Foley Monster's Tales From Rainbow Bridge: Roxy

When someone a pup loves dies, part of their heart goes into the dog, whose main job through the coming months is to provide love, comfort, and understanding to the survivors.

Even harder than losing a dog is a parent losing a precious child because you have lost a child, but the possibility of further happiness through grandchildren is squashed. When we go to the Bridge, we dogs are either spade or beyond childbearing age.

When Momma Leslie lost her beloved adult son, Marc, he left a part of himself in his best buddy, their dog Roxy, which helped her accept the passing. No parent ever gets losing a child; they just get used to the pain, like you eventually shut out the sound of planes if you live next to the airport.

And loyal Roxy helped her adapt to the pain with love, patience, and understanding. Humans often think that dogs are the only ones who understand them, and they are right.

But what is a mom to do when the only soul alive who can help them through the death of a loved one has to go too? That is what happened to Momma Leslie this week when her beloved Roxy, who had been living off of borrowed heartbeats to stay with his mom longer, finally had to give up the fight and surrender to the Bridge.

Roxy was met by Alec when she crossed the Bridge. They hugged, cried, laughed, played, rested, scratched, and Licked one another as I waited to swear her in, and her predecessors waited for the welcome Roxy banquet for over an hour. Who worries about a time when you have an eternity?

When Roxy and. Alec was done reuniting, and after their mom’s angels greeted them, I swore Roxy and, as an angel, first class.

She called me. Upon her arrival, she had expected to be sad, and I explained the Bridge is the opposite of Moto life. On that side, life is like a cloudy day with a burst of sun, while at the Bridge, a stray cloud may make it dark, but usually, the sun is out, and visibility is clear.

Morning is a nightmare you have frequently, but when it arrives, it hits you with all the loss you felt in the past after you sent a soul to the Bridge.


Momma Lesly is carrying that sorrow behind her with each step. Time in Angels will lessen the road, but it never ., but hovers above like a cloud.

May Momma Leslie have nothing but clear skies in High visibility for the rest of her days on the mortal side.

Poetry Thursday

 

Once again, Angel Sammys and Teddys Pawetaton have provided us with a photo for Poetry Thursday.

"Look at the beautiful neighborhood"

My Dad said “what a place to experience your childhood

Every street is exactly the same

With identical yards, roofs, and frame

Every house holds a family

With well scrubbed faces and hands free of clammily

Everyone family has two and a third kids

And no urban blight: The HOA forbids

Each man has a wife with blonde hair

Who don’t work, they wouldn’t dare

And all the kids are extraordinarily ordinary

And they live to 85 and die from a massive coronary

Every lawn is cut to perfection

And the John Birch Society controls the election

Everyone goes to Sunday mass

Followed by a cotillion, what a gas

Everyday kids gets A’s

And they are all straight because the HOA barred the Gays

They aren’t crazy about the Jews either

But they are allowed if they have good food at Shiva

The black, Puerto Ricans, and Asians are welcome

As long as they have a very high income

So far none of them has applied.

Not since one did and Mrs. Whitikar nearly died

I asked if that was where we were going to live

I didn’t want to but didn’t want be combative

My Dad said we would never pass through their gates

We were going to live in a place called the United States

Wordless Wednesday

 

Beat This Caption

I knew it, while I have been eating crappy salmon Temptations, the dogs have been wolfing down these delicious Milk Bones and living like kings 

Monday Question

When your parents are asked to describe you in one word what do they say?

Ruby's Answer: Sweet

 

The Ruby Rose Report: Failure to Launch

 

Every dog will someday get an injury, as will people. A human might bang their elbow, grab it, take a second to recover, and move on. And, when we get slightly injured, our parents act and watch out for every move. If our parents didn't react like that, we would recover as quickly as them.

The Horrible Incident of the Mistimed Leap happened on Friday, July 21, 2023, at approximately 2100 hours. I had been sleeping on my Mommy's lap when I got the urge for a drink of water, jumped down, partook from the old watering dish, and walked back into the living room to do something I had done hundreds of times before.

When it comes to tiny dog jumping, when you start to take flight for granted, you are fracked. I either jumped too early or too late, the NTSB had yet to release their findings, and I shorted my jump, crashing into the leg rest and falling to the floor with a big bang. I immediately stood up and ran into the kitchen, taking shelter under the kitchen table.

My parents moved faster than they had during the great "What is that smell?" debate in 2014. I was gathered from under the table, put on the couch, and then played the popular game: "You don't need to go to the vet; I have seen three seasons of All Creatures Great and Small." I was sure I was going to get diagnosed with flop bottom.

They played "move the legs," "rub the back," then "feel along the rib cage," and finally followed the finger until they decided I was not injured.

Immediately after the injury, I was not sure what had happened, and I thought the chair had attacked me and that I could no longer trust the furniture, so when I entered a room, I suffered a failure to launch and stayed on the ground.

That weekend I didn't jump or even stand on my back legs. My parents kept checking me over, eager to prove the other had broken me. I lost confidence in my flying ability, like the Wright brothers when they crashed into a barn; my parents were worried but noticed if I didn't think about it, I could jump. It seems I had the yips.

My parents were 99 percent sure nothing was wrong with me, but that one percent was a bugger, never straying far from their thoughts.

Slowly I regained my confidence, starting by walking on my back legs, then jumping on the couch, and finally submitting Mommy's recliner, where I announced to the world, "I'm back, baby!'

With each launch, the memory of my failed attempt fades, but hopefully, not so much that I lose my confidence again.

Flying is a tricky business for a woo like me.

Nature Friday

Our smallest garden is also our oldest: The Pocket Garden. It was initially called the Foley Garden, but the more angels in my family, the more other gardens were claimed, and Foley claimed the most extensive garden as soon as she could. Pocket likes her garden. It is small and modest like her.

The jewel of our gardens is our Hydrangea named Hobo, so named because his parents sent it to us after Foley passed. It is still growing strong.

 

Next up is Schulz, a ditch Lilly, the most demanding plant in the garden; you must be if you're a ditch, Lilly. It got its name when an obnoxious girl named Lily got ditched when she went to pee in her bed of Lillie.

Next to that is Woody the Tiger Lilly, a nice boy, hilarious, and a good storyteller but we have to keep it away from Oriental Bittersweet. We don’t want any cross-pollination with an underaged plant.

Finally, this is a Bowser, a member of the group. Sha-Na-Na, hiding in

our garden as an Asian Virginsbower. At first, I thought it was an Asian Virgin Blower, which meant we would have to get i away from Woody, but it is a bower, not a blower.  

And that is it for the Pocket Garden, like her, small, modest, and pretty.

Next week the back garden