The 145 are the December 31, 2017 Pups of the Week

I sat on a wooden bench outside the small church that stands in a green valley under the shadow of Rainbow Bridge.  I had asked for the bell to be rung 145 times.  I looked at my friends, some playing in the river, others running on the green grass and further up, in the hills, more played in the snow.  The bell chimed for the 145th time.  That one was for Hattie.  The 144 before that were for each friend that has crossed the Bridge since I began writing about them in 2009.  

I thought of the parents who had lost the 145, some of them have lost one pup, others have lost three, and there were those who lost two, sometimes within a few days of one another.

When the clanging concluded I was left with one emotion:  Hope.

I have experienced the pain each parent felt as their dog passed over the Bridge.  It is a shattering hurt.  I didn’t think any human could persevere through it.  They had the same doubts.  But they kept moving forward, proving that they are stronger than hell, because they trekked through the very depths and came out the other side.

And that what gives me hope.  

Because after such unbearable suffering these people step up and open their home to another dog desperately waiting for a family.  They know, from the dog’s first step in their house, that they will be crushed again, but they still give the pup a perfect life until that day comes.

That is one of the bravest acts people will undertake during their lives.

Of course, from the time between the dog’s first step to the final heartbeat, there is going to be joy 99% of the time.  Having a dog in your house is like living on stage at a Springsteen concert:  Happy, sad, exciting, challenging, optimism and joy.  (You can insert your own artist here, but the Monster has always been a Springsteen dog.)
After the bell stops ringing, I looked into the water and saw Aunt Kristi, who lost Chelsea and Junior within the same year, happily playing with Noelle.  She smiled during her time between dogs, but not like she is smiling now.  There is a smile known as a dog smile, and Aunt Kristi is proudly sporting hers.

I also see Aunt Kim playing with Charlotte.  She was in the depths of hell when she lost Hannah Banana this year, but she stood in the fire, and she outlasted it, and her home is filled with love again.  

They still miss Hannah, Chelsea, and Junior.  You can’t look at the Freedom Tower without remembering the World Trade Center, and you can’t see a dog and not see all the dogs that came before. There is still the pain.  But there is happiness with the pain.  Both of these dogs were rescues, in need of loving homes, and the great things about rescues is they are the ones who do the rescuing.

When I think of the 145, I think about how many of their parents have provided homes for new dogs, and put their hearts on the line again, and have days of hell in the distant future.  I know when they prove they are tougher than hell they will get on the roller coaster called pet ownership again and it will be a ride well worth taking.

Endings are sad, but beginning as happy, and I do advise all the humans currently in hell too, when you are ready, find a beginning.

I know, in 2018, the number 145 will grow.  And I know that somewhere there is a homeless dog, hoping for a home, or an unborn puppy, with its life before it, praying it will be filled with love, who will be the beginning that comes after my friends ending.
Whatever the year brings I know humans will survive. 


They really are the toughest animals of all.

Tails From Rainbow Bridge: Seeking Help For Those Left Behind

It will be 2018 in a few days.  The last time I welcomed the new year in mortal form was 2013.  I remember it well.  Pocket and I were snuggled in bed with my parents. 

 There was a big countdown, a ball dropped, best wishes for the coming days were expressed, and Daddy wondered what the New Year would bring.  He doesn’t ask that anymore.  The answer will present itself, with little either of my parents can do to prevent it.

I began writing about pups who went to Rainbow Bridge in 2009.  Back then I was like a journalist writing about a war I had never experienced.  I thought when I arrived at the Bridge I would understand.  But I have been in the battle for four and a half years, and while I have seen the war, I still don’t comprehend it.

Why is a dog’s lifespan so much less than humans?  Why would a benevolent creator make the perfect match between dogs and humans then make dogs lives a seventh as long as humans causing pain, pain, and more pain?   It is nothing less than a failure of creation.  Dogs and humans should be paired for life.  

Humans need to admit that a loss of a dog is as sorrowful and life-shattering as the passing of a human, sometimes more so, because humans grow up, move away, but dogs are constant, always home, always devoted, always loving, until suddenly they are not.  

Parents who lose a child often join support groups to share their grief.  But a support group for pet parents is met with eye rolls and “it was just a dog” comments.  It is time to get past that.  I have read countless posts on the Internet about parents who have struggled for months dealing with the loss of a pet.  Grief is grief no matter what caused the sadness.  Hopefully, someday humans will realize that and people will have to stop suffering alone.

Until then there is the Internet where kind people help one another with their grief.  I know it helps, but it cannot replace human contact.  No one recovered from addiction by talking with people over the Internet.  I don’t know if people can recover from the loss of a pet over the Internet either.  Do not be afraid to seek people in your community suffering from pet loss and share your stories.  Your vet may know someone struggling with pet loss.  Talking and sharing has been proved to aid healing. 

 Pet lovers should be able to access every tool possible to begin the road to recovery.
I hope writing about pups who have crossed the Bridge helps their parents if is only for a few minutes.  I had thought, at one time, when the day came that my friend Hattie crossed over, that she would be my last tribute.  But there will be others that follow Hattie’s footsteps. And I will continue to chronicle their journey.   Hopefully, I can help ease their grief parents grief a smidge.

We can’t stop pups from crossing Rainbow Bridge, but maybe we can help those they leave behind.

And we can stop thinking of us as just the dog and start thinking of us like the family members we are.

River Song and Pocket Host a Wild Life Christmas Party

On Christmas morning when we went outside to do our business there were two dozen turkeys parading across the backyard.  The only sound Pocket and I made was one of disgust.  Just like turkeys.  They had appeared early.

Please indulge me while I backtrack.  The past four Christmas seasons our parents have left us alone on the 23rd, 24th and 25th.  Please don’t judge them unkindly.  That is our job.

Pocket and I had been planning Christmas for two weeks.  It began with making peace with the turkeys.  Then we conspired with the squirrels and birds.  The plan was set.  One hour after our parents left the first annual River Song and Pocket wild animal Christmas party would begin.

Parents are always distracted on Christmas.  They leave the house with packages, boxes, and bags.  They leave with casseroles, bottles, and desserts.  They are in a hurry, and their hands are full.  It was easy for me to slip a paw in the jam to keep them from turning the deadbolt.  Once they departed, I used my supersonic leaping power to open the door.

Pocket and I quickly went to her kitty condo where we had stored bags of nuts, berries, bird food, grass, water, and bowls.  (No kibble made of turkey, I had learned my lesson).  We set the food out on the table and then opened the door to allow the turkeys, squirrels, chipmunks, birds, and one cat who claimed to be feral but smelled like alpine kitty litter into our home.

Within an hour the house was a complete mess.  Turkeys may be good to eat, but they don’t eat well.  They acted like a gaggle of petulant infants tossing more food on the floor then they swallowed.  The squirrels began hoarding nuts. When Pocket confronted them, they said they had to make the feast last all winter.  How ungrateful.  The birds were kind, but we sadly discovered that getting a bird to poop on a pad was impossible.

A squirrel and a turkey got in a fight over a berry.  The squirrel ran up a curtain ripping it, and the wild turkey tried to fly after it and went through the window.  Like parents of a student entering his senior year, we quickly discovered we had lost control of the party.

Even though we were smaller than the turkeys they are not known for their bravery and my sister, and I chased them, and the other critters out the door then stopped to look at our tattered house.  “Boy are you in trouble,” I said to Pocket.

Suddenly a bright light appeared over us, and Angel Foley floated down.  “You are lucky you had this foolish party today,” Foley said.  “No Angel can refuse a request on Christmas.”  We sat looking at her while she fluttered impatiently above us.  “One of you has to ask me to clean the house!” she shouted.  Both of us did so, quickly.  A portal opened, and her minions flew inside.  They cleaned the table, counters, and floors then replaced the curtains making our abode look as spotless as it was when my parents left.  Of course, we had to endure a long reprimand from our sister, but we acted chagrined as a show of gratitude.

We heard the car door shut.  Our parents had returned.  Foley hurried off (her getting caught would be a major rule violation) just before our parents entered.  We excitedly greeted them at the door, celebrating their return and us having gotten away with our ill-conceived venture.

Mommy went into the bathroom and came out holding a feather.  “Where did this come from?” she asked us.

We both ran into Pocket’s kitty condo to hide.

We learned a hard lesson this Christmas.

If you are going to have a turkey over for the holidays, it is better to eat it than to feed them.

Wordless Wednesday

Beat This Caption

The latest in all natural flea and tick prevention.

Monday Question

What was your favorite Christmas gift?

Pocket:. Our friend Leo sent us a log stuffie with little stuffie squirrels poking out of it. The log and squirrels are grand fun to play with a

Hattie Mae is our December 24th 2017 Pup of the Week

A week ago I recounted the story of Hattie Mae’s Christmas hat.  Little did I realize how soon the legend herself would be joining me in the immortal world.

    I seldom know, as I make my journey to the stairs rising from Rainbow Bridge, who will appear before me, but when Hattie arrived I had an inkling, because the ground beneath me shook, an unimaginable wail rose from the mortal side, and the plains became rivers as clouds of human tears opened and pummeled the terrain.  A dog of huge importance had to be passing over Rainbow Bridge and there is no dog more important that Hattie Mae.

    Hattie Mae reached the top of the stairs wearing a red hat with a white brim and a brilliant red velvet dress with a black belt and trim.  While hundreds of dogs ran down the hill to greet her she scanned the Bridge as if she was looking at a suite deciding if it was up to her standards.  She sighed and softly nodded her head.  “This will do,” she said.

I knew my first duty was to thank her.  Every dog with a blog owes a debt of gratitude to Hattie Mae and her Mom the ethereal Aunt Darla.  In 2007 we joined what was called “Facebook for dogs,” a site named Doggyspace, or DS for short.   The owner was clever, if incapable, and while thousands of dogs flocked to the site, none of us knew how to properly translate our personalities, wants, desires, quirks and faults into Internet posts.  The site could have quickly faded away after several uninspired “My dog did this today,” posts.  Enter Hattie Mae who wrote “I did this today, and while it may seem mundane, it was fascinating, and let me explain why.”

Her posts were unassuming online tutorials.  We pups read what she wrote and realized this was how it was done.  Every dog with a blog or profile  can trace their online family tree to Hattie Mae.  Even if you were never on DS if you have read our blog, or Hobo Hudson’s News and Taies, or Jodi Chick’s Kol’s Notes, or Molly’s The Fast and the Furriest, they were all influenced by Hattie Mae.  For that I thanked her.

I thanked her for teaching us that dogs are always kind. We never bark a hostile word. And we always show compassion.

I thanked her for the humor, for showing us that our lives are filled with laughter and the cause of this humor is often ourselves. Humility and self deprivation are two important traits of for a dog to posses. Hattie provided us with smiles daily and taught us that not only is it important to make our parents smile but our friends too.

I thanked her for showing us how to dress. I never considered wearing dresses.  thought they were silly. But when I saw how regal and self-assured Hattie looked I became a proud wearer of outfits too.

I thanked her for her generosity because most of the clothes I wore were.designed by her fabulous mom and gifted to me by Hattie. She sent her designs to several of our friends who proudly wear them.

I thanked her for the love. To be loved by Hattie was to be touched by sunshine. They both left us with a warm, happy feeling.

As I watched Hattie be greeted by her beloved husband Leo, by her brothers Smartie, Fella and by her sister, by countless friends who came before her, and by Jackie Pool her Mom’s very dear human friend accompanied by her dogs Saffron and Sage, I thought of the horrible sorrow Hattie's mom and dad must  be enduring this Christmas.  For all the joy she gave us she gave her parents tenfold and the hole in our lives left by her passing was only a divet in the grass when compared to the Grand Canyon sized hole left in her parents hearts. Please don't forget about them. Please keep them in your hearts and prayers. Hattie’s passing was the final awful cut in a cruel year. They no longer play in the vast social media playground so old fashioned thoughts and prayers are due.

Once Hattie had concluded her greetings she announced that there was a reason for her sudden appearance. She looked at our Christmas tree and noted that there was no angel at the top. I told her it was because no angel was worthy.

“Well now there is,” she said. Hattie flew to the top of the tree where she shone brightly just as she had in life.  From now on when you look to the sky and see the brightest light shining know that is Hattie Mae standing on her tree for the world to see.

She is lighting the world for us angels, showing us the way, just as she did in the mortal world.

She will always be the light showing us the way.