MacDougal is our August 1, 2010 pup of the week

There is no predicting when hard times will come. There could be a bad snow storm that makes your roof collapse on Thanksgiving. A twister could hit the homestead on the Fourth of July and put your gas grill in the crik. On Christmas Day those sons of a bitches the Bumpuses could let their hounds loose, they could steal your turkey dinner, and you have to eat holiday dinner at the nearest Chinese restaurant. (This happens a lot, like every two hours on Christmas Day, according to the big truth telling machine in the middle of the living room that fills us in on so many human secrets.)

And sometimes hard times comes on your birthday. Like our wonderfully special friend MacDougal. He just had a birthday last week. But it looked like there would be no party, no streamers, no hats, no balloons, no heffalumps jumping out of cakes.

You see last year MacDougal's Daddy was called to the Bridge in the time around his birthday. I don't know why humans put so much emphasis on dates, but they do. When the calender counts down to that day human sadness grows, then breaks, and tears flow. All us pups can do is lick their tears, wag our tails, and try to cure their broken hearts with love.

So it didn't look like we would be celebrating MacDougal's birthday this year. And we all understand. Sometimes Mom's hearts break and we all must respect what pups have to do to heal their Moms.

But when the day came, guess what? MacDougal's Mom came through for him like a champ. First she went out and rented a beer fountain. Oh boy let me tell you there is nothing like a beer fountain on the hot days that we had here. It was truly a stroke of genius.

To help the beer down Mommy followed it up with some Frosty Paws. Beer and Frosty Paws are better than a day at the ball game. Then we all dug into Hattie's Leaning Tower Cake. Among her many other talents it seems that Hattie is our Cake Boss. She has Fella doing the frosting. Everyone who works for her is Mia Famiglia.

And that caused our little friend to do what she does best. She tooted. She did it over and over again, and we all know the power of her toots. I know where we live it caused all the humid air to be pushed out to sea. They said so on the big truth telling machine. The never accurate weather man said the humidity went away from a small amount of flatulence being released in Southern California.

So, for having such a wonderful Mom who would not let your birthday go by without a celebration despite her pain, for always bringing a big smile to our face, and for having the most powerful toots we know, MacDougal is our pup of the week.

Now does go wasting those toots. Who knows when the next natural or man made disaster will come and we will need them.

Bailey don't go

Bailey's Mommy and Daddy are coming for her today and we have to hide her.

She loves it here. The rhythm of life in our family is perfect for her. No little kids running around pulling her tail or beautiful fur. No big, clumsy dog slobbering over her.

If I didn't know it was sillier than bands I would say that Bailey loved Mommy more than I do. When Mommy is downstairs cleaning the basement, or in the bathroom, Bailey walks around the house moaning like a ghost: "OhhhhhhhhhhwhereareyouMommyooooooohhhhhIdon'twanttonealoneooooohhhhfindme" The other day when Mommy went out Bailey fell asleep on the couch and when she awoke she must have decided we were all in bed. When Mommy got home Bailey was outside our bedroom scratching at the door and begging to be let in.

At night she settles in on Mommy's right side, being kept warm by her lap, and the heat for her lap top. I lay on the left side. Pocket lays on the recliner with Daddy. Good enough for her.

At Bailey's house she has Mommy or Daddy holds her leash and she pees and then she comes back inside. At our house we go for a walk around the center island of our condo complex. She gets to stretch her legs, smell things, get caught up on tree mail, and scare the crap out of Daddy.

She did that when she slipped her collar. Bailey is a stubborn girl and she decided she wanted to stay behind us and Daddy gave her flexi leash a pull and her collar slipped right off of her. Then Bailey found her youth and began to prance across the grass. We were on our dual leash and we raced after her with Pocket barking and Daddy going "Bailey...Bailey...Bailey....Bailey." She was fast, but she doesn't have a lot of get up to her go and we caught her halfway across the lawn. Daddy carried her inside and barely slept that night. There is nothing worse then losing a dog you are baby sitting.

And Bailey is such a good walker. She stops and sniffs, and then when she begins to walk, with her tail up, she looks like a Clydesdale romping down the trail.

She likes to sleep at the end of the bed, I sleep in the middle and Pocket sleeps near the top at the end of the blanket. Every time Mommy shifts a little we shift with her. Yesterday morning she woke up and Bailey had forced her feet off the bottom of the bed. In a few more days we could have her off the bed completely, then we could go to work on Daddy. But we can't do it alone.

Plus Bailey eats so much better here. Mommy makes us special food, and she adds a touch of yogurt which is so yummy. Just dried kibble at Bailey's house: like a Chihuahua caught in Arizona without a license who spends the night in jail.

We've discussed how we can keep Bailey here when here family comes for her. We thought about her biting but she knows it's wrong, she isn't a violent dog, and she has the reflexes of Kirk Douglas at a rodeo. We thought about dog napping her but when we did that with Shakira we got in such trouble. Plus it cost us lots of kibble to mail Shakira back. Our plan right now is for Bailey to go and bury herself in Mommy's lap and put on such a moaning show they don't have the heart to take her away.

But it wont work. She'll go all crazy when she sees her family and leave with them and in the middle of the night sigh and start missing us. It's just a dog's life. But I did enjoy having her and will miss her very much.

I think her family should vacation more. Maybe an RV trip to Europe for a few months. Then we'd have time to sell the house, move, and keep Bailey forever. (Sigh) We can only dream.

Smoochy is our July 25, 2010 pup or the week

A couple of weeks ago, when I honored our pacifist dogs, I meant to include this week's Pup of the Week Smoochy because I remembered reading a story where Smoochy totally put a pugnacious pooch in it's place. But despite long nights of searching I could not find these postings. I started to wonder, if, at ten, I was beginning to imagine Smoochy posts so he was not included in that week's pup of the week. After I published it Hattie Mae told me that the pacifist posting was on Facebook. Holy tweet Batman! I had been barking up the wrong social network.

So I sent my friend Smoochy a message apologizing for not including him as our Pup of the Week. I promised him if he did anything interesting, like farting sideways I would make him Pup of the Week. But Mama Mia he went to such lengths.

Instead of breaking wind to the left he grew a giant mast cell tumor on his leg. Geeze, Smooch, there was no need to go to such extremes.

On Wednesday his mother found the large lump on his leg. Since Smooch had recently had an thorough exam these big bump had to be new.

Now, all the Moms here on the Tanner Brigade know everything there is to know about raising pups. I know it's redundant but I will repeat them for any new members who read this. (1) Find out what is wrong with your pup. (2) Panic.

By Thursday they were off to the dogtor. Now I wasn't there but I know what happened. The dogtor concentrated on everything except the giant disgusting lump on Smoochy's leg. And I'm betting this drove his Mommy into a tither and you don't want to be tithered.

Hattie Mae let us know what was going on and we all prayed hard as it seemed surgery was going to happen that day. But the dogtor, oh, he got tired. He told Smoochy to come back in one week. And what a long week it has been for all of his closest friends.

On the 28th the entire Brigade will meet in our church and pray that the surgery is successful and that the big ugly mass is just a big ugly mass of nothing.

We all know you are going to be just fine Smoochy. But we do want you to know how much we love you. How your blogs make us smile. How we love your pictures. How we look forward to your comments. How we are all proud to call you our friend.

So here's to you Smoochy, our Pup of the Week.

Foley's interview with her cousin Bailey

Foley: I am so excited. For the next week my older cousin Bailey will be here. She is 12. She has a profile on TB under Riley and Bailey. It is not very active. Daddy set it up because the grandgirls wanted to go on Tanner Brigade, but if they went on under our names they could shut down the whole site with just a few clicks. They are very destructive. So, since Bailey is here while her family goes to Wally World, I thought this would give you all a wonderful time to get to know her. So Bailey, how are you?

Bailey: I am 12 and tired and miss my Mom.

Foley: Great, how excited are you to be here?

Bailey: Your Daddy was kind enough to turn two pillows on the couch over for me. I am now lying, cuddled up on them.

Foley: What would you be doing if you were home right now?

Bailey: I would be sitting on two pillows on the couch lying, cuddled up.

Foley: Hmmm. How do you like being here with us?

Bailey: I love your Mommy, and I like your Daddy, and you're my favorite dog, but that Pocket. I was watching her tonight. Chasing the ball. Bringing it back. What is the point of that?

Foley: Oh, and she wears that diaper, isn't that funny?

Bailey: I have to wear a diaper to bed at night. I am 12 and get leaks.

(Awkward pause)

Foley: So do you miss your sister dog RIley the American Bull Dog?

Bailey: Oh God!. I hate that dog. Seriously, who has a 12 pound shih tzu and gets a 110 pound American bulldog? First day I tried to go Alpha on her and she picked me up and flipped me across the room.. And she has no manners. She's like Pocket if Pocket was on a football scholarship to the University of Miami. She knocks people over, jumps on them, runs over them, and she sticks her face in random crotches. Sunday night when your Daddy was sitting at the kitchen table she stuck his face right there and your Daddy yelled: "Dog in crotch!" I mean what man wants a dog in their crotch? Except for Mel Gibson.

Foley: How about your little human sisters?

Bailey: Of course I miss them. I love them very much. But only from about six inches or more away. I do not like having my personal space invaded, and those two are space invaders. They always want to hug or kiss or carry me. I'm 12. If you get picked up two or three times a day you now how many times that is over the course of a dozen years? After awhile you just need to be left alone. I don't mind Mommy picking me up, she is real gentle. But little girls, man, there ain't no gentle in little girls.

Foley: So what have you seen in the last 12 years of your life?

Bailey: When I first came to live with my Mommy it was just me, Mommy and Daddy and we were a happy family. Then along came Maddie, and you know, they have less time for you, and that's part of what we know going in. And then the second baby, and the big dog, and sometimes you wish it was just you and Mommy again you know?

Foley: Yeah, you know, you're depressing the crap out of me right now.

Bailey: Sorry. But you know: I come here, and it's quiet and there are no kids, and no big dumb slobbering dog, nobody trying to pick me up, and I get plenty of attention, and all I can think about is how much I miss my Mommy and Daddy and the baby girls. It's nice to spend time with all of you, but I can't wait to go home, I even miss the big dumb slobbering dogs. We're pups, we love our families, no matter what. What can we do?

Foley: I know. We just take one look at their big eyes, their cute little tales, their cute little walks, and we're in love for life. So what are your plans for the next week?

Bailey: Well, I plan to sit on the pillows on the couch, go out and pee, sit on the pillows on the couch, eat, sit on the pillows on the couch, pee, sit on the pillows on the couch, go to bed.

Foley: Last night you didn't want to stay in bed with us.

Bailey: It was my first night. I was a little scared. But I came up in the morning to get your Daddy to take me out to pee and then I spent the rest of the morning there so I guess I'll stay there all night until Mommy comes home.

Foley: There is one thing I have always admired about you. The way you are able to take about three dozen pees when you're outside.

Bailey: I learned that from your sister Blake actually. You see most dogs pee like a machine gun. But I prefer to pee like a single chamber rifle. Pee. Wait. Reload. Pee. Wait. Reload.

Foley: Oh if only I could get some control like that.

Bailey: Well I'm glad to have done this interview Foley. I need to sleep, those kids will be back before we know it.

Foley: Well thank you for the wonderful interview.

Bailey: Oh, and let me say thank you to Zoe Boe's wonderful Mother. Last Christmas your Mommy and Daddy hired her to do a beautiful drawing of me that hangs in our living room, and whenever I'm feeling down because I'm not getting attention I look at it and remember how much I'm loved.

Foley: Well we love you here too Bailey.

Bailey: I love your too Foley, night, night.

Dr Pocket's surgery plans for Daddy

After reading medical textbooks, searching Wikipedia from top to bottom, and watching five seasons of Grey's Anatomy I called Daddy into my office crate today to give him is diagnosis.

Even though I knew what I was going to say, I made him sit crunched up on the other side of my desk, while I looked down at his chart with my half glasses on and one of those light things on my head usually worn by spelunkers.

I think Daddy was nervous about his diagnosis because he was drumming his fingers on the floor. It also may have been that he had to twist himself into a pretzel to fit into my office. He asked me for his results but I held up a paw to cut him off and flipped through the last few pages.

There was a disagreement in the human doctors diagnosis. One said it was a umbilical hernia. The other said it was a gall bladder. Bur my conclusion was right on point. It was both!

"Both?" Daddy said. "What would make you think it was both?"

"Please don't argue with the doctor," I said. (The truth was, I didn't know which one it was so if I fixed them both how could I go wrong?)

Daddy looked at me skeptically and said he was thinking about going to a human doctor. I put my head down on my desk, looked up sadly with my brown eyes over my glasses, and gently sighed. Daddy smiled, scratched my ears, and told me if it made me happy he would be operated on by a five pound dogs with no medical training. What a good Daddy.

He began to ask me how I would perform the surgery but as a Doctor I think it is better that the patient knows as little as possible about the procedure since that's how much I know.

But, after discussing the situation with my attorney, Foley Monster, who is also representing Daddy, but as my attorney has assured me that there is no conflict, I began to think about how I would perform the surgery.

First I met with my anesthesiologist, Foley, to discuss how she would be putting Daddy under for the surgery. She said she would repeatedly hit him in the head with a skillet until he wasn't moving. Excellent.

Then I would start on the hernia. I am sharpening my dew claw so I can use it like I blade. I will then make an incision just above Daddy's belly button. Then, with my nose, I will shove his intestines above his belly button. Then I will take some tissue paper and stuff it up there to hold it in place. I will then pull the skin down. I have been gathering used floss because Daddy can never hit the bathroom trash basket (or anything else in the bathroom.) . I will take that floss, using my tongue put it through the eye, and then sew Daddy up with the floss.

Oh, but first I would have to do something about the gall bladder. Now this is what I learned about it on Wikipedia. Gall used to be French. Bladder is what makes you pee. I know this because mine is always full. Anyway, a gall bladder is a french pee holder, and Daddy isn't French, so that foreign body needs to come out. But how? Well this is what I devised.

We would tie a rope around Daddy's feet and then tie it to a beam in the cellar. Now I don't like to talk about these things but Daddy will be nekked. Now he has man parts that Foley, Mommy and Ken in Toy Story III don't have. I think if we pull his legs apart, I can take my sharp claws and dig into that thing. I will hold on with all my strength while Foley lifts him into the air by his feet. While I am being raised I will be tying a fish hook on the floss. Once Daddy is in the air I will begin the gall bladder removal.

I take the floss and drop it into the slit I made in his belly button. I slowly slip it down into his body while Foley holds up a book. It is a book about old Europe and I'm trying to tell, through my delicate sense of feel, where Gall is. Once I find it I well give it a good yank, the way you do when you catch a fish, then ease the Gall right out of his bladder, then stuff his belly button and put a strip of duct tape on there to hold everything together. Finally, my anesthesiologist will gently awaken our patient by cutting the rope and landing him on his head.

I think, after a month or two, Daddy should be back to slightly normal, which is all we expect from him now. Please don't tell him of my plans. Patients get all weird when they know a scrotum balancing dog is going to try to fish the lower part of France out of their belly button.

By the way, I am going to try to put a little camera on the fish hook so you can look forward to pictures too.

Yours in medicine: Dr. Pocket

Fred is our July 18th pup of the week

To find our Pup of the week Pocket and I had to reach across the Universe to the Bridge to honor a friend who crossed over some time ago.

We are not honoring him because of what he did this week. We are honoring him for something he did years ago. For helping to make his Mom a wonderful, caring person, who loves all dogs, not just her own.

This week Fred's Mom Maria traveled from Argentina to Italy, and not for the normal reason a person would do so, to complete the third leg of the Amazing Race, but to meet another Brigade Mom.

She met our friends Paco's Mom at a little cafe in Rome. It is wonderful when our Mom's met. They are the most special people, and they have so much to talk about. Namely: Us.

Now Maria loves her Luca and Junior as much as any Mom loves their little puppies. But there is one dog that will always have her heart and that was Fred.

As everyone who knew Fred, and all his friends at the Bridge know, don't bother Fred during the World Cup. I heard from my friends at the Bridge, that from early in the morning until the sun set over the bridge, Fred would be surrounded by puppy beer, pretzels, Frosty Paws and Foleytinis, and have friends in and out all day with the only rules being wipe your paws, and never speak out against his beloved Argentina or their freaky couch Diego Maradona.

Now our Moms treasure what we leave behind when we go to the Bridge. They are little pieces of us left behind. But Fred's Mom decided to part with one of her little memories, and give it to Paco, because his beautiful little face reminds her of Fred. It was such a wonderful gesture it filled all eight eyes in our house with tears. And we know from his blog how it touched Paco's house. There is no greater tribute you can pay to another then to give them something from your heart and that is what Fred's Mom Maria did.

And a big tip of the tail to Paco for wearing an Argentine World Cup colors in Italy. Mama-mia! That takes quite a red rocket Paco. You do look very happy in it.

So, because he helped his Mom become the wonderful, generous person that she is, and for passing on one of his treasured items to another Bridge member: Fred is our Pup of the Week.

Where Foley discusses her sour stomach and reaches a conclusion on what caused it

What a week we have had. The baby sitting, the wonderful meeting with Ms. Laura and Pokey, you know sometimes a girl just needs to unwind. So Saturday night, after Mommy, Papa and Pocket fell asleep I snuck out the door and went down to my favorite watering hole, Smitty's Pub on Bay Street.

I shouldn't go to Smitty's. It's a bit of a rough spot. But when I stroll in everyone yells out "Monstah!" I take my stool at the end of the bar, pull out a cigar, order up a Foleytini, and sit back and enjoy myself a smoke.

Of course some Guido came in and thought he could shoot some stick better than me. I let him get up a couple of games, then ran the table, won me some kibble, which I cashed in for some more Foleytinis.

I was surprised to see sun light coming through the grimy windows and I staggered home, up the stairs and, after three wobbly tries, was able to jump into bed without my Mom being none the wiser.

I am not as young as I used to be, so I spent most of the day Sunday just relaxing, on a lap here, or a couch there. I did make sure I had some big meals to absorb the Foleytinis.

Slept well Sunday night. Ate well Monday morning. Then threw it up. I was stunned. I am the Monster. I don't throw up. And then, whut-wo. I felt waves rolling through my body from the tip of my nose to the point of my tail. I mean that's about eight inches of yuck.

I needed a place to sit down. I looked for Mommy but she was downstairs knocking down walls because the cellar had the gall to get water in it earlier this year. I had no one.

Then I saw Pocket. "Unh-uhh Sister Disco," she said. "You got drunk the night after we went to see Pokey, you get what you deserve." I proclaimed my innocence. "Then explain to me why I woke up next to a strange Daschund Sunday morning!" she asked. Well she had me there. Me and my shapely tail have got me in trouble more than once.

"Okay, Pocket, just don't tell Mommy," I asked. She promised. Then we heard Mommy coming up the stairs. She was sweaty, limping, bent in pain, which made it easier to see my vomit.

"Oh my gosh what has happened here?" she asked.

"Foley got drunk Saturday night, brought home some strange, and now she's got an upset stomach or a Doxie transmitted disease."

Mommy looked down at me frowning, and I looked up with my deep, brown, sad eyes like puddles of sorrow.

"Oh my poor baby! Are you not feeling well?" she asked. Score! I sadly sunk down to the floor and she picked me up so she could keep an eye on me while she got ready to go out.

From the desk of Pocket Dog: Are you kidding me? Are you freaking kidding me? She goes out, gets drunk, gets sick, and now she is being pampered over? I drink a bowl and a half of water, have to piddle, everyone is busy, probably fussing over that little Monster, I pee, and it's the end of the freaking world. And you know what? It will never end Someday, hopefully years from now Monster will go to the Bridge and it will be my time to be number one, but Mommy and Daddy will run out and get another puppy and go all gaga over it and there I'll be in my hand me down Salvation Army dress.

I lay on the bathroom floor while Mommy cleaned up nice. I put my paws flat on the floor, then my head on the floor between the paws, and I looked up so Mommy could see the whites of my eyes. In the world of dogs this is known as the kill position. Humans cannot resist it. When she came out of bathroom I rolled over on my side and panted and Mommy gave me a scratch.

She carried me downstairs, gently placed me in her recliner, did the laundry, came back up, and I climbed up to snuggled in her lap, and then Uh-Oh. It was like someone was pumping air right into my tender belly and it had no where to go. There were lightning bolts zipping back and forth around me. And the farts. One lifted me two feet off the recliner.

And food, Daddy put some down and I couldn't even look at it. The smell set off little belly bombs. I just wanted bed, and soon I was carried to my nice mattress. But even there, my place of comfort, my stomach would not settle, and I wouldn't look at the offered kibble. Daddy was waiting for his nightly licks where I lick every bit of sweat from his face and arms but not even that appealed to me.

Of course this made Daddy fret. I lay down next to Mommy and he spent the longest time scratching my butt, which was nice, I lay down next to Mommy, and Pocket came up with me, and we snuggled as a family and that helped settle my little stomach.

I felt a little better in the morning. Mommy made some chicken and rice and I ate most of it. Then Mommy and Daddy, who were feeling a little relieved at my slowly returning appetite, began to discuss what could have caused the sour stomach.

They decided it was the food they put me on. They had been mixing it in with an old one, then Mommy saw it had brown rice, and remembered brown rice didn't agree with me. So it was time to go back to the old food. Mystery solved. It was quite scary, but hopefully this will never happen again. Brown rice? Who would have guessed it caused so much trouble.

From the desk of Pocket Dog: What? Are you kidding me? Brown rice? She got drunk on too many Foleytinies. For heaven's sake read the blog! Oh I don't believe this. She gets away with everything. I'm sure she'll be out again this weekend. Wonder what they'll blame her next hangover on? Carrots? She has them so fooled. Boy, do I wish I was more like Foley.