rescued Wishbone. Between her family angels, both pet and human, plus two great dog rescuers, Blossom could not be in better hands for eternity, or at least that far distant date her parents arrive. 

Blossom’s mom asked for her friend Miss Laura to greet her newest Angel. I hope she is comforted knowing she did and that Blossom will always feel the love and devotion she showed her parents. 

And we hope Blossom’s family finds dogs who will make them feel the same.