Foley's Tails From Rainbow Bridge: Wiley

Once a week I get together with my old friend Hobo to enjoy a morning wall then stop at the deli for a bagel and lox. I met him outside of his famous bone bank, the basis of the Bridge economy. 

When he was mortal he was the richest dog in town and well known author. He rose from a dog tied to a tree to fame, fortune, and everything that goes with it. I have always found him fascinating., But, on this day, he was subdued.   

 When I asked why he said that his brother Wylie was due at the Bridge that day. 

 Wylie did not write books, nor was he well known. He dabbled in social media but only to keep up with old friends. As his parents got older Wylie settled down with them. He was the dog they needed. 

 Every mortal life is a song, with stunning highs, brutal lows, glorious melodies, and spectacular duets. They also have a coda, and then it ends, fading away, or with a double tap of the drums. Human songs are too short, and pet lives are a fraction of them. Some pass to the immortal side without a note of the chorus played. 

 Wylie had a long song, and he lived aware of how lucky he was with his parents, and how he loved to lead his pack and comfort his parents. One of the reasons that dogs live a short time is that we love them so hard it wears down the engine like a car always being pushed into the red. The ride won’t be long but it would be fun Wylie loved his parents hard and did not leave a drop of devotion unspent. His song ended in a flourish. It ended, as all great songs do, in tears.

 Now, Wylie’s song has begun again, the one that will accompany them through his immortal life and beyond. The song begins with great fanfare. Horns, trumpets, and trombones sound triumphantly when Wylie crosses the Bridge as the cheers of his friends almost drowned out the song. As he ran across the grass a flute accompanied his scamper, and then the strings soared as he was reunited with Hobo. It p[ayed so beautifully that we danced until Wylie grew tired and went to his new home with his caring big brother. 

 Humans sometimes you hear your angel’s song, just for a cooupole of seconds, the notes riding the breezes from the Bridge, until the song finally acccomopapnies us home 

The Ruby Rose Report: Traveling Like Royalty

I am the latest in a line of wonderful dogs that my parents have been fortunate enough to have in their lives. They started with Blake, a Shih Tzu who left us too soon at just six years old. Blake taught Foley how to be a good dog, and although she didn’t change the world, with a few more years, she certainly could have. Pocket was sweet and caring, although a bit high-strung for my parents. 

Then came River, my predecessor, who brought comfort and love to my parents. I have tried to measure up to these great dogs, and my parents say that I share many good qualities with those who came before me. However, according to my parents, there is one thing in which I excel above the rest.

 I am a very good passenger.

 Foley traveled extensively with my parents and was generally well-behaved. However, whenever she grew tired of the ride, she would become whiny. Pocket often jumped out of her car seat, dangling in the air like a parachute stuck in a tree. Meanwhile, River spent the entire trip trying to get into the front seat.

 I didn’t set out to be a great traveler. I just laid down in the back seat and relaxed. After a few months, I figured out how to stand in the seat and look out the window, then how to balance my front paws on the console, look out the front window, and get scratches from the front seat occupants. 

 I was so excited to be in the car that I shed like a bald man losing his toupee in a convertible on a windy day. So my parents got a big,, grey, ugly seat cover from the Big Grey Ugly store and I could shed my clothes in the back seat like a nubile teenage girl in a John Mellancamp song. I was attached to a tether but could roam the back seat. Sometimes when we went one way and I went the other my tummy would flip flop and Mr. Vomit splashed onto the Big, Grey, Ugly seat cover. 

 After the second occurance I was worried about being left home alone with my cursed stomach, but instead something awesome happened. They bought me a big, comfortable luxurious car seat. I can still see out the windows, but don’t wander around the seat and get stomach flip flops. I am riding in style, like royalty, and when I lie down it is in comfort. It is the second best part of going on car rides. The best is coming back home.

Poetry Thursday

 

It is Thursday and Two Spoiled Cats have provided the following picture to give us inspiration for this weeks poem 

It was a piglet wedding and Mr. Green Jeans wished them well

You could see Pierre Bacon did truly love his Piggy Michelle

And now Young Pierre Bacon and his piggy rang the cow bell

“Cest la vie” said the mother hen. It goes to show you never can tell

They furnished off a sty with fresh dirt and a pile of mud

The trough was filled with garbage containing fruit, rinds and mustard

Young Pierre got a job at hunting mice for apples covered with caramel;

“Cest la vie” said the brown goat It goes to show you never can tell

They had a warm dry and sheltered place to sleep.

They were given straw, hay and a plastic balls to play 

But when the sun went down they lay together in hay

And Mr Green Jeans promised to never take them to market to sell

“Cest la vie” sald the farmer’s wife it goes to show you never can tell

Once a year the farmer provides them berries 

To celebrate their anniversary

And for years lived happily and it all went well

“Cest la vie” said the dairy cows it  goes to show you never can tell

Wordless Wednesday

 

Beat This Caption

 

Oh hey Larry. What are we doing? Just wrestling. Don’t be silly Larry. She’s my best friend’s wife, and I’m a dog. Don’t be foolish Larry. Why are you going in the closet Larry? What you got there Larry? Is that a vacuum? What are you doing with that Larry?  Don’t  plug it in.Don’t plug it in. ARGHGHH

Monday Question

Have you ever slept anywhere except your home?

Ruby's Answer: I have not. My parents travelling days are through. I did spend a night at a woman's house before I arrived at the airport here but since then I have been a home dog.

The Ruby Rose Report. Club Humpers

 I. am a night dog. When the covers are turned down it is my time to play. When I am done I lie in the bed, in the fugue state we dogs slip it, not really awake, and not sleeping.

It is a peaceful, easy feeling.

But, that peacefulness is interrupted by the most consistent noise that rips apart the night.

Rude downstairs neighbors.

I thought it was bad down there when the cats were inhabiting the crawl space, but then Peter Possum took over the lease, and it has been non-stop problems since then.

One night around 2:00 AM I heard a scraping sound under the house. I was sure Peter had killed someone and was hiding him under the sink. I jumped down from the warm bed, walked over to the large living room grate and softly barked down askling Peter what he was doing.

‘’Just some remodeling,’’  Peter explained. I told him it sounded like he was dragging a body. ‘

“Don’t be silly,” Peter aid. “I bury the bodies in the back of the shed.”

I wasn’t rolling in the grass there. I continued to press the possum on what he was doing down there. 

“If you must know, I am building a homeless shelter for feral animals. During the night there are cats, chipmunks, and an alcoholic groundhog who stumbles in here. Right now, we all sleep together with no privacy. It's not natural, do I build walls so I, the cats, and whoever may slink in during the night can be on their own and have privacy.”

I asked why they needed privacy.

“We are all feral, none of us have been fixed, and there is nothing to do all night, plus we have to keep warm. I have some beds with purple silk sheets with a matching comforter. There are purple curtains separating the rooms.”

I told him it sounded like a whore house.

“Not a whore house, it's the hottest club in town, called Fur Humpers. It will have everything: Silk sheets, crushed oysters, the first person off of Deal or No Deal Island, a mouse strip show, one of the lesser Kardasians, Stephen Miller on a leash, P-Diddy’s caterers, three flight attendants from Jeffrey Espteins’ plane, 1,764,216 recently laid off federal workers, and DOGE DEI hire Big Balls.”

I don’t know how he is going to fit everything under there but he is an enterprising little rodent. 

At least I am used to being up all night,