Christmas Time at the Bridge

The holiday season up here at the Rainbow Bridge is a busy and happy time. There are parties and bark-alongs and lots of speculating on what our humans are giving each other for Christmas. We've even got a good natured pool going. We're trying to see which of us angel dogs can guess the most gifts correctly. No way can I win the pool because there is just my mom, dad and Levi to exchange gifts in my family but Dad and Levi can't go shopping so that just leaves Mom to buy two gifts.

The Christmas gift pool has made the lines up here at the magic water extra long. The magic water, you'll remember, is under the bridge and it allows us to view our humans down on earth. But even waiting in the lines is fun because we all exchange stories about our holiday times on earth when our humans would dress us up in reindeer antlers or velvet bow ties and other silly things like the blinking, light-up collar I had for many years. We'd also swap stories about the trees that accidentally got peed on and the gifts that got ripped open.

One day after waiting in line I finally I got my time at the magic water and I could see a red Christmas fabric neck scarf for Levi sitting on the dining room table and an unopened U.P.S. box sitting by the front door as Mom and Dad came back from the grocery store.

"I think Cooper's Christmas present came!" Mom told dad.

A gift for me? I thought. What on earth could they get for me? I've been dead for ten months now.

I couldn't wait to tell the other angel dogs what my quirky Mom was up to. I couldn't wait myself to see what she was up to! But imagine my out right shock when she opened the box and revealed a custom make grave marker. No more magic marker on a patio stone for me! I'm getting a REAL memorial marker and if Levi pees on this one like he does on the homemade marker the little bugger is going to feel my wings fluttering my anger in his face. ©


P.S. The photo above was taken of me about six years ago. Mom found it on an old roll of film she just had developed. The memorial marker came from www.harrietcarter.com

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Schnauzer Saturdays

The 'Dogs With Blogs' community has a nice tradition going on many blogs where they set aside one day of the week for blogging something different. There's Wheelie Wednesdays and Rosco Wednesdays which are like having guest bloggers come in to tell about their adventures. There's also Thankful Thursdays which is like doing affirmations and Wordless Wednesdays for photos plus there are a host of other special days that I can't find on the tip of my tongue.

That got me to thinking that since Levi is six months old now and is trying to send mental telepathy messages out into the world that maybe it's time for me to help him start blogging. Levi regularly snatches ink pens off the table when Mom's back is turn and paws at her keyboard which probably means he's ready to take communicating with humans to a higher level. So, from now on Saturdays on this blog will be known as Schnauzer Saturdays. Be warned, though, he's still a baby and the thoughts he tries to express are still the thoughts of a baby. With that said, I turn this entry over to Levi….



Peas tell Levi what thingie is that pits---no---spits paper! Me fears---no---hears thingie run back and forth. Mouse in there? Me watch paper come out. Me listens to Moomie tell---no---yell "NO PAPER!" If me can't have paper why does thingie want to give it to me? World is so confusing. Moomie covers thingie up sometimes. One day me took cover off so me could study thingie. Moomie said, "NO!" but she won't answer my questions about thingie. Levi needs help learning about thingie!




Well, that's all the little guy has to say today. He's off to take a nap. But I've got something special to tell you. I'm getting a new feather in my wings for coming up with this idea! Jason says there'll be a little presentation ceremony tonight since it's my very first merit earned feather. The ones in my training wings are just standard issue, you know. ©

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Second Puppy Obedience Class

Levi's second obedience class went well, especially the first fifteen minutes when Mom and Levi practiced the 'settling' exercise while they listened to the instructor lecture. One of the things the trainer stressed was the importance of interrupting puppies at play with little obedience tasks and then letting them go back to play. The theory is that as puppies grow into adolescences they will be less apt to ignore or avoid owners when they are playing with other dogs or headed toward danger if they have learned that obeying their humans does not necessarily mean an end to having fun.

The second fifteen minutes of class was a combination of play time and grabbing a puppy by the collar---anyone's puppy---and having him or her do a couple of 'sits' before releasing the tyke to play again. It was a mass of humans and four-legged kids running around, the puppies having a great time and the humans looking like they were in a catch-the-greased-pig contest. Well, not quite THAT bad but you know how I like to exaggerate.

The third fifteen minutes of class was demonstrations on how to teach the 'stay' and 'down' commands followed by the last fifteen minutes of demonstrations on how to start puppies walking on a leash. The instructor used Levi for the demonstration and he did wonderfully. Can you tell I'm a proud big brother? The idea was to only go 2-3 feet at a time and then stop, 'sit' before going again. If the puppies pull on the leashes then the humans are suppose to turn and go the opposite direction.

A few days after the class Mom was feeling so confident that she had Levi under control while walking on a leash that she decided to take him and Dad out on a nature trail near by. How hard could it be to push a wheelchair and heel a dog at the same time? Harder than it looks, she decided. There were so many things Levi had never seen before---bicycles, joggers and other family pets not to mention the dam, river, swans, ducks, poison ivy, bugs and grass taller than him. The ragtag trio only got about a quarter of a mile along the river before turning around and coming back. Poor Mom, now she's resigned to taking them both separately until Levi masters ignoring distractions while practicing his obedience lessons.

Well, I've got to go find my angel brother. He's taking me a Zen Living class. It sounds boring to me but Jason says tonight's discussion will be particularly interesting. They're going to discuss, 'do dogs have a Buddha nature.'

"Of course we do!" I told him as soon has he had finished barking out the title.

"You may be right," Jason replied after a long, drawn-out pause. "Or you may be wrong. But answers giving without meditation are unacceptable." Then he winked at me! I can never tell if he's being serious or pulling my leg. All I know is he's one of the most respected angel trainers up here---even if he does talk in riddles half the time---so I listen when he speaks. ©

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Heaven Sent Service Dogs

I've been thinking a lot about services dogs. So instead of blogging about Levi today I want to share some of my thoughts from here at the Rainbow Bridge. What got me started thinking about service dogs is I a met a K9 military service dog today, a beautiful German shepherd. A bunch of us were exploring the four-leaf clover field at the time and he was talking about how rewarding it was to have a job down on earth. Then a Siberian husky spoke up about how he came from a long line of working sled dogs. One after another we all told about our breed histories regarding jobs we've done for humans---herding stock, circus performers, hunting, guard and patrol dogs, search and rescue, drafting like horses do. Our blood lines went way back to the Middle Ages when dogs were used to power crude machinery. We even have drug enforcement and cadaver dogs up here and one of newest types of working dogs---the therapy canines.

All this talk made my angel sister, Sarah, cry and we couldn't figure out why. Finally she told us that because she had been so dim-witted down on earth from being the product of a puppy mill that she hadn't been of much value to anyone. I didn't know what to say---I was speechless at her assumption---but my angel brother, the ever-so-wise Jason, told her about how she filled a giant hole in our Mom's heart at a time when she was just figuring out that she couldn't have any two legged babies. "You were a therapy dog," he told her, "before they even invented that category of working dogs." That Jason, he always has the right words on the tip of his tongue. That's why he's one of the official newbie greeters up here at the bridge. When dogs come here, disorientated from a sudden death, he helps them find acceptance and sticks with them until they understand that they are still with their families in spirit, can check on them at the magic water under the bridge, and will be able to jump in their arms again when it's their time to come to heaven.

Levi is a therapy puppy, too, I think. You see the last six months that I was on earth I was getting sicker and sicker and that made my Mom more depressed than she even realized. She knew that she'd get another dog when I was gone and she spent some time looking at rescue sites and the local human society site in my last two months. That depressed her even more because none of those dogs seemed right for Mom and Dad's situation. They had personalities or special needs already formed and with Dad in a wheelchair she didn't want an older dog. Puppies seemed rare on the rescue sites and even if there had been puppies there was no guarantee that they wouldn't be unhealthy puppy mill victims, she thought, or would be like me who had been sold way too young---5 1/2 weeks---from a ruthless breeder creating a lot of behavioral problems. Mom needed an easy dog this time around.

When Mom first saw Levi, two weeks before I died, she hadn't planned on looking at a litter of puppies. She had gone to pick me up from the groomers but I wasn't ready on time so she was driving around to kill time when she saw a 'puppies for sale' sign. She pulled in and met two male schnauzers. She told my Dad afterwards that she would have taken one of them home on the spot if not for the fact that it probably would hurry up my death. I was too ill from my heart problems to deal with a frisky puppy. Two weeks later, I crossed over to the bridge and the next day Mom called to find out if the schnauzer she liked was still there. He was.

I call Levi Mom's therapy dog because he's bringing such joy to her life. Sarah, Jason and I were all loved for different reason but with Levi it's different in a way---more intense---because Dad can't talk anymore or express things he used to be able to do. Levi gives lavish affection and kisses that Dad can't. Levi also helps her remember that life is a cycle and not all about dying, disabilities and illness. So I guess what I'm saying here is that all dogs that are in loving homes serve mankind in some pretty amazing ways, whether it's through formal training to do a job or just by being themselves. ©


NOTE: Our blog got nominated for the 'Awesome Blog of the Month' award. Voting ended Saturday June 28th and we didn't win but it was exciting getting nominated.

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Recall Training and the Flyball Regionals

Shopping at Chow Hound was on Mom's schedule today and my baby brother FINALLY got a stash of treats besides those bland Mother Hubbard puppy biscuits---although he got those, too. He got some Kong Stuffy'n spray, puppy formula made with chicken liver. Hummm good! And he got Wellness Puppy treats, soft and smelly holistic bits to use for when obedience training starts at the end of the month. He's going to learn to heel with Mom first and then with dad's wheelchair so they all can stroll the neighborhood together.

Mom and Levi have been doing recall training using a seventy foot clothes line out in the back yard. She waits until he gets distracted by a butterfly, a blade of grass or a chipping bird and then she calls him. I must say the little guy comes running faster than I ever did. When they play the recall game in the front yard, however, where there are kids and other dogs to catch Levi's attention, it's harder for him get with the program but he eventually does come running at full speed back to Mom and her pocket full of Holistic Select nuggets. Mom is trying her best to remember to only give the 'Levi, come!' command one time. Sometimes she screws up and repeats it but what can I say, Mom is Mom.

Speaking of running at full speed, Last night was the finals at the flyball regionals up here at Rainbow Bridge. Oh my gosh, I can't tell you how much fun we all had. We wore out our barkers cheering. Every single dogaroon up here was watching or competing except for the canines who manned the steak grills for the after party. Let me tell you, the waiting list to get those plum jobs is longer than an alligator's tail. EVERYONE wants to watch the steaks on the grill because they 'accidentally' fall off quite often and have to be rescued from hitting the ground.

Well, I need a long nap after all the excitement so I'm signing off for now. Mom and Dad are going to a retiree picnic today so Levi will get a long nap today, too. ©

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Wait Until You Hear What Happened to Me!

I've got some news for all my friends in cyberspace. That last trip to the veterinarian's office on Friday really was my LAST trip! That's okay because I'm at the Rainbow Bridge now and I'll tell you all about this amazing place in a minute. First, I need to talk about my last day on earth.

When my mom got up that morning she'd already had an appointment with the vet but when she saw me sleeping in a heap on some pee soaked newspapers, she didn't need the vet to tell her I was too worn out to stay with her and Dad much longer. But we went anyway.

The vet on duty was a nice guy and he handled me, my mom and dad with gentle compassion. The three of us were together when the doc gave me the fatal injection but to tell you the truth I don't remember when my spirit left my old body and soared to this wonderful place I'm at now. The veterinary had given me a fast acting sedative before the injection so all I really remember is Mom and Dad petting me and talking softly about how much they loved me. When I woke back up I looked at my body and was shocked to see it strong and handsome again, just like the Rainbow Bridge poem says happens when dogs die.

And even more shocking, I could gaze down in the water below the bridge and see my Mom and dad. They cried a lot that afternoon and I tried to tell them that the body Mom was digging a grave for wasn't really me anymore but they couldn't hear me. They gave me a nice funeral, next to my fire hydrant. My old body was resting in the small cardboard casket from the vet's and I was wrapped in my favorite blanket.

When I was alive I was a jealous dog. Once when a neighbor brought a puppy over to the house I lifted my leg and peed on the little guy. I'm ashamed of that now that I'm up here and I have learned an important lesson about love. And guess who taught it to me! When I got here at the bridge my adapted brother and sister poodles---Jason and Sarah---who lived at my house before I came along, were waiting for me. All I had to do is look into their sparking eyes to understand that humans have an unlimited supply of love to give to ALL their four-legged kids.

I've heard stories about Sarah and Jason all of my life. So I knew that Jason has a wise old soul, ever calm and very intelligent, and that dimwitted Sarah had been a puppy mill dog with poor health and she only lived five years. Mom used to say that Sarah was a sweet thing who should have lived with a little girl because she loved getting dressed up in sweaters and Halloween costumes. Mom would smile if she could see Sarah now. She's wearing a pink fairy princess outfit. Jason says that's the nicest thing about being up here, we all get to do what we love doing the most. Some dogs here strut the show rings---even the mutts who always want the thrill of a win. Some dogs run the tunnels trials or compete at fly ball. Some dogs just roam and smell the flowers or chase the birds or nap in the sun.

I don't know how much longer I'll blog from the Rainbow Bridge but I know I'm going to stick with it for a while, to help my humans transition to my replacement---they can't be without a dog in the house for long. My mom even called the place where she saw the schnauzer puppy a few weeks ago and he's still there. Mom told Dad, "That's a sign we should have him." She taking him to see the thirteen weeks old fuzz ball tomorrow and I'm going to tag along in spirit. If they bring him home, I'll blog for the little guy until he can take over this page for himself. In the meantime, Jason and I are going to go pee on some pine trees while our little princess sister sprinkles fair dust as she follows us around. ©

Cooper

Beloved, Furry Son of Don and Jean

June 1, 1992 to April 24, 2008

The Rainbow Bridge Poem

Can be found at

https://www.rainbowsbridge.com/Poem.htm

My Sock Fetish

My mom is fond of quoting an old Ann Landers column that goes something like this: "Old people talk about the past because they have no future and young people talk about the future because they have no past." That must be true for canines, too, because the older I get the more I think about the past and how I got started doing some of the things I do.

For example, I've had a sock fetish for as far back as I can remember. It started when I was a wee little tyke. I was lightening fast and could snatch a sock out of my mom's hand when she'd be trying to put it on. Nothing got my heart going better in the morning than a good run through the house with mom close on my tail. Over the years she got better at 'defensive sock applications' so I got better at finding them at night when she'd take them off. I'd drag them off while she was sleeping and hide them in the couch cushions or under my bed and a few times I even managed to sneak them outside. I did the same with Dad's socks whenever I could.

Now that I'm an old guy with slower reactions I've finally managed to get my mom trained to just throw me her socks when she takes them off. She knows I don't have the strength anymore to go looking for them in her shoes or the laundry basket. Now, I catch them and run off with Dad laughing as I make my great escape.

The oddest thing about my sock fetish, though, is something I don't understand. I hear my dad and mom talk glowingly about how smart I am that I quit snatching Dad's socks when he started using a wheelchair. Why do I get praised for that? Do they think I'm the type of dog who could be a sadistic bastard and make Dad roll all over the house looking for socks that I've hidden? If I live to be twenty, I'll never figure humans out.

Mom and Dad left me alone a lot this week while they hung around the hospital getting Dad's heart check out. I don't know why they just don't use my veterinary. She's closer to home and what took mom and dad two days to accomplish, my vet did for me in an hour and a half. The bottom line is our tickers are wearing out. Dad's not on prescription food or had an accident on the carpeting yet so I guess my heart and kidneys must be a little worse than his. But the biggest reason I think I'm in worse shape than dad is the fact that I've caught Mom looking at rescue puppies on the internet, but I haven't caught her looking for rescue husbands yet. Things like that can't help but scare me, so instead of thinking about the future I day-dream about my happy past. ©
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Poodle Exercise with Humans

Mother's Little Helper

I get into so much trouble and half the time I don't even know why---like today. My dad had diarrhea and since he's wheelchair bound, he didn't have enough time to make on the toilet before it hit. Mom got him in the shower and was trying to get Pop's poop cleaned up off the floor and the wheelchair but she's so inept that she got it on her sweater sleeves and everywhere else but the ceiling. Boy, did that smell good! I was happy to be in the room.

Then mom took the gel pad off my dad's wheelchair and leaned it up against the wall and I thought, "Oh, boy, she's going to let me help clean up the mess." I was licking away while my mom showering dad's butt off when she saw what I was doing. And instead of praising me for being such a good little helper, she yelled at me! What in the world is wrong with that woman? She's too old for PMS. She snapped off her rubber gloves, telling my dad she didn't want to get poop on me as well---as if I'd care, it smelled so good!---and she grabbed me by the collar, making me leave the bathroom.

So now I'm pouting in my bedroom-slash-the laundry room and wondering why she didn't use the 'S' word even once while all this was going on. I don't understand the subtle nuances of when and when not to say the 'S' word. Mom says it all the time, but she tells Dad he can't. ©

The Laundry Day War

My mom isn't the smartest toy in the box, if you know what I mean. Today she got a bra caught on the agitator in the washing machine and she spent a half an hour trying to free it. I could have done it in six second with a pair of scissors and a step stool. But, no, she couldn't take the easy way out; she had to sputter and spit with her head deep inside the washing machine calling the undergarment offensive names that had me blushing under my curly locks. ©

An 'S' Word Kind of Day

My mom is having a hard day. An 'S' word day. It started out with me peeing and pooping on the kitchen floor before she got up. That will teach her not to forget to put the ugly black box in the doorway before she goes to bed. Not that I would ever use it to do my business in but I probably would have held off a little longer if it had been present. She got up at 9:05 and she ought to know by now that I pee and poop at nine sharp.

Then I got into the trash and fished out a couple of Kleenex to eat for breakfast. That was her fault too. She had taken the top off the container and left it unattended to answer the doorbell. That brought back great memories---digging around in the trash. I remember my puppy days when even the red pepper she put in the trash basket couldn't stop me from diving for Kleenex and other worthy prizes. Then she bought all those different types of baskets, trying to out-smart me. It couldn't be done. Oh, the good old days before the trash basket went behind a closed door. Door knobs and latches aren't easy for short dogs like me.

I've never understood what is so bad about saying the 'S' word but my mom said it today after she accidentally kicked over my water dish. It was clean and full to the top, too. That was funny watching the water snaking across the laundry room floor as my mom scrambled to find something to stop it from going under the dryer. Well, what did she expect? It was bound to happen sooner or later with that dish sitting so close to the door going out to the garage. ©

My Adoption Day

When I first met my adopted parents I only weighed 2 1/2 pounds. Yesterday at the vets I was cruising the 20 pound marker. I guess it's true what my mom keeps harping about. I'm too fat for my own good but, darn it, I still look sexy in my silver fur.

That day we first met, my dad took me out of the cage and held me up so he could look at my face. Back in those days he chewed a lot of Black Jack chewing gum and he had a pack in his shirt pocket. It smelled so good that I grabbed a stick for myself. That made Dad laugh. I was just barely five weeks old and my real mother wasn't through teaching me how to be a dog, but the lady who owned the cage wanted me gone anyway. So that's how I came to pick out Don and Jean to be my parents. ©

Vera Wang and Me

I scored a coup today. I extracted a Vera Wang feminine fragrance sampler card from the newspaper and rolled in it until I got myself smelling SO sweet that no one would come within three feet. My mom said it's a good thing I've got a grooming appointment coming up soon. Damn! I like the way I smell now and I don't want to replace my "essence" with that doggie poo-poo stuff. She stopped buying Oprah’s O Magazine because, she said, I was constantly molesting them to get at the perfume pages. I love all expensive perfume but Vera Wang is still my favorite. Their gift sets are $75.00. Can anyone doubt my taste in fragrances? Yup, call me a fan of yuppie perfume. ©

Cardboard Prison

I've always been a busy dog---some might say a naughty dog---until this last year when my heart started acting up. I'm 15 ½ years old but I still feel like a puppy inside. I still want to pull toilet paper through the house but when I walk from the kitchen to the bathroom I have to stop and rest half way. Man, that's a long way to go just to cause a little trouble. So, I've been known to pee on the carpeting instead. That seems to do the trick to get my mom running around like a crazy creature looking for rags and a big red spray can that she uses to re-mark the spot that I just did. Why does she do that? I mark. She marks. I mark again. I may be old but I'm still alpha leader in our pack and I can win any pissing contest. Well, almost any. My territory is three steps down off the deck and sometimes I have trouble in our Michigan winters getting down there and... well, accidents happen.

Yesterday my mom spent a long time lining a huge cardboard box with black plastic. I didn't know what she was making but I had an awful feeling it had something to do with me. At bedtime I found out she did have something sneaky up her sleeve. Mom closed me in the laundry room with the ugly black box blocking the door to the rest of the house. I think she thought I was going to pee in it but I fooled her. I waited until morning, until my dad moved the box, and then I peed on the Linoleum in the kitchen.

I like sleeping in the laundry room but I hate being barred from going into the rest of the house at night. I can't look out the dining room door to see the rabbits eating bird seed at midnight. The snow banks are so high next to the deck that they can run right up them to get to seed my mom throws out for the birds. I think one of night raiders is the rabbit I found hidden in the flowers last summer when it was still a tiny baby. ©

The Talented Mr. Cooper

Typing with paws is a bitch so I'm going to let my mom put some blog entries in here from time to time. The entry below is one of hers....but it's about me, so that's okay. She was having a bad day, but---sigh---I sure had a great time.


Mom Wrote:

The toilet is plugged up. I hate toilets---more specifically I hate new toilets. I never had to deal with plugged up toilets before Don had his stroke and we moved, first into an apartment, then into a brand new home. The apartment wasn’t too bad, they had maintenance and we called them a couple of times a week. I’m maintenance now and we’re on a monthly schedule for fixing plugged up toilets. Had I thought about the fact that we’d have the modern, water saving toilets in our future, I would have taken my old one with me when I sold my house. But I didn’t, so after breakfast I went back to slay the dragon in the bathroom.

Things are going better than I expect them to and I’m thinking I must be honing my plumbing skills and I’m a happy camper…until I go to the bedroom to make the beds. Oh yuck! There on the carpet, in the walk-in closet, is evidence that the dog took a turn at trying to unplug the toilet. “Calegon where are you? I need someone to take me away!” This is one of those ‘damn stroke’ moments that not even a raspberry truffle can fix.

I look around for the guilty party, the one who drags everything illegal into his walk-in cave. I find my sweet little gray poodle sitting on the bed giving me a big brown smile, looking like he just came home from a great adventure. “Pearl diving in a cesspool! Come right on up, all you doggies, lay down your quarters! Canine Adventure Park has a brand new feature! Plenty of pearls left before we flush.”

Canine Adventure Park is getting bigger. They now have: The Car Wash, The Canine Poo Poo Beauty Parlor, The Boys’ Tree Farms, The Outdoor Deck-Jail, and now the fabulous Pearl Diving Tank! Maybe I’ll suggest they need to add Bungee Cord Jogging behind a moving car. Oh, I almost forgot the theme park’s most popular attraction: The Laundry Basket. There used to be a time in my life when finding a pair of purple panties on the living room floor had an entirely different meaning than it does now. Now, it just means that our dear darling dog wants us to see his souvenir from his latest theme park adventure.

Okay, enough gripping about the dear darling dog. I strip the bed of the sheets that were just put on clean yesterday and shove them in the washer. Now, the dog needs a bath, the day before he’s scheduled to see the groomer. I think about canceling that $40 expedition as punishment for Cooper’s trying to change the color of the carpeting in the closet. It’s a good thing I keep a case of Resolve Carpet Cleaning around for times like this. Now, if I could just find a product to wipe the smile off his doggie face; he’s having entirely too much fun today and I’m not in the mood to smile back. I think about going after a roll of tuck tape in the garage and that makes me grin, but there’s probably a law against duck tape on a dog. So, I buck it up and scrub his little face extra hard.

He’s still in the shower when a thought depresses me: I didn’t really fix the toilet all by myself. I was taking partial credit for Mr. Cooper’s talented work.

Jean Riva ©