Tails From Rainbow Bridge: Poop Rules

Even here at Rainbow Bridge, we dogs enjoy a nice walk with a human.  I like to sit in the park and watch the reunited humans and dogs happily walking together.  Sometimes I join them.  Walks at the Bridge are a lot safer.  There are no cars, no wild animals, no threat of injury, and most importantly, no poop.

Poop is the real problem.  When we walk we poop.  For centuries this was not a problem.  But humans have got real civilized over the last 100 years, and now there are lots of rules about poop.

Humans don’t even call it poop.  I know many dogs, and some humans, Lutheran, and non, have sensitive ears.  If you are one such human, please stop reading now.  And if you are a person offended by what I write remember these are your rules.

The first human poop rule is that they don’t, except in polite circles, call it poop.  Humans call it shit.  And man, there are lots of shit rules.

Rule #1:  I don’t give a shit.

Rule #2:  I don’t take any shit.

These are hard rules for dog walkers.  When you are a human, who walks a dog you literally have to take shit.  Not take a shit.  That is a dirty thing to do.  The difference between take shit and take a shit is one little letter, but it is a critical letter.  That letter is the difference between being a good pet parent/neighbor and being a public pariah who goes to prison for a term and then has to have everyone in his neighborhood sign a paper before he can move in.  That is why I think poop bags should just be referred to as “A.”  You do not want to forget the A while you are walking and you don’t want to forget the poop bag.  Combining them into one term is expedient.

Rule #3:  Don’t take my shit.

As a dog, the opposite is our greatest desire.  We want you to take our shit.  Please.  If you don’t then the neighbors are going to yell at us.  But humans are very possessive of their shit.  I don’t know what they do with it.  Maybe when they reach the immortal world, they take their shit with them, and they are rewarded with some prize.  This must be true because I have also heard whoever dies with the most shit wins,

There are even times when the shit hits the fan.  This is a terrible idea, even to us dogs, and we like shit.  We roll in it, we are even inclined to eat it, but we don’t want someone to hold it up to a fan and spray it on us.  I don’t even know where this phrase came from.  Maybe some overheated sewer worked was attempting to cool off.

A Dutch company may be making it easier for the shit to hit the fan.  They are in the process of testing dog drones.  They are two drones, one in the air, which detects the shit, and the other on the ground the scoops the shit.  If this invention comes to fruition than it is just a matter of time until they eliminate the ground drone and the flying drone lands and picks up the shit.

But this will only lead to new rules like “Don’t fly your shit into my head." 

Of course, this being a human invention, the drone is bound to malfunction, the storage unit opening prematurely, and its contents being caught in the propellers, literally causing the shit to hit the fan.

Personally, from a dog’s perspective, looking at the entire world, I can say with some certainty that humans have bigger shit to worry about than shit.

But they will keep making shitty rules.  I guess that is part of being human.

The Truth About my Tooth by Pocket

Last week, in this very space, my sister made a dishonest claim that last Tuesday I arrived home drunk after getting in a bar fight.  I am here to clear my name.  Unlike my sister Foley, inventor of, and often a consumer of,  the Foleytini, I do not drink.  It is bad for my tummy and my complexion.

I was not drinking last Tuesday.  The truth is, over the last several months, I have been suffering from a sore mouth.  I masked this from my parents and did not confide in my friends, because, with my friends suffering serious illnesses, I did not want to complain about a toothache.

Tuesday was my personal D-Day.  Dentist day began with me being removed from the house without breakfast.  For you young pups a word of warning:  When this occurs something awful is about to happen.

I was brought to the vet, and left there, even after giving my parents the most pitiful look.  I was put in a cage that smelled of scared dogs.  I was then taken out.  What was going to happen?  Was something going to get cut off?  Was I going to get anally probed?

They took some blood and put me back in the cage.  I wish they had magazines,  I was there for a long time.  Then a nice lady came and took me out.  She brought me into a clean, well-lit room where there were lots of sharp instruments and women wearing masks.  Yep, it was an anal probe.  One of the ladies gave me what she called “sleepy juice” in my arm, and I fell asleep.

My angel friends Foley, Odie, Scooby, Leo, Meika and many others came to keep me company and calm.  I very much appreciated it.  

When I woke up, I didn’t know what happened.  I knew my mouth hurt, and my anus didn’t so it was all good to me.  I ran my tongue around my mouth, and the painful teeth were gone.  That was a relief.   My gums hurt but they gave me some splendid drugs.  Usually, I would have been worried, but I couldn’t concentrate enough to be scared.

My parents came.  I wasn’t as excited to see them as I usually was because, in my purple haze, I was having a hard time remembering who they were.  When I got home and sat on Mommy’s lap for a half hour, everything came back to me.  I was home and safe.  I don’t know why they denied me food or water for a few hours, but I was sure happy when they gave it to me.

My parents were worried because I am their delicate flower.  They were sure I wouldn’t eat, be lethargic, and have a bad tummy for days.  But I showed them.  By Wednesday morning I was eating everything in sight (wet food is yummy), running around the house, and producing perfect poops.  My recovery went much better than they thought.

Nine days later I am doing very well.  I am eating my food, not showing any signs of pain or any side effects.  And my mouth feels much better.  I guess you don’t have to fear the vet all the time.

But you do need to worry about the anal probe.

Wordless Wednesday

Beat This Caption

"No fair.  We said no tickling!  Uncle!  Uncle!"

Smiley is our April 2, 2017 pup of the week

This is true of both dogs and humans:  We are dealt cards.  Sometimes we get great cards and turn them into a tremendous success, other times we squander our advantage. Sometimes we get terrible cards and aren’t able to turn them into a winning hand, and then there are the times that we take the bad cards and make them winners.

How is this for a bad hand?  You are born with microphthalmia, a condition that will lead to blindness, at a puppy mill, where you get no care.  Your illness makes it harder for you to keep the other dogs from eating your food and from picking on you.

Then the rescuers arrived to save your pack of golden retrievers living a hellish existence.  But then, because of your illness, you find out you could be euthanized.

How do you go from that low point to being a beloved 15-year-old therapy dog with 14,000 Instagram followers?  If your name is Smiley, this is how you do it.

First, you charm a vet tech named Joanne George who takes you home with her and gives you a wonderful life.

While some dogs would have been irrevocably damaged by his horrid early years, Smiley used that time to learn to fend for himself and become, despite his blindness, a confident and brave soul.

The vet who Joanne worked for removed Smiley’s eyes and sewed his eyelids shut.  But that did not stop Joanne and Smiley from walking every day through their Toronto neighborhood where they were happily greeted by neighbors.  Those who interacted with Smiley found inspiration in the dog’s story, and soon they found the strength to overcome their own problems the way Smiley overcame his.

These interactions lead Smiley’s mom to realize that there was something magical about him.  She knew he could do a lot of good.  

Smiley began visiting nursing homes, schools and libraries and spread his magic to everyone he met.  This inspired his bursting Instagram feed and a book “Smiley:  A Journey of Love” which will be available this month.

Smiley and his mom teach important lessons to children.  Smiley’s mom tells them how this beautiful, confident dog was bullied as a pup.  Every child’s heart breaks thinking of poor Smiley being bullied, and they learn never to be a bully to another child.  And, as they look at Smiley confidently standing in front of the students, they realize that everyone can rise up from being bullied.  

Smiley’s calm demeanor also helps at-risk students near the emotional edge relax and easily become part of their classroom again.

He also goes to the library every week where the children snuggle against him and read to him.  They think they are reading to Smiley, but his warm confidence gives them the ability, and the concentration, to read.

And then there are those senior citizens at nursing homes who count on Smiley to live up to his name and pass them so smiles too.  Wherever Smiley goes, and whoever he sees, he spreads love and comfort.  To so many people there is no better gift than that.

Smiley was dealt as bad a hand as any dog could be dealt and somehow, through his positive attitude and magical being he has turned those bad cards into a better life for everyone he meets.

He is truly one magical dog

Tails From Rainbow Bridge: It's in the Eyes

When my friends Molly and Cocoa were diagnosed with eye issues, I tried to assure their parents that we dogs can function very well without vision.  Our sense of smell and our whiskers can help us navigate through a dark world.  But I underestimated one of the reasons that parents become distraught about their dog's lack of vision:  They will no longer get the look.

Our eyes provide many functions besides vision.  We convey our personality, and our love, through those eyes.  We also transmit the love and absolute trust we have for our humans via our eyes.  If we are unable to convey that our parents are denied the comfort our eyes provide.

One of the emotions we express via our eyes is absolute trust.  When we look at our parents, we are telling them that we know that they will always take care of us and never let anything bad happen to us.

That is what haunted my parents when they dropped Pocket off for her dental work.  That morning Pocket was bounding around the house happily.  She was thrilled to get a car ride.  Then they arrived at the vet’s and passed Pocket over to the technician.  They didn’t want to see her eyes, but they wanted to give her an assuring look.  What they got back was “why are you leaving me?  Where are you going?  Who are these people?   What is going on?  Help!”

Even though Pocket needed the dental work to improve her life, and avoid many problems, the eyes also said: “I thought you would never leave me, never hurt me, never let anything bad happen to me.”  The pain that Pocket’s eyes left my parents with was worse than any pain Pocket suffered from her dental work.

The worst thing about love is sometimes it is necessary to be cruel to be kind.  Our parents have to do what is best for us, and, like in Pocket’s case, sometimes that causes pain.

Then comes hours of equal worry.  We dogs worry if our parents will return, and, our parents worry if the procedure will be successful and the dog will wake up.  

The gift that dogs have been granted is that as soon as our parents return to pick us up all that love and trust is restored and the abandonment forgot, our parents become the ones who are either going to make the pain stop and take care of us, or, in rare instances, if our heartbeats have expired, help us get to the pain free, stress free eternal life.  Either way, the love and total trust inside the dog is restored on sight.

It takes our parents a lot longer to recover.  That sad, scared look their beloved dogs give them as they are lead away sticks with them.  They begin to spoil us with lots of love.

While we appreciate the spoiling, I must let you know, dear parent, that you are always forgiven, no matter what you do.  You are all we need and seeing you is like clicking our reset button.

All is right in the world when we see you because you are our world.

My Sister is a Drunk by River Song

Tuesday was a dramatic day.  We got up early.   I thought Daddy would shower and go to work, but Mommy showered first.  That was a bad sign.  When Daddy showered and goes to work Mommy, Pocket, and I get a blanket and pay Foley a dream visit.  But there was no dream date, no blanket, and even worse no breakfast.

And no Pocket!  I am used to Mommy and Daddy leaving but the only time they take Pocket alone is when she has to go to the vet.  Was there something wrong with my sister?  Why does no one tell me what is going on in this house?  Everyone keeps the Griffon in the dark.

Two hours later they came back, smelling of pancakes and bacon, with groceries, and no Pocket.  After they put away the groceries, they finally fed me, but after I few bites I stopped eating to look for Pocket.  She wasn’t anywhere in the house!  I finished, and Mommy offered me lap, but every few minutes I would get down and search for Pocket again.

I finally settled down when they got a phone call and upped and left me again.  Twice in one day!  That broke our agreement. They came back a short time later, and they had Pocket with them!

I was so happy to see her.  I gave her a sniff.  She smelled like strange humans, other dogs, and some medicinal substances.  She was also wobbly.  Then it came to me!  She has spent the afternoon at a pub, and she was drunk!

I snapped at her.  I had been worried, and she had gone off on a bender!  She slowly turned and attempted to snap back.  That is when I saw that she was missing almost a dozen teeth.

Obviously, she was flouting her radical opinions at the bar, got in a fight, and got her teeth knocked out.  “I can’t believe you got into a bar fight!”  I said.

“I bibn’t bet bin a bar bite ba bet book bout by booths!” Pocket claimed.

“Don’t be silly!” I said.  “The vet doesn’t take out teeth  The vet puts in teeth.  That is what a vet does.  She fixes things.”

Mommy told me to leave the little drunk alone because she was recovering.  Recovering from a self-inflicted hangover in my opinion.  But I always obey the moms.

The rest of the night Pocket was babied with tiny bits of food and water.  She also got lots of snuggles and what could be, although I can’t prove it, opiates.  Great, thanks to my parents coddling not only do we have an alcoholic in the family but a possible junkie too.

I will keep you informed of Pocket’s further actions.  We might need an intervention.