Wordless Wednesday

 

Beat This Caption

 

Tired of Timmy not sharing his food Jake picks up his game.

Monday Question

 

"When you have those funny dreams where you kick and bark in your sleep, what are you dreaming of?"

Of Pokemon, a Boy, a Dog, and the Goodness of People: A Post Pandemic Blog by Foley Monster

Once again, my faith in humanity has been restored, and this time it is thanks to a young boy who loves Pokemon and his puppy.

    The boy’s name is Bryson Kliemann, and he lives in Virginia.  His best friend is his dog named Bruce.  One day, his mother, Kimberly Woodruff, noticed that Bruce was lethargic.  She took him to the vet and was given horrible news.  Bruce had Parvo.  The family did not have money to pay for his surgery, so Bryson took matters into his own tiny hands and decided to sell the only other thing he loved, his Pokemon cards.

Bruce is a special needs child who has trouble creating relationships.  He has a brother and sister, but they are older and play with one another.  His mother got him Bruce for companionship, and they bonded immediately.   It seemed like a cruel trick that the Dementors were coming to take Bruce to the Bridge months after they first met. 

    He made a “Pokemon cards for sale” sign, dragged a table out of the garage, put it near the sidewalk, and sat down, ready to do business.  

    There were a few problems with Bryson’s business model.  He had no understanding of how much his collectible cards were worth, and since the value of the cards varied greatly, the young boy was susceptible to getting swindled out of his valuable possessions.

I  received Bruce’s prayers.  He wanted to stay with Bryson but could barely stand.  He was living in a cage at the vet’s and missed his friend terribly.  He asked me to help keep him from the Bridge.  I was good at saving lost dogs, but I could not cure his illness.   I had to somehow help Bryson raise the money.

Because he is special needs, Bryson also has special abilities, including seeing what others cannot, like angels.  I told him to trust me.  He was to stop selling his cards, he had already made $65.00, and I would take care of the rest.

When his mom took a picture of him at the table with his cards before him, I told her, in a daydream, to put the image on Facebook, and share it with friends and groups.  I didn’t have to take any other action.   Kind people saw it, and it touched their hearts, which is directly connected to their pocketbooks.  They began a Go-Fund-Me page and raised twice as much as required.

Bruce had his surgery and was back home with his family, which gave the story the happy ending I sought, but there was another fortunate byproduct I had not anticipated.   

Executives at Nintendo saw the post, and they sent Bryson rare and valuable Pokemon cards to add to his collection.  Bryson’s act of selflessness not only saved his dog but lead to being given a valuable reward.

    Hopefully, more people will follow Bryson’s example and be willing to give up something they find valuable to save something they love.

    The world would be a better place if they did.

 

The Misunderstood Bear

 

When I saw the video of a bear climbing a wall, reaching over, then trying to snatch a Yorkie from a porch, only to be thwarted by a teenage girl, who ripped the tiny dog from the bear’s clutches and pushed the intruder off the patio.  I figured I would get a pray request from the nervous dog or the courageous girl, but instead, the bear is the one who reached out to me for guidance and miracles. 

I was not thrilled to visit a bear, even as an angel.  They are wholly unpredictable and are prone to violence.  But, for some stupid reason, I took an oath.  It was my duty to try to assuage what was bothering the bear.  

I found him sitting in the woods.  He looked distraught, and I felt terrible for him.  I asked him how I could help.

“I am very sorry for scaring the little dog and the girl.  I am just lonely and have long dreamt of having a dog of my own.  I guess it is never going to happen.”

    Yeesh!  I liked bears better when they are violent.  I told him I was sure that forest animals would love to be a pet to a bear.  “No, I have tried,” he responded.  The foxes are too rough, and the squirrels to soft.  Dogs are just right.”

“But dogs aren’t used to living in a forest,” I told him.  “We are more pampered house dogs.  How about a coyote?”
    “I tried one.   I woke up, and one was gnawing on my leg.  They are horrible pets.”  I could understand that.  But the problem remained:  What dog would want to live with a bear in the woods?  Then I realized the answer a dog who didn’t have anything to lose.

I checked my I-Paw and found a kill shelter within a half-mile.  I told the bear I would be back.  I flew to it and found a very distraught dog due to being scheduled to be put down the following day.  I told him I could give him more time in the mortal world.  All he had to do was wait until he saw the bear and then run for it.  The dog, named Sam, was confused, but I told him all would be clear.

I went back to the bear and told him to follow me.  Since humans can not see me, it looked like a wild bear had come down from the woods and stormed the streets.

I knew the police would be coming with their deadly bullets, so we could not dally.  We went straight to the shelter.  The bear stood on his back legs and roared.  Sam was out of the cage, walking the green mile to his final journey when he saw the bear he, broke away.

Together they ran like reindeers down the streets, behind buildings, where they disappeared into the woods.  When they stopped running, the bear introduced himself as Sam and asked Dave if he would be his pet.  Sam had never had an owner who loved him before, so he happily agreed.  

I think Sam and Dave will be happy together.  Before sending a dog to the Bridge, I wish more people to seek out the bear classifieds to see if one wants a dog.  It would save shelter dogs and those at homes because lonely bears will no longer be looking to snatch dogs from yards.

Once again, I think I’ve done it.

 

Foley Reports on Pocket's CBD Experiences

 

Thirteen years ago, when I was first introduced to my sister Pocket, after three dogs in four years joined our family then inexplicably went to the Bridge at a young age (something that made people wonder if it was my doing because I wanted my parents to myself and was certainly something I was capable of) I was sure trembly little Pocket with the leaky bladder, and lousy digestion would quickly join them. 

Remarkably Pocket has had a longer mortal life span than I did, although she has spent a quarter of that time trembling. 

As with all of us, Pocket’s physical and psychological issues have been exacerbated as she enters her super senior years.  Recently, while at the groomer, Pocket shrieked whenever the electric trimmer came near her.  Our long-time groomer suggested some anxiety medication for Pocket and lots of wine for herself.  While my parents were discussing what to do, I paid Pocket a dream visit and asked her why she was so nervous.  

“I can’t see or hear, as well as I used to,” she answered.  “I don’t know what the groomer is doing with the trimmer.  She is the one who flew to Florida to bring River to Massachusetts, and they could be in league together in a plot to kill me.”  It certainly was plausible.  

I had a better idea than medication.  During a dream visit, I suggested CBD oil.  The next day I found the perfect apothecary a few towns over operated by two woke Willie Wonkas who recommended a specially made oil for Pocket, along with treats.  I suggested River get some, too, as she can quickly go from interested tourist to MAGA supporter in the Capitol rotunda.   That day a helicopter drop of CBD would have changed an insurrection to a bunch of people saying:  “Whatever man, don’t matter who the president is, let’s go to Aunt Annie’s for a pretzel.” 

I left Pocket alone for a week.  When I floated down to see her, she was curled up in her chair on a red blanket.  I had to say her name twice to get her attention.  She looked up, smiled, and said, “Hey, Foley,” then put her head down.

I asked her if the CBD oil was working.  “Dude, I don’t think so.  I really can’t tell because I have been sleeping 22 hours a day. Outside of that, my motto is,  you got to keep on living.  L I V I N.”  

I asked her how River was doing.  “Nothing affects her. She can fall asleep in a poppy field that caught on fire, and she wouldn’t change.”  At least Pocket’s CBD oil made her wiser.  I have noticed that River’s need to attack Pocket when startled from a sound sleep is lessening either because the oil is working on her or Pocket’s calmer demeanor is not threatening.

Pocket stood and stretched.  “The old bones are feeling better,” she said.  “Do you have a drop of oil?”  I told her I didn’t.  “It would be a lot cooler if you did,” Pocket said.  “My buzz is getting harshed.  Gotta hit mom up for a drop at supper.  I might have to look out the window and bark at nothing hysterically.  The man always falls for that.”

I don’t know if the oil will lessen Pocket’s fear at the groomer, but with her new attitude, maybe you should just let her hair grow out, become a beatnik, and you can all move to a commune.  

And keep on L I V I N.

Wordless Wednesday