Small Tales

Dog Bite Awareness Week: I Wasn't Born This Way

noreply@blogger.com (Foley Monster and Pocket) — Tue, 29 May 2012 23:11:00 +0000

Recently it was dog bite awareness week. I was unable to blog that week but I want to take this opportunity to speak to the humans to make them aware of one important way to avoid getting bit: Stop pissing us off.

First, let’s deal with our tails. They have many functions. Mostly they are used to express our joy. But they are not a handle. Don’t pull them, don’t squeeze them, don’t wrench them. When you do we are have protect ourselves and, since we were not born with sharp claws, machine guns attached to our under quarters, or boxing gloves on our paws. Our only protection is our mouths: hence you get bit.

Second, and this applies to our big dog friends, don’t try to ride them. We are not ponies. Our backbones are not meant to support the weight of a human or a child. Hey, we are willing to drag you on a sled in the middle of the snow and willing to bring you a bottle of whiskey when your dumb sas gets lost on a mountain. You don’t expect horsies to do that, don’t be expecting to ride us.

Thirdly doggies who bite were not born that way. We are not Gaga’s Monsters. Doggies are Foley’s Monsters. We are born sweet, innocent, and only wanting a human to love and be loved. If you abuse us that love turns to fear and we start lashing out with our teeth to protect ourselves. We are not here to bring out the tough in you. We are here to bring out the love in you. Let us change you. Don’t be changing us.

Lesson number four is be careful not to startle us. Are one job is to protect our humans and, if a mean human is smart, he will hurt us first so we can’t do our jobs. If you come up to us suddenly, or in a manner that seems threatening we are going to go into survival mode to save our families. If you get a nip from that don’t be blaming us.

Lesson number five is, unless you have owned us since we were a little pup, you don’t know how we were mistreated by bad humans, and those memories stay in us for a long time. One day, out of nowhere, a sudden movement may bring us back those days of being mistreated and we move to protect ourselves. We are very sorry, but again, we are Foley’s Monster, and we weren’t born that way, some bad human made us that way.

Remember, behind every non biting do is a wonderful human who brought us up to be what we are supposed to be, and behind every biting dog is a mean human, usually deep in our past, who turned us into the wrong kind of monsters.

And if you find a dog who does bite just keep in mind

Oh there there is another way
I wasn’t born this way
I wasn’t born this way
Oh there there is another way
I wasn’t born this way
I'm on the wrong track, baby
I wasn’t born this way

Chelsea and Ashton are our May 27, 2012 Pup of the Week

noreply@blogger.com (Foley Monster and Pocket) — Mon, 28 May 2012 01:35:00 +0000

I never want to be accused of favoritism but today I am willing to take that chance because I am recognizing two pups, Chelsea and Ashton, who are both members of the mightiest of dog breeds, the Yorkshire Terrier.

For almost an entire month we did not hear from our sweet friends. We became very concerned because they lived in the part of Texas where there were terrible tornadoes, and while there were no fatalities the human news reporters rarely count dogs among their casualties so there was still reason for concern. We all sent messages, e-mail, tree mail, pee a grams, but we got no response.

Finally our little friends (little to most of you, to us they are properly sized) posted an update. Her ‘puter got sick and she called the tech support so much the phone system crashed and no one could order Chinese food in New Dehli for a week. That was on April 21 and we were so happy the Yorkie silence was over.

Then we heard no yelping from them for another three weeks. Now, as you kind readers, and my friends, can tell you, it just isn’t natural for a Yorkie to stop yapping. Then they posted again and they were still having ‘puter problems. Chelsea and Ashton live, like we do, in a Senior community, and sometime in these places, thinking goes a bit sideways, and they start spending their money of things like shower chairs, higher toilet seats and something called a Commode which I can only compare to the drivethru of bathrooms for poo lovers.

I took the time to send a scathing e-mail to the AARP saying that instead of sending old folks key rings, flashlights and magnets they should send them laptops with free wi-fi. I am still waiting on a response. But you know, old folks, takes them awhile to respond.

Then, further down in the posting, I realized my genetic sisters had buried the lead along with a bone. Their Mom needed eye surgery which is bad for dogs but worse for humans because we can smell everything around for six square acres and poor Moms don’t have that ability. And let me tell you, from experience, us Yorkies make really bad seeing eye dogs, unless the only place blind humans want to go is after anything that runs across their path or something that smells new in the grass.
In an odd twist, Chelsea’s and Ashton’s Mom decided to become a pirate. She got herself an eye patch. And she has made all the elderly women in her building refer to her as “Big Mama.” All she needs is a parrot, which she is not getting, because us Yorkies don’t take to anything that weighs the same as us and has wings.

In their last post they said they had professional computer help which makes me wonder how a Yorkie can be affording that. Hopefully we will be hearing more from them soon and their Mom will be on their new computer. But for now they are doing what us Yorkies do best, keeping close to their Mom until she feels better.

Take care of your Moms my friends, and we will keep the Yorkie spirit going on the old Internet for you.

K9 Kamp Challenge I: "Walking on Sunshine" or "Dragging Foley on Pavement"

noreply@blogger.com (Foley Monster and Pocket) — Thu, 24 May 2012 02:39:00 +0000

We have successfully completed our walking on sunshine task but not without a few problems.

Daddy and I were getting ready. He pulled on his training pants, his tube socks, his sneakers. I licked my pads to make sure there were no obstructions and was ready to go. Mommy then interrupted us. She said words I dreaded to hear: Why don’t you take Foley along.

Geesh. Here I am. Four years old, in the prime of my prime, I am ready for my challenge, and not only do I have to drag tubby Daddy but now I got the Betty White of Yorkies to drag along. If we were going to win this challenge it came down to me: Pocket Dog. And I am never more worried than when things came down to me.

So we started our walk. Daddy used a purposeful stride. I walked with pride next to him. Foley dug in her paws and use her low center of gravity to imitate a turtle wearing a leash. If I may suggest to my K9 Kamp Kreating friends, that next year they add the stubborn Diva Yorkie drag challenge.

This lasted until our little modular home cottage disappeared from view. This was, like on all walks, when Foley gave in. Daddy says it’s because she knows she’s going for a walk. I think it’s because she’s not smart enough to know she can just turn around and thinks she has to take that long walk to go home again. But don’t tell her that because she will definitely give me a butt nip if she hears about it.

There is also one problem with this challenge. It’s the problem with almost every challenge we do. Many of us dogs are inside dogs, and when we go outside, and for a walk, well while we are in nature, nature calls. And it is very embarrassing in the middle of a challenge. Really, you humans don’t know how difficult it is. Imagine this. “Here we are at the Olympic gold medal 100 meter dash, and we’re off, and Bolt has a huge lead, but no, he’s taken a giant crap in the middle of the track and cost himself the Gold.” That is our life.

But the good thing is, once you have an early walk cleaning out, it gives you quite the skip in your step. Unfortunately Foley is a sniffaholic so we could never build up a healthy head of speed before something caught her scent and she had buried her nose in it. But once Foley was scentually satisfied we maintained a pace that I’ll Have Another would admire. Then we came to the office with the mailboxes.

There is a ramp there, but on the other side there is small stairway, and we walked up it, then across the porch, and down the ramp. We did this three times until the little old man who runs the office thought we were Occupation Wall Street picketers and asked us to leave.

Then we began walking down the longest road. It was here that we tried the running portion of the challenge. But Foley don’t run unless there is fried chicken at the end of the track.

Daddy tried picking her up and running with her but she didn’t like that either. We passed a home under construction. There were stairs that led nowhere.
Daddy said we could do more stairs and we climbed up them. Suddenly the top seemed very small and we were like the flying Wallendas up there. We climbed back down and headed home.

All in all it wasn’t a bad challenge. We would have done better without Foley but it is the first time she completed a challenge so a tip of the tail for her.

And I got my badge for doing something for the elderly, helping Foley in a challenge.

Oh my gosh, here she comes at me, I gotta run!

The eternal Bubs are our May 20, 2012 Pups of the Week

noreply@blogger.com (Foley Monster and Pocket) — Mon, 21 May 2012 03:10:00 +0000

This is for the Bub in all of us.

Wednesday will be the third anniversary of the Tanner Brigade: A ragtag group of dogs, some who did not feel wanted on Doggyspace (or, like Pocket and I, and Tanner Bub and Cocoa, were barred) while others stayed on DS and joined the Tanner Brigade to keep in contact with their friends.

For those of you who don’t know we will repeat the story of the founding of the Brigade, as humans do the story of the nativity of Christmas Eve, because Pocket and I take ourselves way too seriously. It all began with a group named Yellow Labs on Doggyspace.
Tanner Bub founded the Yellow Labs group, but one day he found it gone. He questioned the old DS management and was told his Yellow Labs group was assimilated with another Labs group. But Tanner was upset that all the Yellow Labs threads and comments were gone. He asked me what to do Being a wise dog who has studied history I suggested, in the words of Franklin Douglas, that he agitate, agitate, agitate. Well Tanner sure took my words to heart. He agitated his butt right off of DS.

At the same time the vet gave Tanner some very bad news. He had cancer and did not have much longer to live. Pocket and I sat down and wrote a well thought out letter to the DS owner asking that Tanner would be allowed to stay on DS until he went to the Bridge so his friends could comfort his Mom. We received the following response, which is to TB members as remembered as the Gettysburgh address.

“As you know the rules are laid out clear, and we can not allow this bickering to continue, nor slander. It may be unforchunit for her personaly, however she knew she should not have done that before she even posted it, and we can not make exceptions in this case due to the size of the event. Dont expect it to be the last eather, the entire admin/support team are hunting down anyone that was part of the event on bothsides as its a clear break of the community rules. Its sad to see so many adults act like children.”

When we read the letter Pocket and I were both stunned over how mean it was, and how hilarious it was. We forwarded it to many of our friends. This got our account suspended. When we wrote a blog on the site that is now known as Small Tales we got terminated from DS. Hey we were just sticking up for our friend, and, perhaps in doing so, showed that the former DS owner was either a drunk illiterate or just illiterate.

Our good friend Teddie Earnest told us about a site where we could all be friends and that lasted until the night Tanner went to the bridge. Some of us created fake e-mail accounts and used them to create fake dog names, sign into DS, and post Tanner’s pictures as ours. Others, who stayed on DS, changed their profile pics to Tanner’s. Wherever anyone looked they saw Tanner’s picture.

There was one mean dogggy owner who came to our site just to start trouble and some of our friends fled for parts unknown. Someone had to be a dog of action, and that dog was me. I began my own site on the Ning Network naming it after my friend Tanner and calling it a Brigade because it was a Brigade that went into DS and posted Tanner’s picture. Little by little some of our friends chose to join us and we became a happy family.

This year we noticed our DS ban was lifted and we created our account and we have found lots of old friends and made lots of new ones. We have had an excellent time talking and playing with them.

Us members of both sites like to think of the Tanner Brigade as a small town where everyone knows each other and we care about each other very much. We only get a few new members a year. Sometimes members leave but we hold the door open for them if they want to return.

DS is like the big city where you can meet a new best friend every day. You might not see someone everyday but when you do you get a big hi. There is more drama but that is life in the big city.

There are things that work well in DS that don’t on TB, and those that work well in TB but not is DS. There are some that join TB and don’t take to it, and some that feel the same about DS. And there are some who enjoy both but don’t have the time to devote to two sites.

But what we all have on these sites is a record, a record of our lives. Although our futures may be short we are going to fill those short futures with many, many, memories.

In the Tanner Brigade the youngest human is our grandbaby Maddie. She is only 11 years old. Maybe someday, when we’re all at the bridge, human and pups reunited, Maddie’s dog will be running the Brigade, and deep in the belly of it’s archives, we will all live, forever.

If not Maddie then maybe Brody’s little human Blake. Maybe he will someday learn how to make money off a doggy site. Maybe he will sell it as public stock. And if he misuses the money maybe he will end up like this.

So this is why we will tell our story each year. So that is remembered, and passed down, and our memories never die.

There is a picture on my Mom’s bureau. It’s of a great grand Mom, leathery Portuguese skin. You wouldn’t know she was related to my Mom except for the two dogs in the picture, one in her lap, the other at the end of her fingernails as she scratches it. Someone found the picture among boxes of family things. We don’t know who those pups are, but in the picture they are living forever.

And thanks to our Internet friends so are we.

K9 Kamp Rap

noreply@blogger.com (Foley Monster and Pocket) — Thu, 17 May 2012 23:19:00 +0000

Spent most of the winter wearing my snowcap
Gaining the pounds as I ate mounds of crap
Gonna hook my workout booties with a strap
‘Cause now we’re getting together to do the K-9 Kamp rap

Can’t wait to go walking with Daddy in the sun
Rules say we’re supposed to but I don’t think I can make him run
People are going to be behind me watching me shake my little bun
But remember we’re workin folks so it’s not just fun

Gonna watch what we eat, no more Frosty Paws
Gotta lose some weight so I can see my claws
And some of Daddy’s eating got to be put on pause
I am worried about layoffs at the local Shaw’s

Week two we are going to play with our balls
I’m tiny so mine are small
We’re going to play until Daddy keels and falls
For a little dog getting him to bed is going to be a haul

In two weeks we shouldn’t be fat
I’ll be able to get up a tree after that brat cat
I’ll fly from tree to tree like an acrobat
Though I’ll likely go splat if I fly into a bat

We can’t wait to play minute to win it
Although it might give Daddy a fit
But we won’t let him quit
If his pants don’t fit you won’t acquit

Gotta get Daddy’s weight down
Can’t keep buying him pants in the department that says clowns
His huffing and puffing makes Mommy frown
He’s either gonna bet moving or move out of town

Finally it will be reader’s choice week.
I am so worried I think I am going to freak.
I hope it’s nothing that will make Daddy shrek
He’s no athlete just some geek

Truth is I am still sleek and slim
I’m doing this mostly for him
Left to his own devices he is quite dim
But if he doesn’t lose weight the future is grim

So there will be no more wearing my snowcap
No more eating mounds and mounds of crap
Gonna work real hard and get Dod under my bootstrap
‘Cause now we’re getting together to do the K-9 Kamp rap

Bear is our May 13, 2012 Pup of the Week

noreply@blogger.com (Foley Monster and Pocket) — Mon, 14 May 2012 03:16:00 +0000

On March 4, 2012 we recognized a dirty, wet, black dog who was abandoned by his family during a storm and left to die then had to depend on the kindness of strangers to survive. Well now that black dog has a name, Bear, and a new home with those kind neighbors, Sandy, Maggie, Nikki and their wonderful parents.

After his parents returned, over more than two months this beautiful black baby was further mistreated, left alone, left outside, covered in ticks and fleas. Whenever he saw Sandy’s parents he would give them that pleading look, but instead of begging for a treat this poor baby was begging for a home.

Sandy’s Daddy kept knocking on the neighboring door telling the bad parents that they obviously didn’t care for the dog and to just surrender him to a family that would love him and each time they were met with a curt no. Sandy’s Daddy would then sit and pull ticks off the black dog who looked up at him begging for love.

Finally, after watching Bear have one too many close calls while chasing cars Sandy’s Dad gathered all his kibbles together and went next door, threw them at the black dog’s owners and was declared the new owner of the black dog. There was an exchange of paper work too which is a very smart thing to do for humans.

As soon as he was in his proper home he got his name, Bear, after one of our most popular dogs, now at the bridge. He got to play the zoom game running around the yard with Nikki. He got a flea and tick bath to get rid of all those parasites. And he even got to sit on a human’s bed.

Despite some initial diva dog attitude from Nikki Bear settled into his new home, no more fleas, no more ticks, just good loving and a good home. Oh, except for that vet trip.

First came the leash. The newly named Bear had never worn a leash before and when he got attached to it he rolled over on his back and refused to move. His new Mom coaxed him into the car and he finally found out what was in them and that they really weren’t worth all that trouble chasing them.

There were lots of things done that never been done before. Poking, prodding, listening, sticking something where? There? He did have worms, but not serious worms, and got medicine for that, and he did have a skin infection from years of ticks and fleas but outside of that he was one healthy dog.

There will be yucky medicine, and some nipping and fighting, but Bear is no longer the nameless, cold, wet dog. He is Bear. A member of the pack. And he has been saved by a great family. And on this Mother’s Day we should recognize a Mom who has taken in Nikki, and Bear, while providing a great home for Sandy and Maggie. So happy new home Bear and happy Mother’s Day to one of the best Mom dogs in the world.

With a very unpleasing sneezing and weezing the utility pole crashed to the ground

noreply@blogger.com (Foley Monster and Pocket) — Sat, 12 May 2012 18:32:00 +0000

HAA-CHOO! Oh, excuse me. I’m sorry. That was impolite. But I have issues without tissues. Since it stopped raining here I am not three steps out the door until I start sneezing and hacking. It has made my daily bodily functions into a bother. I got sneeze stuff coming out my nose, cough stuff out my mouth, not to mention the usual stuff that gets produced during theprocess.

I am even having trouble licking. I lick Daddy and mid lick I begin to cough and sneeze. This is very frustrating. The allergies have affected Pocket. She goes WHO HAW WHO HAW. Yesterday morning we only got a couple of driveways past ours before Daddy took our sniveling butt home.

Last night Mommy gave us both a little bit of Benadryl and I can lick Daddy without coughing and sneezing. The truth test will be when I go outside again. If I go outside again. Right now I feel like being a housecat. Give me a box, I’ll go in it. I just don’t like sneezing Foley I am.

Two nights ago the power went off during the night. Mommy and Daddy were awake, reading in bed, and Pocket and I were snuggling when suddenly everything went dark. I will let the overly excitable Pocket take over from here.

POCKET: OH CHEESE AND CRACKERS! I JUST GOT USED TO THAT COLD AIR BLOWING BEAST, WHEN SUDDENLY IT SHUT OFF. NOT ONLY DID IT SHUT OFF THE WHOLE WORLD SHUT OFF THE FAN, THE LIGHTS, EVERYTHING. SUDDENLY, WITH MY HEIGHTENED SENSES I COULD SMELL EVERYTHING AND HEAR EVERYTHING. MOMMY SAID MAYBE THERE WAS A CAR ACCIDENT AND A UTILITY POLE FELL OVER. OH NO! A CAR ACCIDENT. YOU KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS? ZOMBIES! I SNUGGLED CLOSELY TO MOMMY HOPING TO SAVE US FROM THE ZOMBIE APOCALYPSE, AND TREMBLED THE ENTIRE NIGHT LONG.

Foley: Normally I would tell you that Pocket got everything wrong but let me say this: The lights out situation scared the sith out of me. The zombies come out when thelights go out, and here in the village of the pruned, there are plenty of zombies, so I was nervous. When I get nervous I lick. I lick the sheets or Daddy. I believe if my tongue is connected to something everything will be allright. I learned that from Bill Clinton. Everything came back on near dawn and I finally settled down. Pocket stayed awake all night looking for zombies. I agreed with her, you can’t be too careful.

Today Mommy and Daddy went to Daddy’s doctor in Randolph and on the way home she got car sick. They had to stop at a Dunkin Donuts so Mommy didn’t womit in the car. I found this to be ironic. Most people leave Dunkin Donutus in a car then womit. Mommy left her car to womit in Dunkin Donuts. After that Mommy and Daddy had to travel on the highway.

Daddy decided he needed something in case Mommy started to womit again and, get this, he grabbed my car seat for her to use Not Pocket’s Mine. Thankfully she did not womit but if she had my seat would be violated. She told me that I had thrown up in her seat so why can’t she throw up in mine? I know that makes sense in human terms but in dog’s terms it makes no sense what so ever.

I am a little better now with the sneezing and wheezing. But I still upset Mommy and Daddy if I have a hacking cough now and then. I am sitting in her recliner in case something comes up throat wise. If she can upchuck in my chair then I can upchuck in hers. That’s dog logic.

Mexico City's Dog Dump for Wi Fi Minutes Angers Foley Monster Attorney at Paw

noreply@blogger.com (Foley Monster and Pocket) — Thu, 10 May 2012 02:46:00 +0000

I, Foley Monster, with the help of my able assistant Pocket Dog, who is currently hiding under the bed trembling, is declaring war on Mexico.

You may be wondering if I have joined the right wing of our political world taking a heavy paw to our immigration problems. No, this is not an immigration issue. This is an emigration issue.

In Mexico City the government has set up stations where our humans can deposit our excrement. And, to encourage the use of the stations you get free wi-fi through a port in the station for each deposit. Honestly, I can’t make this siht up. This is a true story. Mexicans can now exchange our waste for free access to porn. This is what Pancho Villa dreamed for Mexico.

Now, you might be asking yourself, why is the most famous dog attorney in the country taking exception to a system that would turn our excrement into power? First, I think we are being used. While it is our bitter droppings that are the source of power are we getting to go on the sites we want to go on or is it being controlled by the humans? My guess is the humans are taking advantage of this. It bothers me that, after centuries of humans cleaning up after us, they are now being rewarded for it. This may upset the delicate balance where we rule and they be the fool.

My second reason is that it discriminates against the small dog and the small dog owner. The amount of time humans get on the Internet from the Doggy Dump spot depends on the weight of the dump. If you have a big dump and they leave a huge deposit of said dump it will get the owner more time on the web. But if the owner has a small dog, like say, Pocket and I, the dumper will only have time to sign on to Facebook before our tiny droppings cause them to have to power down.

I fear that these dump for the amp stations will lead to the end of breeding smaller dogs. These surf the turf dropping outlets rewards the larger dog owner. Also it encourages the humans to fatten up their dogs. If you want to be able to watch an entire ten minute video of a cat who plays Mozart with it’s tail you are going to have to either have to save a week of Yorkie droppings or feed a Newfounland an entire chicken then pick the feathers out of the poo. I think it is a shame that you cannot get enough power to read the siht I write by using the siht I make. John Lennon was wrong: The sith you make is not equal to the sith you take. My siht is being discriminated against and I can’t stand for that siht.

And I am concerned for Mexico’s most famous dog, the Chihuahua. They, like us Yorkies, don’t generate much energy with our butt refuse. All I can picture is some poor Chihuahua owner in Mexico upset he can’t watch an entire Cheech and Chong video on You Tube shoving the entire Chihuahua into the station so they can find out if Cheech can find where he hid to pot.

They told us we were all created equal, then they said it wasn’t so; they told us we all had an equal chance,then they said it wasn’t so; they said we would all be treated the same, then they said it wasn’t so. At least we knew that all our siht was equal. But now they are saying it ain’t so.

I for one will not take this squatting.

Hobo Hudson is our May 6, 2012 Pup of the Week

noreply@blogger.com (Foley Monster and Pocket) — Mon, 07 May 2012 03:09:00 +0000

It has been a quiet week here on the Brigade. I like quiet weeks. No friends who are sick,or parents that are ill or in dire financial situations. No one is knocking on the Bridge door. This does make picking Pup of the Week a bit of a challenge. But a challenge Pocket and I both enjoy.

It gives us a chance to pick members who are there for us every week, making us laugh and smile. There is no one who does that better than our gentle friend Hobo Hudson. And Hobo is on the verge of making us all famous. With the help of Zoe Boe’s Mom Hobo is working on releasing his first collected works.

Pocket and I have been talking about doing our collected works too. But I think it is easier when you’re an only dog. No arguments about whose name come first and who gets the most stories.

Hobo has risen from a dog whose first owner left him tied to a tree to a dog that has become known through cyberspace. His Mom Bruny writes a very popular column. Our Mom posts it on the Facebook for her human friends and she always gets nice comments. I think without Hobo his Mom wouldn’t know so much about dogs and be so influential.

And then there are Hobo’s many businesses. I may be creative but I don’t have a head for business. Hubo has a number of businesses growing with lots of workers from all circles of nature.

Hobo's News and Tales blog is very influential. He has become the official spokesdog for Camp Bow Wow, where he stays when he needs a break from the family. Camp Bow Wow help dogs find needy humans so this counts as charity work for tax purposes. Friend to all no matter of type or classification Hobo had translated the works Charlene Squirrel from Squirrel to dog to give us a better understanding for the flying rat world.

Hobo not only has translated Charlene’s works but he has entered into a work relationship with her. Charlene and her crew do the digging for Hobo’s many project including peanut harvesting.

Hobo also runs a very successful dead fish perfume enterprise. For any dog who wants to put on the ritz there is nothing better than dead fish perfume. (Warning, neither Moms or Dads like the scent of dead fish perfume.) With his farm and on line writing Hobo is just about the busiest dog I know. But he is also an excellent friend.

In the efforts of full disclosure I am Hobo’s lawyer and he is my biggest client. I try to help him with his most difficult contracts. I also try to advise him against some of his less thought out ideas. Like today he wanted to adopt 50 cats for his work force and bring them on to the farm in his red wagon. Sounded a little bit too much like Mexican day workers to me so I told him he had to pass.

So I take this moment to recognize Hobo for him being a true Renaissance Dog: Writer, editor, gentleman farmer, wonderful companion, and good friend. His mother writes a very popular web column to help in pet causes. . And his Mom and Dad are very sweet and wonderful people.

So this is a tip of the tail to my good friend Hobo. One of the luckiest days of our lives is when you trotted into it.

What's Happneing in Monsterville

noreply@blogger.com (Foley Monster and Pocket) — Sat, 05 May 2012 00:24:00 +0000

There have been lots of doings around my castle lately and while it has cost me lap time I haven’t minded, but it’s starting to gnaw at my infinite patience. As some of you may have learned on Riley’s blog on TB we have a new member of our extended family. My human sister Kim, who was my bestie’s Bailey’s Mom, got picked out by a little male Shih Tzu named Neely to be his Mom.

I must admit he is a cute little thing. He is going to stay with us in July and that’s when the real test will be. I take a backseat to no interloper in the cuteness department. And Mommy’s lap is mine if I want it. If Neely hasn’t been fixed yet and tries anything funny he’s got a nip of a surprise waiting for him. But may I say to him my casa is Sue’s cases. So consider yourself at home. But if you wander into my leopard skin vagina condo the fur is going to fly.

Now you would think, for my sister Kim’s family, that would be enough of a story line, even in May sweeps. But my sweet grandbaby Maddie had her knee pop out of place Sunday. They took her to the human hospital where they had to wait forever to find out what they were going to do, which wasn’t much, pain meds and an immobilizer. Mommy and Daddy stayed up way past our bedtime waiting for news of. I was very cranky, because I want to go to sleep at bedtime, but I was a worried grand Yorkie too. She should be fine but she has a dance recital during Father’s Day weekend. She is 11 and was going to get her five year trophy. So, if you have some spare prayers can you throw some her way? She has been working on this dance for so long it would be a shame if she couldn’t take part in the recital.

Our human brother Chad got inducted into his high school’s Hall of Fame Saturday night. (Note to myself: Why isn’t there a Dog’s Hall of Fame and if there is why am I not in it?) He got inducted for playing baseball. I never saw him play in high school. I did see him play some semi-pro ball at a nice field in Easton Ma, that had a huge spreading chestnut field in the middle of centerfield. He once hit a ball clear over that tree. It was the furthest thing I ever saw struck. I also saw him hit a line drive right off the pitcher’s noggin. I looked at Mommy and said “that boy’s dead.” He wasn’t though. He got up and fell down a lot but he wasn’t dead. The only dead guy I’ve ever seen is that one in Reno I killed just to watch him die.

My big sister at the Bridge Blake went to a lot of his games when Chad was at High School. Once, at Harvard Stadium, it was so hot Mommy and Daddy had to hold Blake up to the car air conditioner until she stopped panting. Another time there was a foul ball falling down right on top of Mommy and Blake, who was in her lap. Daddy, and one of his friends, saw the falling ball and got the hell out of the way running for their lives. The ball missed Mommy by about an inch. She still hasn’t let Daddy forget that.

Chad made Mommy feel good singling her out for all she did for him which was very nice of him. Pocket and I give him two tips of the tail for that. Even though he took away a lot of Saturday night lap time we forgive him.

Mommy and Daddy have spent lots of time outside working under our supervision on the lawn. Some of the prune people have come by to say how much they like the new garden. My Mommy tells them thank you very much. Like it was her idea. Wow, first no Hall of Fame then I get dissed on my garden.

Finally an update on our Grandpaw. He is still in rehab. When Lindsay Lohan went to the Correspondents dinner Saturday night he finally got some peace being without a roommate. He is out of the wheel chair and getting around with a walker. We are a little worried because he is losing weight and they are trying to give him some food to put some weight on him. I have told him to eat more kibble but again my well thought out advice has gone unheeded. Humans, can’t live with them, would be hunted and killed by rabid squirrels without them. But thank you for your many prayers for Grandpaw. Hopefully by next month he will be back here for supper on Tuesday nights while I try to stay out of the way of his walker and Pocket nips at his tennis balls.

So I would have to say that the status of the Monster Family is not too bad right now. Hope you and your families are all in good health and enjoying the spring. Good night and God bless.

Everyday Agility

noreply@blogger.com (Foley Monster and Pocket) — Tue, 01 May 2012 23:16:00 +0000

I have read several blogs lately about pups who compete in agility courses. I am proud of all these dogs and try to give them a big congratulatory kiss at the finish line. (This is also the best way to get your picture on the cover of Dog Agility Magazine without having to break a pant.) But I am tired of having the dogs who do agility on courses getting all the glory.

What about the dogs like me? The ones who do agility all day long without getting any glory or ribbons. Well I am here to sing their praises.

My agility course begins in the morning when I am gently lifted out of my warm bed and placed on the cold floor. I have to walk from the bedroom rug to the hardwood floor in the living room, back on to a rug, then the hardwood and then finally the linoleum on the kitchen. The changes in paw placement and force going from one surface to another is very difficult. And I have to use a great deal of balance on the hardwood floor so your paws don’t slip out.

The next step is holding my head still so my sleepy eyed Daddy can hook my leash. Then I need to go one step down to the porch and four steps down to the driveway, then cross it, all with a screaming full bladder, then squat and pee. Next I need to walk on either a sidewalk or side of the road where the ground dips, rises, heaves, and cracks. I must do this with bursting bowels. Most humans, when in similar circumstance, run hunched over like Groucho Marx after committing a murder.

Then I have to find to use my sniffer to find the exact right spot on this vast planet to deposit my deposit. Once I find it I have to go through the technically difficult sequence of squatting while having my tail rise over my back so it doesn’t interfere with the discharge. There should be extra points if the weather is bad. Doing this on snow and ice should illicit tens from every judge except the German. Doing it in the rain could cause an ill advised shiver and slippage. And, being only seven pounds, a gust of wind could knock me off my squat and into my poo.

Then I have to return home, up the stairs, on to the porch, into the house, where I am scheduled to receive a treat but in my Daddy’s more sadistic moments I need to sit up, beg, or stand on my back legs for his amusement. After all this I am in need of a much needed nap.

There are other every day occurrences which call for extreme agility. When Mommy sits she does so in a recliner which has a back end that goes up and down, and, unlike most recliners, spins. So, between the time I decide to jump and when I land the whole chair could be in a different spot. I have to time the jump and be able to use my tail to guide myself in the air in case the chair moves.

There are times when Daddy and Pocket are playing ball when the ball is carelessly thrown. Either the ball or Pocket totally focused on the ball are flying at me. I have to duck, back up, or moonwalk to get out of the way. I have to be aware, and agile, to keep from getting bowled over in my own kitchen.

If you sleep in bed with your parents agility training is extremely important, especially if you have a sibling. Pocket tends to sleep snuggled up between Mommy and Daddy. I like to sleep on top of the covers near the bottom of the bed for half the night. Then I go down to the top and snuggle down. To do so I need to jump over Pocket, in the dark, land on the other side, nose under the blankets and climb under. Because I am only a few inches tall falling off the bed is like falling off the Empire State Building.

So, while I have mad respect for dogs who do agility lets not forget those who make agility a part of their everyday life. And if vicking in the wind become a agility event I am in.

Cheyenne, Baron and the Baronfest participants are our pups of the week

noreply@blogger.com (Foley Monster and Pocket) — Mon, 30 Apr 2012 02:45:00 +0000

As all of you know I am a very impressive dog. But I have never had a fest before. I think Foleyfest would be a grand time. But I don’t think I could top a Baronfest.

We all remember Baron (AKA Bear.) If you never had the pleasure then I am sorry, because Bear was a dog’s dog, loyal, true, joyful. His passing shook the dog world like few others. So it is fitting that dogs should trek down to Missouri to celebrate one of the best dogs we have ever met.

Now with Baron at the Bridge he couldn’t host this event. Hosting duties were passed on to his little sister Cheyenne. Cheyenne is very yo,ung, younger than even Pocket so this was a big test for a little girl. But she was like Dick Clark on New Year’s Eve, this weekend it was like she was born to host.

As great a job as Cheyenne did we have to give a shout out to her Mom Monica. She had to do all the organizing and contacting humans. I am sure the dogs could have sniffed out Cheyenne but rarely do humans trust their pups’ sniffers, and, as a decision, that is not very scientifically sound, sniffing out is what we do. So they used the unconventional mail, e-mail, and those GPS things which are nowhere near as good as a warm sniffer and a cool breeze.

But somehow the humans made it to Missouri on Friday for the kick off of Baron Fest. The first to arrive was Rocky and he was given the honor of throwing out the first tennis ball to Cheyenne. Hannah soon joined them and the party had started with lots of butt sniffs and licks. Plus it was time to sniff and give licks to all the wonderful Moms who did the driving to bring everyone together.

Summer, Kady and Sandy soon joined the band. Oh how I wish I had been there, what fun they had. The dogs took joy in romping and playing and the Moms watching couldn’t help but smile. It was the biggest gathering of cyber friends I have ever heard about.

By this time there were so many pups I lost count. I know Ruger went and Daddy stayed home, not sure about Taser. Friday night the Moms were enjoying a wonderful meal prepared by Miss Monica while the dogs romped in the yard. When they went back to their hotels Moms and pups fell into a deep sleep.

While they all slept Baron and his friends at the Bridge planned some fun of their own. Knowing that all German Shepards love tennis balls they planned the biggest tennis ball assault of all. But having no tennis balls they turned to the next best thing. Tennis ball sized hail rained down from the heavens in tribute to Bear’ for what would a Baronfest be without tennis balls?

In their over exuberance with the tennis hail they almost killed all the participants of Baronfest but they meant well. And folks from other parts of the country, who were not used to tornado alley, got a little keepsake to take with them showing off their tennis hail from Rainbow Bridge. Miss Monica swears that she will not hold Baronfest in April again but no matter what I bet the Bear will let his presence be known again. So this is for Baron, Cheyenne and their Mom and for all the wonderful dogs who traveled to Baronfest.

Hopefully more of us will be able to get together near one another. I wonder if I can talk Mom into a Foleyfest?

(And while we are on the subject of German Shepards wanted everyone to know that Pokey’s and Maggie’s Mom, and our Mom, had a brief Human Space exchange of comments with Erin’s Mom Donna.
She is still going through hard times but she is physically well.
Maybe next year she will be at Baronfest too.)

The Beast in the Window

noreply@blogger.com (Foley Monster and Pocket) — Wed, 25 Apr 2012 22:08:00 +0000

Foley: Before I let Pocket tell her version of what has transpired here the past few days let me explain. In the last month Mommy and Daddy have had their kibble savings dwindle down to bits. They have had to replace a dryer and a hot water heater. When the spring temperatures soared they turned on the central air conditioner. After a few brief days of cool air rising from the floor the it stopped. Our parents called in a man to look at the unit.

Pocket: There is a beast who lives under our house. He blows either cold air or hot air through these little grates and I don’t like being blown. If my ball goes near one of the these grates I cry until the ball is moved The beast stopped blowing cold air last week. I was very relieved. But Mommy and Daddy were agitated about it. On Friday they went out and came back with two big boxes.

Foley: The man said that they would have to replace the entire unit.
We live in a modular home so the air conditioner and the furnace are one unit.
If they replaced the air conditioner they would be throwing out a perfectly good furnace. So they bought a couple of window units. After much human foolishness, and words not read in the Bible, the units were in place. They turned them on and blessed cool air was blown forth. The motor was a little loud when the compressor turned on and off but it didn’t bother me none.

Pocket: You know the monster who lives in the floor and blows air on you? It moved into those things that Mommy and Daddy put in the window. It blows air and it makes the most terrible noises. I have tried to warn Mommy and Daddy by barking at them. One of them is right next to our bed. I can’t sleep knowing there is a monster in the window The only place I can sleep is on Mommy’s forehead and for some reason she keeps removing me from my comfy spot.

Foley: The first night I got no sleep. Because my Daddy likes the cold more than my Mommy, and they decided to put the units under the porch overhang, the air conditioner was on Mommy’s side of the bed. so they switched sides. For the first hour of bedtime they accused one another of having big butts which made their former side of the bed slope to the floor. The truth is the bed is divided evenly with them on the sides and Pocket and I in the middle which is like sleeping on a mountain next to two valleys. But when you have to sleep in someone else’s valley it can take some time to get used to.

Pocket: First they put a noisy monster in the window and then when they get into bed Mommy becomes Daddy and Daddy becomes Mommy. Foley says they are just sleeping on different sides but why would they do that? Just to mess with me? So I don’t know what to do. Do I lick Mommy and snuggle with Daddy or lick and snuggle the former and latter? I am just a freaking ball of confusion. I spend most of the day pacing around the bed trying to solve the mystery of slumber.

Foley Monster: The last few night have been cool so we have not turned on the air conditioner. But Pocket still stares at it waiting for it to attack. Mommy and Daddy flipped the mattress and have not complained since, to one another. To me they still complain about the sloping mattress. m The weather will heat up again, the air conditioner will be turned on, and Pocket will shake and pace again. I do not know what to do with her. Does anyone make a thunder shirt for air conditioners? I’m not going to get a good nights sleep all summer.

Pocket: The beast has been quiet the last few days but Mommy and Daddy are still doing the body switching side switching thing. I am starting to get used to it but I don’t like change. And in the middle of the night I stare at the beast in the window to keep it quiet. I don’t know why humans put things in the house to scare us. I hope that beast in the window doesn’t start rumbling me and blowing me but I know it will. I’m not going to get a good nights sleep all summer.

Max. Maxx, a Pup almost named Max, Winston, and Gimpy the bird are our April 22, 2012 Pups of the Week

noreply@blogger.com (Foley Monster and Pocket) — Mon, 23 Apr 2012 02:11:00 +0000

It is spring. It is time to climb out of our hibernation holes, to paw the thawed ground, to sniff what is new wafting in the air. To meet new friends and learn of the passing of friends we never had the pleasure of knowing.

This spring we learned of a number of new friends who have picked parents who have recently suffered broken hearts and mended them with sharp little puppy paws. And we learned of a friend we never knew we had who again left his parents grieving, and the little dog who is trying to fix their hearts, again.

We will start with the only one of these dogs we have been able to personally sniff. Two weeks back we wrote about Bailey, our cousin who suddenly was yanked from our family to the bridge. Her parents found a new Shih Tzu, a male, who is so cute and playful that he is very hard to keep up my facade of indifference with him. He was introduced to us as Max. He is the dog who was almost named Max. His parents changed his name to Neely. We would love to show you a picture of him but our parents have not been able to snap one, and his parents live in 1982. But Neely, formerly Max, has helped repair his parents’, and his two human siblings’, broken hearts over Bailey, and he has loved every second of it. (Except when his puppy sister, Riley the Boxer, picks her up and tosses her across the room.)

Then there is the second Max, who must be a little raunchier, because his name has a second X.

I first came to know him as the Blonde Interloper. He wandered into the yard of my friends Cocoa Puff and Maggie Mayhem, the former stomping grounds of Tanner Bub. The mother of Cocoa and Maggie did what all good Moms do in this situation. She checked with Animal Control, the police, neighbors, put up fliers, checked for a chip, but this dog who wandered into their yard came without a trace. As she continued to look Mom was adamant that the Blonde Interloper would not be staying with her. Add this to the fact that Maggie, the newest member of the clan, didn’t like giving up her baby of the pack status without a fight,and did not welcome the Blonde Interloper without a fight. But the clock kept going tick, tick, tick. The Interloper kept lopping, no one was claiming him, and he did, as all dogs who pick a family do, decided he was home.

It was, as it usually is, the Dad who was the last hold out but finally he gave in. The final piece of the puzzle was his name. The Mom asked us suggestions and we all came up with names. But she liked Maxx from the Grinch who Stole Christmas, the dog who steals toys and then randomly redistributed them to the kids of Whoville which, in my book, makes him a bit of a socialist, but I suppose the name Maxx was less social than Marx.

Maxx was needed for a family that lost Tanner and the dog who stepped up to replace Tanner, Ruger. Maxx knew Maggie had a lot of love, but not enough to heal the broken hearts, and he slunk into their yard to heal wounds.

After these two emotional stories it’s time to take a break and enjoy a Winston. Oh not one of those stinky things that people suck on a smoke up the whole room. No this Winston has a very important job. He has to help one of my favorite Moms get over the loss of her beloved Snicker Silva.

It took a few months before Snicker’s Mom let a dog heal her heart but when she met Winston she knew he was the one to do it. The little white fur ball has helped mend her heart and give her some wonderful snuggle time. His Mom loved Snicker so much I was worried she would never open her heart to a four legged love machine again. But thankfully she did, and thankfully she let it be Winston, because I know he is the man for the job.

Now it’s time for a new Max.

This boy is a little older, nine in fact, and is not mending the hearts of his parents, buts his grandparents, but those hearts are so precious to us. Max’s grandparents are the Ladybug’s Mom and Dad. They never were able to get a new dog when Ladybug went to the bridge. But they did have an old daughter. (Not that old, but sometimes we let wordplay get the best of us.) And that daughter had a dog named Max. She moved to Ladybug’s parents home state and needed a place to live. She moved in with them and soon Max was becoming as much Ladybug’s parents’ dog and he was his Mom’s dogs. And sensing their sadness Max began, through sweet kisses, through snuggles, through genuine goofiness, to heal their hearts.

But poor Max still has his work cut out for him. Last week Ladybug’s parents lost their beloved parrot Gimpy. The whole family, including Max. miss Gimpy very much. But Max put away his sorrow to heal Ladybug’s parents again.

Meanwhile Gimpy and Ladybug are with Bailey, Tanner Bub, Ruger, and Snicker looking down on their families from the Bridge, happy to see that they have the love of great dogs in their lives again, and that these dogs are healing to pain of their passing.

So here is to spring, and the new dogs.

Foley's and Pocket's Trip to Ralph's Bakery

noreply@blogger.com (Foley Monster and Pocket) — Thu, 19 Apr 2012 21:33:00 +0000

Pocket and I were taking a stroll through cyberspace yesterday when we came upon a little spot owned by our friend Ralph The Poodle http://www.ralphthepoodle.com/. We were hot, and in need of some air conditioning, so we ducked into Ralph’s lovely little shop.

First of all, let me tell you, we walked into the place and there is this wicked cool display. We gazed at some of the cool things we could get at Ralph’s. Fake grass to pee on, charms, extra tough dog toys, extra special doggie water, treats costing just over a dollar, and a special offer that everything is ten perent off when the Red Sox win, which isn’t often, but still, it’s something.

We next checked out the Luxury Pet Tags. These were really nice. They come in different shapes and patterns. They had names printed on them and our cell phone number, if, after we meet adog, we want to chat them up later.

The first room are postings of Ralph’s blogs. It is interesting to read all the helpful dog facts he knows.

Then we entered the new items room. There were outfits for your favorite friends, there was bacon cupcake, a fashionable bow tie, wait...Bacon cupcakes? Pocket they have bacon cupcakes. Num. Num. Num.

We then entered the shop proper and found some wonderful shampoo and an antique dog chair. When no one was looking we lied down on it. Score!

Next we went to the accessory room where we snatched ourselves a couple of Batman decals and chased each other around the room until one of the clerks gave us a stern look and we put them back To get our revenge we hid all the spray stuff that makes stuff taste bad.

There are a lot of cool stuff in the apparel room. Fancy wear and sportswear. Both Ralph, Pocket and I are Red Sox fans, and there was lots of Sox stuff because no one else wants it.

Then we caught a whiff of smell from the bakery. Our ears and tails both arose. We turned and followed the wonderful aroma until we reached the bakery. It was heaven on display. A blue sprinkle cupcake, a doggie donut, a giant snickerdoodle and a pink dipped cupcake. It was all so good. We tried to sneak back and sleep on the antique chair but they wouldn’t let us. So we went into the consignment shop. There was only a Teddy Bear Hoodie in there now, more stuff was coming, but it was a nice place to sleep off a meal.

When we awoke we were hungry again. Being dogs we are always hungry when we are awake. The next room was the dining room. I had a lovely Carob Truffle while Pocket enjoyed a good dog candy bar, which is as close to being a good dog as Pocket is going to get.

After a huge meal like that we needed to work of the extra pounds so we went to the playroom. I picked out a cute doggy froggy toy because I am a plush toy kind of girl. Pocket grabbed a New York Yankee plush bat which she ripped apart because, if you can’t beat them, rip apart their plush toys.

After playing more sleep was in order. Pocket and I found Beverly Hills beds, Mine was black and white and Pocket’s was pink and white. The price tag was $1,600 but we promised to be careful. How much trouble could we get into sleeping? Pocket peed the bed and we had to hightail it out of there.

We ran into the spa. Oh what wonderful things we found here. There were lovely shampoos that smelled so pretty. I grabbed a bottle of paw rub and itchin’ for relief to get rid of those annoying scratchy spots. Pocket found a Yorkie splash and shine set. Splashing and shining? Now that is living the dream.

Ralph has a lovely assortment of travel items but Pocket and I are all set with our special car seats. On the way out the door was the walking apparel room. I found a lovely crystal dog leash while Pocket went with a mod leash.

I highly recommend going to Ralph’s, there is something there for everyone and you will leave happy. But I advise you not to do what we did, take Mommy’s credit card without telling her.

Oh well, $1,600 dog bed, it was great to sleep on your for a night

For the record Pocket and I give Ralph’s store eight paws up.

Jack is our April 15, 2012 pup of the week

noreply@blogger.com (Foley Monster and Pocket) — Mon, 16 Apr 2012 00:42:00 +0000

In all dog families there are the stars, the Hattie Maes, the Tommy Tunes, the Foley Monsters, and the quiet dogs who post now and then. We can call them the Pocket Writers. When there are multiple dogs in the family usually one dog does the barking while some are never heard from. But even if we never hear from them they are still part of our families.

This week we lost one of our quieter dogs. In the Lawson clan we hear from Lily, Moe, Scooter and Jilly Girl, but out of the 63 blogs they did on TB Jack didn’t sit up and bark until February 23. It wasn’t that Jack was not interesting. He just waited until he had something important to say. He had diabetes.

And what Jack had to say was very important because Jack was not doing well. Poor Jack reported to us that he was having diabetic seizures because his sugar was too high. He needed to get shots every day and he had to eat special food that was not particularly tasty. He signed that first blog Jack the Grouch, and with the shots and the bad food he had to eat who could blame him for being a grouch.

Lily was back at the computer for the next blog and the subject was Jack. The shots and the food were not doing the job. He was having more diabetic seizures which scared him and the whole family. He had to be kept at the vets, which we all hate, so they could monitor his blood sugar.

Things only grew worse. The doctors discovered that he had Cushing’s disease. Lily thought it meant he was a cushiony alien but it was a lot worse. As often happens with our friends, bad things began to occur all at once. Jack had eight seizures one day His heart began to malfunction, his blood pressure rose, and, even though we all prayed hard nothing was working. His Mom took him to work to keep an eye on him, which was hard, because those eyes were always leaking.

A short time later it seemed Jack was rallying. The specialist told his Mom it might be time to send him to the Bridge but his regular vet told her to try the phenobarbital to see if it would cure him and for the first few days it seemed to be working. But the other members of his pack were taking ill. Brother Moe had trouble walking and his Mom had to get a carrier for him which put all the weight on her. She took on even more weight when Jilly Girl needed to be tested for cushings. She shares a lot of traits with Jack so it would not be surprising if she had the same illness. With most of her pack suffering, we don’t know how their Mom was able to get through the day.

On April 11, Jack made the decision to go to the Bridge. He waited for his Mom to get home from her training, then she had her wrap him in a blanket, and brought him to the doctor and the dogtor gave him a shot to ease his way to the Bridge.

We did not know you, Jack, as well as we do our other friends, but we loved you none the less, we loved you because your Mom loved you , and we love her, and because we are a dog, and unlike humans, all dogs love one another, even if we fight sometimes.

We will miss you Jack. We pray that the rest of your pack recovers because your Mom barely made it through this experience and I don’t think she’d make it through another anytime soon. You run free and play hard Jack. We will be together again. And we promise to take care of your Mom and your pack.

Gardening With Foley and Pocket

noreply@blogger.com (Foley Monster and Pocket) — Sun, 15 Apr 2012 01:58:00 +0000

Spring is here in the land of the Prunes and it is time for the zombies to come wobbling out of their homes and work on their gardens. Pocket and I take great pride in our gardens. But, while Mommy and Daddy are hard working, they don’t have the artistic eye that Pocket and I were blessed with. There is only solution to this. We were going to have to oversee their work.

I know many of our friends have to do the same for their humans. But Pocket and I are clean, delicate, and precious. We can’t be expected to curl up on the grass or (gasp!) the dirt to manage our people. So we are placed in our navy blue stroller to protect us from bugs, the sun, basically nature itself. From our perch we oversee.

(History of the blue stroller: Year ago my sister Copper at the Bridge and I were riding in a carriage in Mystic Connecticut. In the middle of the sidewalk the wheels came off and when the wheels came off the handles collapsed and when the handles collapse the carriage part collapsed and when the carriage part collapsed the zipper let go and when the zipper let go Copper and I found ourselves standing on the sidewalk with no leash in Mystic Connecticut. Mommy and Daddy scooped us up from the mean streets of Mystic Connecticut. Daddy tried to shove the entire carriage into one of those street trash receptacles leaving most of it hanging in the street. With Mommy holding me and Daddy holding Copper on a sweltering hot July day, and Copper being a rather long and thick Yorkie, they fought their way through the tourists and fishermen looking for a reality show and found a small dog accessory store. In that store we found the blue stroller and Copper and I were safely wheeled through the streets. And not to speak ill of the Bridged but Copper took up a lot of that stroller.)

Now, back to gardening. Pocket and I sit in the stroller. We looked at the gardens and told Mommy they were not symmetrical. I watched them remove grass and sod, telling them a little more this way and then that. I know they were getting annoyed but I’m an anal retentive Yorkie.

Then Daddy went to mow and Mommy began spreading mulch. I was in charge of the mulching and Pocket was in charge of the mowing. According to Pocket being in charge of the mowing meant whining whenever Daddy was out of sight causing him to come running back. I kept an eye on Daddy because I can not have any lawn clippings left over because they get between my paws and are wicked annoying.

At one point Mommy and Daddy thought they could sit down in the lawn chairs and rest but we put a stop to that. We both whined and scratched at the netting on the side of our carriage until they could not stand the noise and were afraid we’d rip the netting got back to work.

The lawn was cut, the gardens symmetrical, and the mulch spread. It was a nice start on our gardens and we decided that Mommy and Daddy could stop for the day.

We sent Mommy in to take a well deserved shower. But there was no such luck for Daddy. Like the old dowagers of Newport, it was now time for Pocket and I to go on our carriage ride around the village so the people could see us. As Daddy pushed out the Pruned came out of their homes to waive their handkerchiefs and blow us kisses.

When we got back home, since Daddy did such a good job on the lawn and taking us on our tour we let him shower inside.

When you’re the overseers you have to give your workers some perks now and then.

Foley Monster prepares to defend the dog who ate her father's Master Tickets

noreply@blogger.com (Foley Monster and Pocket) — Tue, 10 Apr 2012 21:45:00 +0000

After many years of toiling on small dog cases I have the chance to represent a pup in a major case. My client is Sierra. She is a gentle and sweet Swiss Mountain dog. Her Daddy, Russ Berkman, won tickets to something called The Masters. From what I understand this is a golf tournament. For those of you who don’t know golf is a hideous waste of time that takes our Daddies away from us. It’s when they go to a big, beautiful, meadow, with trees, ponds and bridges, and instead of taking us they take big metal sticks and spend all day whacking their balls. Imagine the fun we could have with them: running after the sticks or balls, rolling on the grass, lying in the sun, going poopy in those little holes, swimming in the ponds. Frankly I think this golf is some sort of temporary Zombie possession. “Must hit ball. Must hit ball.” If they aren’t playing golf they are watching it on TV . You’ve seen it. You catch a glimpse of the white ball against the blue sky and for a second you want to chase it and then you realize it’s on TV (if you have a cat in the house, you laugh at the poor kitty as it swats at the ball.)

Even worse than that is when Daddies go to watch other men hit the ball with their shafts on the nice green grass, where, needless to say, we are not allowed. I could put up with the whole thing if we were allowed to stand on the cool grass with them, but no, we might pee on their precious field, and what anarchy that would cause. This is why, all in all, pups prefer Moms. They teach us when we are young to pee on the lawn then don’t mess with us by telling us not to.

Now on to my client: Sierra. Her Daddy won tickets to go waste his time standing around watching men hit the ball in a field that is half a country away. Again, Daddies!! Traveling across the country to do something that they could see down the street. Now somehow, while Sierra was home alone, with the tickets, they got eaten, and I have been hired to prove she is not at fault.

I have a number of possible defenses:

1. Entrapment: The Daddy left the tickets behind, maybe enticing Sierra with some barbeque sauce lightly brushed on them, to get her to eat them. Once they were eaten it filled her Daddy’s need for glory. He got on the news, got interviewed, and became a minor celebrity. All it took was to trick Sierra into eating his tickets.

2. Alternate entrapment theory: Her Mommy, not wanting her Daddy to go to the golf tournament, put peanut butter on the tickets and had Sierra eat them. She expected Sierra to eat all the tickets not leaving a trace but did not use enough peanut butter. Like most Moms she takes Sierra out and she could get rid of the remaining evidence when she took her out to do her business. Unfortunately her plan failed for lack of peanut butter.

3. Sierra was acting in her Daddy’s best interests: These golf tournaments can be dangerous places. He could get hit by a flying Tiger Woods’ slice, a flying Tiger Woods’ club, or a flying Tiger Woods’ hooker. Sierra was doing what dogs do best, protecting her Dad. She should be praised instead of being chastised.

4. She was taking a stand for dogs everywhere. Men should not be allowed on nice green fields with ponds and trees without dogs. This is a clear case of discrimination. The Masters have had problems with discrimination. We are the final frontier. Let dogs into Augusta! We stand united.

Either that or I’ll claim insanity from a bad case of rabies.

Bailey is our April 8, 2012 pup of the week

noreply@blogger.com (Foley Monster and Pocket) — Mon, 09 Apr 2012 01:14:00 +0000

Last Saturday was my grand baby Meghan’s seventh birthday. We weren’t allowed to go which was OK with us. Pocket and I look for high ground when there is a lot of people stumbling around like the Walking Dead. Every time Mommy and Daddy go to my sister Kim’s house my cousin Bailey does some sniffing and licking on their hands to send me a message.

I met Bailey a long time ago, the day after I said “Gotcha” to my parents. She was four years old, the age Pocket is now, with lots of spunk, and we played together. When Mommy and Daddy would go away I would stay at Kim’s and play with Bailey, and when Bailey’s family went away she stayed with us. By the time Pocket came along Bailey and I were older and we would look at exuberant little Pocket, shake our heads and say “kids.” Bailey spent most of her time lying on the couch watching the world go by. When she was with us we always gave her Mommy’s lap because we are good hosts.

When Mommy got home Saturday there was no sniff message from Bailey. I asked Mommy if Bailey had stayed in the bedroom and Mommy gave me the bad news. Two hours before the party, while following her Mom Kim, as she always did, her legs gave out, she fell, and was swiftly transported to the Bridge. I let out a small cry.

Oh Bailey I will miss all your funny ways. I will miss going for walks with you: The way you lifted your paws up high while walking, and how you would pee 15 times on a five minute walk. You always had your tongue hanging out and your tail up, so proud to be shown to the neighbors. The way you would jump down ,barking and tail wagging whenever someone came to the door. The way you curled up in just the right position for me to curl up with you.

But most of all Bailey I want to thank you for taking care of my extended family. You were my sister Kim’s dog before she had kids, before she even had a husband. We all worry about family when they move away, but I knew I could worry less about her because she had you to protect her. Then when my grand babies were born, first Madison, then Meghan, you were the best baby watcher ever. That they have grown up to be nice, proper girls I owe to you..

I knew if any of them got sick, or had an injury, or if the meaness in this world had brought them down, you would snuggle with them until they felt better. If any of them felt they were friendless you were their friend. When you grew older, and only wanted to sit on the couch (Mommy called you the Queen Mother) you never snapped nor squirmed if one of the girls picked you up and carried you off to play. And when their Daddy brought home Riley, a giant boxer puppy with lots of energy and slobber, you just moved higher up on the couch and ignored Riley’s silliness.

Although you have left us all with broken hearts I am glad you went to the Bridge as you did. You left us as you lived with us, without fuss or noise. You just slipped away midstep. There were no trips to the vet, no big bills, you didn’t leave your Mom and Dad with a difficult decision to make. You never put yourself first. When your Daddy worked the overnight shift, and you spent the night snuggled with Mommy, you would go right back to bed to keep Daddy company too. When one of the children was sick you would leave the warm spot on the couch to keep them warm. You were a selfless little dog. You made the lives of every human you knew better.

I’ll miss you snuggling in our bed a couple of weeks a year, I’ll miss visiting you and watching the young dogs foolishly play, I’ll miss how we used to talk about Blaksie Bear, and I’ll miss your pretty face. I can’t think of anything else to say, so I adapted a song for you, and I will miss you the rest of my remaining days. You may have been officially my cousin, but I will miss you forever my sister.

Well I came by your house the other day, your mother said you went away
She said there was nothing that I could have done
There was nothing nobody could say
Me and you we’ve known each other ever since we was little pups
I wished I would have known I wished I could have called you
Just to say goodbye Bailey Girl

Now you hung with me when all the others turned away turned up their nose
We liked the same treats we liked the same kibble we liked the same harnesses
We told each other that we were the wildest, the wildest things we’d ever seen
Now I wished you would have told me I wished I could have talked to you
Just to say goodbye Bailey Girl

Now we went walking in the rain trying to find a dry spot on which we could pee
Now there aint nobody nowhere nohow gonna ever understand how it was with you me
Maybe you'll be up there on that bridge somewhere
Playing with Blake, running along
In a meadow somewhere there’ll be a computer on
And you'll see me writing my blog
Well if you do you'll know I’m thinking of you and all the lives in between
And I’m just calling one last time not to bring you back
But just to say I miss you baby, good luck goodbye, Bailey Dog

Pocket is a lean, mean, fighting machine

noreply@blogger.com (Foley Monster and Pocket) — Fri, 06 Apr 2012 02:48:00 +0000

My friends, I am sorry to say that the humans have made this world a place where you can get killed just for living in your American Skin. We have to take every action possible to make sure that this violence does not affect those we love.

As you know I spend most of my day on the computer. It’s holds heat well so it’s warm to sleep on. Occasionally I open it up, check on my friends, do some blogging, and see what is new in the dog world. This is where I read about Dave Reaver. He is a new kind of Dog Whisperer. But he doesn’t turn pups into well behaved robots. He turns them into weapons.

This is when I decided to take a page out of book of violent humans. They hide their weapons in their Pockets, and so well I. I won’t have a weapon in my Pocket, my weapon will be a Pocket.

I told her I was sending her to Red Sox spring training. She has always thought she would be an amazing baseball player since she is so good at chasing down balls. Instead I sent her to Dave Reaver to make her a lean, mean, short killing machine.

The brochure promised that Mr. Reaver would train Pocket to use her keen sense of smell to locate drugs, explosives, fugitives, missing persons and cadavers. I read that dogs have olfactory sensations 100 times that of humans. (And yet Daddy still farts under the blankets while I’m snuggled beneath them.) None of these traits appealed to me, except for the sniffing out of cadavers, which could come in handy, here in the village of the pruned.

Pocket came back a week later. She didn’t seem any different but that was cool. When you are utilizing a killer Yorkie the element of surprise is key. l asked her what she learned. She said that she was trained to attack on the word “Cochise.” I waited for our late afternoon walk. Daddy was going have to be the victim but I think he knows about that olfactory thing and was farting regardless. I’m sorry but he brought it on himself.

Daddy innocently began his walk with us. When we got around the corner, away from Mommy’s judgmental eyes, I leaned close to Pocket and said “Cochise.”

Pocket’s eyes grew dark. She turned to Daddy then ran at him. She jumped. Then she began licking his ankle and humping his foot. This is not what I sent her to Killer K-9 Kamp for. I whistled to call her off.

She came back over. Daddy looked down at his wet leg. “Pocket, what was that?” both Daddy and I asked.

“I don’t know,” Pocket said, “but if a German Shepard had done that to him he’d be shtiting bricks right now.”

Finis

12 is our April 1, 2012 pup of the week

noreply@blogger.com (Foley Monster and Pocket) — Mon, 02 Apr 2012 02:33:00 +0000

This is one of the hardest blogs I have ever had to write. I have put it off for more than a week. Sometimes I believe, after dogs have gone to the Bridge, that if I don’t acknowledge it then the pups not gone. But that isn’t true. 12 isn’t here anymore.

I think I have had two lives. One where I lived in my house, went for walks, lay on Mommy’s lap, and the second, far more rewarding life, where I do all that stuff, but I also spend time visiting my friends on the Internet and uploading myself to their houses. I don’t think there was a single day of my second life, going back to the pioneering dogs of Doggyspace, that 12 was not a part of my life.

It seems like the first time I stepped into this big online playground the first dogs to greet me were three oddly named, mismatched dogs: 12, Chappy and Whiskey. And we knew, right then, that we were going to be best buds for a long time. There were some rocky times along the way, never with our friendship, but in our lives. Whiskey was a rescue and proved to be a challenge to train but his Mom and Dad did it, with 12 maintaining a firm control over his pack.

12 was bigger than most of us, and his heart was even bigger than that. When we were down 12 always knew what to say to pick us up. He always gave us a big shoulder to lean on, a large paw to go around us when we were sad. We can’t imagine all the tomorrows without him, and don’t know how Chappy, Whiskey, Blue and his family will keep on.

But we will all be here for them, helping them every step of the way, because they are family to all of us.

For those who don’t know 12 became sick in the beginning of January with pneurothorax. He had spots on his lungs that were rupturing and causing larger spots. He was losing weight. We all went to wait at the hospital so he would know we supported him. He was sent home but he was still losing weight and didn’t want to eat. There were other trips to the vets, with an 11th birthday in between. And our favorite big boy still wasn’t eating. Six weeks after his birthday 12 was not doing any better and his parents had to make the hardest of all decisions.

It is terrible when any pup passes, but when it happens to such a strong pup family, when you can tell through their blogs, their pictures, and their comments how much they love dogs, all dogs, the ones belonging to them, and others, how strongly they advocate for dogs, how much they appreciate what us dogs can bring to a family and to society, it is so hard, because these wonderful people should be able to keep their dogs forever.

But now 12 is doing what he did each day with us, watching over his wonderful parents and siblings. And I am sure he will guide them to another troubled dog in need of a home, like Chappy, like Blue, and like Fuzzy Bacon, who 12 is nuzzling right now at the Bridge, to his family, who will turn this pup into a wonderful member of the family.

12 you were a one of a kind dog and we will never forget you. Love you always, the Dogs of the Internet.

Ask Aunt Foley in 3D

noreply@blogger.com (Foley Monster and Pocket) — Sat, 31 Mar 2012 17:34:00 +0000

Dear Aunt Foley: I know you normally don’t answer humans’ questions but I need your help. I was a happily confirmed bachelor. I played trumpet in a band and I enjoyed bowling. Then I met a wonderful woman and her cute dog and I fell in love. I soon asked her to be my wife. Everything was wonderful. I even taught her how to bowl. She did OK her first couple of times, but now she has beaten me three times in a row. Now Foley, I love my fiancee and her dog but I was very proud of my bowling. What should I do?
Romey’s Dad

Dear Romey’s Dad: I had to do some research on human relations and I have found out your problem. Your bowling is off because your ball is larger than it was before you became engaged. I read in the New England Journal of Medicine that once a man puts a ring on it shared recreational activity slows down and a man’s balls grow larger. After he has been married a few years it may get better because according to my research “after several years of marriage men’s balls are the size of bowling balls.” That should return your game to normal. But if his bowling ball suddenly turns blue, he needs to consult a dogtor.

Dear Aunt Foley: I am a very young pup. Recently I lost some teeth. I am concerned about this because I like my teeth. I use them for chewing food and chewing food is my favorite thing to do. Should I be worried about the lost teeth?
Dexter

Dear Dexter: When you are a young pup and you lose your teeth they grow back. If you are an older pup like me they don’t grow back when you lose them. But when they snip your goodies, those never grow back, so it you still have them then treasure them, treasure them like there is no tomorrow.

Dear Aunt Foley: Honestly, I thought Mommy and I were playing a game. I would get in the tub, she would lather me up, and then I would jump out and run around the house getting everything wet. She would run after me yelling. Oh the good times we had. Well apparently I was wrong. Mommy didn’t see it as a game at all. And now she has told Daddy that he has to take me out of the house to get a bath. In public! It’s like I will have to wear a giant bandana with B embroided on it for bath. What can I do?
Koda

Dear Koda: Oh how I envy you. I am too small to get out of the tub. But it sounds like a fun game. I wish I could do it. But your Mommy is acting like a wet rag. But don’t worry. You have an ally. Your Daddy. Just convince him to do what most men do best: do everything wrong. Don’t have him rinse you off your dry you. Have him put you in Mommy’s seat in the car and get it all wet and dog smelling. After this happens a few times your Mommy will get mad at him and decide she needs to do it herself. And you’ll be back in the tub.

Is Foley a Dumba? A Foley and Pocket Text Conversation

noreply@blogger.com (Foley Monster and Pocket) — Wed, 28 Mar 2012 02:48:00 +0000

Pocket: Foley, I talked with Mommy and there is something we need to discuss.

Foley: I have told you to stop texting me.

Pocket: I know but I am afraid if I have this conversation with you in person you will nip me.

Foley: Well hurry up. I am in the middle of a game of Paws With Words with Logan.

Pocket: Mommy, Daddy and I think you have become a Dumba.

Foley: Are you calling me dumb?

Pocket: No. You know what a Rumba is?

Foley: It’s one of those freaky little spaceships things that clean the floor.

Pocket: Well Mommy and me think you’re the dog version of that.

Foley: What is the supposed to mean?

Pocket: Because you spend half the night licking the floors.

Foley: Oh that is not true.

Pocket: It is Foley. You have a lick addiction.

Foley: I do not!

Pocket: After we go out for our 9:00 PM pee you begin to lick the entire house. You start on the kitchen floor, then you move to the living room rug and hardwood floor.

Foley: Oh that is an exaggeration.

Pocket: It is not, you’re a serial licker. You lick here, you lick there, once I caught you licking Daddy’s underwear.

Foley: Oh well you lick your own butt.

Pocket: Oh so do you. Licking our butt is what separates us from the lower species.
Foley: That and the lower species pick up our crap and give us room and board for free.

Pocket: Don’t change the subject. We need to get back to your serial licker.

Foley: I do it to help Mommy clean the floors.

Pocket: Aha! Then you are a Dumba. And Mommy does not need help cleaning the floors. Her floors are so clean you can eat of them.

Foley: Well we do.

Pocket: True. But Mommy and I are concerned about your licking.

Foley: I like to lick. I like the taste of things. Sometimes you find little crumbs of food.

Pocket: Dumba! You’re a Dumba!

Foley: I am not dignifying this any more. I am powering down. Oh, and Pocket go lick yourself.

Pocket: At least I’m not licking the bathroom floor.

Foley: Sicko!

Pocket: Sicki!

Note: If you know any dogs who are Dumbas like Foley please have them contact 1-800-DUMBAS. There are Dumba support groups going on around the country. Remember the motto for Dumba Anonymous. Dog’s tongues are to clean our anuses, not our floors.

Per Hattie Mae, We are the March 25, 2012 Pup of the Week

noreply@blogger.com (Foley Monster and Pocket) — Sun, 25 Mar 2012 21:52:00 +0000

Usually we do not take any outside suggestions for Pup of the Week. But this week Hattie Mae sent us this suggestion, and when it is Hattie Mae, well, you have to give in to her or your will get a nasty nip in the butt. So here is what Hattie Mae sent us. Although we don't feel we are worthy here is Hattie's Mae blogging on why we should be Pups of the Week

By Hattie Mae:

We all tend to take things, or furiends, for granted. Never giving a second thought to efforts and time devoted to making sure we all feel safe, happy and loved.

When things got crazy over at that other realm, some of us fled, others were tossed out of the gates without so much as a tribunal to hear their case. We were lost and missing our true furiends. We wandered the streets, confused, hungry and lonely.

Little did we know that two small, but powerful forces, were at work finding a safe house for us. Foley and Pocket. They sniffed around and found just the spot. The rent was cheap, the neighborhood was safe and it came with a great security system. The tiny gals, rolled up their sleeves and gave the place a good cleaning, hung some frilly curtains, got some modest furnishings from the Goodwill. Soon they got the word out to the outcasts that there was a safe haven for them to come to.

One by one we began to come. We felt safe. We could trust again. We urged our furiends to come and they did. They told 2 furiends, who in turn they told 2 furiends and so the community grew.

As we approach the Three Year Anniversary of the Tanner Brigade (May) I want to be sure that we all take a moment and thank Foley and Pocket for giving us a small slice of heaven. No matter what is going on in their lives they continue to make sure we are comfortable and happy.

So we, the members of the Tanner Brigade want to acknowledge Foley and Pocket as our Pup(s) of the week!

Grandpaw in need of prayers

noreply@blogger.com (Foley Monster and Pocket) — Sat, 24 Mar 2012 03:02:00 +0000

Our grandpaw, our Daddy’s Daddy, the man who purchased Daddy’s first dog, Barney, whose diary we sometimes read from (a diary is what dogs wrote in before the Big Giant Dog created the blog), and who has come over every Tuesday for dinner, providing the basis for my book “Tuesdays with Edgar” (my grandpaw, for those who have not read the story before, is responsible for Daddy having the name Edgar, because, while Daddy’s Mommy was being wheeled away to have her litter, his Daddy yelled to her to name him “anything but Edgar” and, because of a squeaky wheel, all she heard was Edgar) is in the hospital and we don’t know when he’ll be released and give me my next chapter of my Tuesdays book.

I should point out that the recent circumstances surrounding his medical condition has caused me, personally, lap time, and, even worse, bed snuggle time, as my pawrents have spent long nights at the hospital, not returning home until the high numbers of the single digits. But since Mommy and Daddy both love him, I can’t begrudge them their time with him, although I have kept track of bed time owed, and will collect.

It began one afternoon when Granpaw called with back pain. I was put on my blanket and Pocket shoved in her crate. Our pawrents were away for a long time. I kept checking my watch and getting angrier. When they came home they told me about Grandpaw. He had a kidney stone. Ouch. I forgave them for being late.

He was in the hospital for two days, went home, and two nights after that we were placed and shoved again, because Grandpaw could not pee. They ended up doing the equivalent of the thermometer up the butt to us, but it wasn’t his butt, and during insertion, the Nurse said “oops” and ran out of the room to get another nurse.

He had the stone out and that night he spent with us which iwas cool because we love having guests sleep over. He slept in the bed we have for our grand girl babies with the Princess sheets so the emasculation he received from the tube up the yoohoo continued. Pocket wanted to sleep with him but Grandpaw had never slept with a pup before, some humans never truly learn the pleasures of life.

Grandpaw went home but a few days later Daddy had to leave when Grandpaw fell down. He didn’t have to go to the hospital then, but the next day he went to get the emasculator pulled out. He had to wait a long, long time. The nurse finally came in and said they had to fill his bladder by pouring water the wrong way down the tube. She then left the room and the water poured right back out. The nurse came back in, ripped out the catheter, and had him stand, which is hard for him, with his pants around his ankles and a cup in his hand, for 15 minutes seeing if he could pee. He kept asking to see the doctor but he was torturing new people. Finally they let him leave when Daddy got mad. We don’t want to say the name of the doctor. That wouldn’t be right. Especially when all you have to do is provide a link HERE

Since that day Grandpaw kept getting worse. His feet became more and more swollen. His belly and thighs became swollen too. He had terrible, crippling, back pain. When Daddy took him to his primary doctor after lots of tests the doctor told him he didn’t know what was wrong. Mommy and Daddy, and Grandpaw, asked for Grandpaw to be admitted but his doctor said no. So they brought the poor man back to his house.

Daddy checked with him in the morning. He said he was having more trouble moving but was determined to get through the day. That night Daddy had his Fantasy Baseball Draft. The only fantasy is that Daddy is ever going to win money. Anyway at the start of the draft Grandpaw fell down in his house. He landed face first in his chair, next to the phone and was able to call for help. Auntie went with him to the hospital. Daddy stayed at his draft, texting and drafting, which may explain why he has three quarters of the Yankee infield.

Grandpaws’ prognosis is not great. He has an aortic aneurysm. He also is in the beginning stages of heart failure. They have been able to remove a lot of fluid from his legs, close to 20 pounds of it. But his legs are damaged so he is going to have to go to a nursing home for rehabilitation. Like many of our pawrents’ pawrents this is their biggest fear. Like our fear of something happening to our pawrents and us being left at the pound.

So we are asking our puppy friends for prayers, because no prayers are better than puppy prayers. Pray that Grandpaw is able to get up and around and is able to come to our house again so I can finish my Tuesday with Edagr blog.

It would be greatly appreciated.