The Ruby Report: A Day at the Groomers

 

I was nervous when I went for a car ride, worried my parents would return me to the airport, and worse than that, fly me economy. River had appeared in my dreams and told me I was going to the best groomer in the world, Groomingdales, the only thing worth seeing in the town of Lakeville, which, honestly, is more lake than ville. One of the groomers, Jen, has been making my pack beautiful for 26 years, and the other, Beth, is why River and I ended up with my family. For a time, River lived with her and got impregnated by her boy Griffon. River didn't take to being a mom. She wouldn't stop smoking during her pregnancy. When Foley passed, Beth told Mommy about River; when River passed, my new parents had a direct line to my own.

River promised I would get a relaxing bath, a good brushing, and a butt squeeze to unpack the unwanted junk in her trunk.

When I entered, Beth and Jen acted like the queen had come in for a clip and curl. Of course, they loved me instantly. River had warned me that there would be other dogs, and I couldn't act as I do at home and bark at any dog or horse who appears on TV. I was timid when I saw the dogs because they were in three dimensions and smelled, which the TV dogs don't. I also got to meet my double, another smooth-coated Griffon. I barked at my parents to take a picture, but they didn't. What good is carrying around one of those things if they don't use it?

I shook a little when my parents left, but they assured me they would return. First, I got a lovely bath, then brushed, and finally a good butt squeeze that would make DeShaun Watson envious. The best part of my experience was that it didn't last long; I was only there for an hour and a half, which was good because I wanted to get home.

I was delighted when my parents returned and snuggled up with mom on the trip home. I missed doing that. When I got home and fell asleep, River asked her if I liked it, and I said I did and would like to return tomorrow. River told her it would be at least a month. I hope my butt can hang on that long.

The dog and groomer bond is special, and I am glad to be in such good hands.

Nature Friday

 

 Hosted by The LLB Gang

 

For years we had a beautiful Forsythia shrub in our backyard. Then one fall morning, my parents woke up, and the bush was gone, cut down to the trunk.

We live in a 55-and-older facility, where we own the house but rent the land. The owners have the right to step in if a yard is not kept correctly, but if you have been a long-time reader, you know our parents take meticulous care of our yard.

My dad marched to the office to confront the inept property manager Penelope Fudgebottom. When he arrived, he saw the bush tied to the back of a truck. He entered the office where Penelope was having a conversation with the handyman Yosemite Ignatio  Daddy demanded to know why the bush was cut down. Penelope immediately began hemming and hawking like Ralph Kramden.

"It's more better for your," Yosemite Ignatio.

"It's not more better," Daddy snapped back. He demanded Penelope's explanation of why it was cut down, and she answered that she wanted everything flat, whatever that meant. When he pressed her, she threw Yosemite Ignatio under the shrub dragging truck by saying it was an accident.

"You never make a mistake?" Yosemite Ignatio asked Daddy, who had to fight the urge to punch him in the face.

Penelope Fugebottom said she would buy a new shrub, but Daddy told her not to, having seen the cheap vegetation she had planted elsewhere.

Daddy called the management office in Virginia and asked to talk to the General Manager I.C. Nothing or his assistant I No Nothing. The secretary Due Nothing would not connect the call, or give out the Nothing's email, so Daddy wrote a letter, but true to form, he heard Nothing.

When spring came, the unsightly stump stuck out like a sore thumb. Daddy contacted stump removal companies, but they were not cost-effective. That is when Daddy found a solution. A hefty $40.00 plastic rock from Amazon.

Daddy bought the rock, put it over the stump, staked it in., and planted Hosta around it.

This was the result.

 

So, take my advice; get a big fake rock when all else fails.

Thursday Poetry Time

 

 This is the photo that Sammy and Teddy posted for us to inspire a poem.

 

 The wife said she heard a knocking from the bathroom

But I knew I should not assume

I climbed the stairs and turned on the lights

But there was nothing wrong in sight

I turned to go back down the stairs

When a loud knocking caught me unaware

I thought it came from the downed toilet seat

But what could be making that slow study beat?

I carefully lifted the top and  saw to my surprise

Our neighbors' boy Timmy pop up with no cries

Head first into the toilet he had fallen

Which in this vicinity was uncommon

He had no way to go in reverse

And found himself in a situation most adverse

So forward into the pipe he did go

Squeezing through the plumbing was slow

Until he saw a light coming from our hall

And he began to crawl

Like Shawshank's Andy he moved through filth

Around our bowl the water spilth

He got his foot caught in our small drain

But still able to think with his brain

He knocked on the seat and hoped for the best

And you already know the rest

I brought him across the hall to his dad

Explaining the situation so he wouldn't be mad

The dad was not angry, he seemed quite meek

As he explained his son traveled through the pipes earlier in the week

Wouldn't you know the little boy who used our pipes as a funnel

Would go on to build the Chunnell. 

 

 

 

 

 

Wordless Wednesday

 

Beat This Caption

 

What the hell? My password has always been meow

The Ruby Rose Report

 

 

I have heard many stories about new dogs being taught how to act by their parents' latest angel. Well. I have three advising me, who all believe they are the best dog, and I should emulate them. Since I don't want to favor one of them, I took a bit from each.

From Foley Monster, I got my playfulness and mannerisms. She taught me how, when I am excited, to spin around in circles. Also, I learned how to entertain myself with toys, something my other two sisters couldn't do.

She also taught me to respect the bed, which has been difficult since my puppy energy kicks in around bedtime. Foley told me it was acceptable to play in bed as long as the lights were on, but when they go off, it is time to snuggle down and be still. I am seven years old in human years, so turning off the energy switch is hard, but when I do, I am closer to Mama than the blankets that cover her.

From Pocket, I have learned tenderness: How to take a treat gently or how to lick softly. Also, she taught me how to look in my human eyes with all the love heaven will allow. She wants me to learn from my mistakes, so I always try to pee in the middle of the pads. Peeing on edge leads to floor seepage and unhappy parents.


River Song first recruited me and has had the most significant impact on how to behave; she has taught me to be a Velcro dog, always by my parents' side and mostly with Mommy. She showed me how to give Daddy a face bath with my tongue. It's good exercise for my tongue, and the sweaty man tastes good.  

I must recognize my parent's first dog as a couple: Blake, who had no angel teachers to show her the way but still blazed a trail that all her successors followed. The only advice she gave me was to love them; the rest would be easy.

An intelligent dog like me also learns from my predecessors' mistakes. I avoid continually barking for table scraps like Foley, not to be as sound sensitive as Pocket, and not the succumb to separation anxiety like River. I am darn near perfect, but you want to leave something for your successor to approve of, which is why I bark like a mad dog when horses and dogs are on television, even though it is justified because the animals could smash through that thin glass and charge into the front room.

It takes a village of angels to raise a dog, and I hope I make them proud.

Love Ruby  

River Song Has a Close Encounter of the Angel Kind with Kitty Isabella

 

 

I have never been welcoming to other dogs. My mom was mine, and I didn’t want to share her with another animal, so I made myself look angrier than my resting face projected and kept them at bay.

I did get to meet dogs during my mortal life. The most significant number of them I met simultaneously was at Laura’s house. I have been lucky to meet them there, including Wishbone, Pokey, Toby, and Bentley the Westie. When we got an invitation to go to his house, which he shared with his brother Winston, I was very excited to see him again.

When we got to his lovely lake house I began barking aggressively because there was a cat in the front yard. I was getting ready to chase it when Foley stopped me and said that the cat’s name was Isabelle, and after 20 years of devoted service to Bentley’s mom, she recently arrived at the Bridge and moved into the house with her brothers. 

This was a problem. While I could begrudgingly get along with dogs I drew the line at cats. I had been tormented by Ugly Joan, the cat who lived under our steps, for years. I thought, when I passed, that I would no longer have to tolerate the kitties. I had not imagined they would be living in my town. 

Pocket told me when she first crossed the Bridge that she didn’t trust cats either, but now some were her best friends. Foley followed up by stating she has learned to tolerate cats and has been to many of their welcoming parties. The whole system was breaking down. But, I said I would be nice to Isabella for the sake of our hosts.

Bently and Winston welcomed us into their home. It was lovely, and we soon fell into an easy conversation. Isabella came in and jumped on the couch,  it startled me, and I barked, and my sisters gestured for me to be quiet.

I tried to ignore it, but wouldn’t you know, because we were both Bridge rookies, Isabelle and I sat together at the end of the table. I was very uncomfortable and kept my head down, even when Isabella asked me to pass the fish.

While the others regaled with tall tales of their mortal life, I heard Isabellasigh. I turned and saw there was a tear in her eye. I wanted to ignore it, but I was raised properly and asked what was wrong.

She told me she missed her mom, and I discovered we had something important in common. We soon fell into an easy conversation about our combined sorrow over being new angels, and before I knew it, we had talked for two hours, and it was time to go home.  

Isabella said I could come by and talk to her about our transitioning to be angels any time, and I told her I would like it. On the walk home, my sister kidded me about being a cat lover,  I insisted I was not, and Isabelle was an exception to my rule about not liking cats.

But, I was getting there, and I could envision the day I overcame my prejudices and accepted cats like my sisters.

As long as they don’t sleep under my porch.