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

Bad Day and Grave Diggers

I am outraged and spitting mad. Last night I didn't feel well and my mom even had to carry me out to my fire hydrant and back again. I was listless, didn't want to eat and my arthritic bones were giving me trouble. As if this stuff and my bad heart weren't giving me enough grief, my MOTHEEEEER told my dad that she wanted to start digging my grave! Can you imagine that? She says she's too old to dig it all at one time and she needs to do it a little bit every day so it will be ready when I go to the Rainbow Bridge. A warning to you younger pups out there: I'm pretty sure that when our humans start talking about the Rainbow Bridge they're REALLY talking about putting us down i.e. sticking us with a needle that will put us in a permanent sleep. Next I suppose she'll want me and Dad to sit out on the deck and watch her dig.

I've got my sixteenth birthday coming up June first and I'm going to make it, by gosh. I'm stubborn and I know I can do it. So today I started eating again and walking better. That didn't stop the 'grave' talk, though. Mom is going to dig it and fill it with a couple of potted plants. Like that's going to keep me from seeing it every time I pass by on the way to my pee pen. AND she made an appointment with the vet for tomorrow morning. I don't think it's for the big needle, no I really don't. But she told dad that she'd always wonder if there was something more going on than just my bad heart if she didn't take me.

I'm going to read up on that 'Rainbow Bridge' place where all dogs are suppose to go when we---shutter the thought!---die. Just in case it's true. I'll meet my adopted brother and sister up there, Mom says, who lived with my family before I came along and I might even be able to blog from the bridge until my replacement learns to type. I know Mom will get another four-legged child like me. I smelled schnauzer puppy breath on her last week.

I'm so depressed and Dad has a basset hound face every time he looks at me. I even saw a tear on Mom's cheek. The next time I blog, I'll try to get back to recording my childhood antics. I still have to write about my lipstick fetish and about the time a lion chased me. ©

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No Time to Pee

What a day I had Friday! It was grooming day and I looked so bad before I went that I wouldn't even let Mom post a picture of my pre-cut body. Let's just say it wasn't pretty. This photo (below) taken afterwards isn’t so good either. Oh, I got a good cut but I was not a happy camper. I was mad as hell.

I was at the groomers for three hours and no one would let me pee! I'm old; I need to do that more often now that I'm on heart medication. They'd pick me up and carry me here and there---the bathing tub, the blow-dry table, the cutting table, the waiting cage---and never once did my feet touch the floor. Even Mom, when she came to get me, carried me out to the car. Well, every dogaroon knows you can't pee in a car but the minute Mom set me down in the garage, I just let it go. And did I go. I created the Yellow River of No Return.

Speaking of garages, my folks brought home an interesting essence last week. It was the same smell as that wonderful black creature with the white stripe down its back that roams through our yard sometimes at night. I call that a nice barking opportunity and every time I give her the hi-nice-to-see-you-again bark she treats me to her perfume.

Last week, I was all around and under the car looking for my black and white friend, my mom yelling at me the whole time to get away from the vehicle. For two days every time I'd go outside and pass through the garage on the way to my fire hydrant I'd take a side trip around the car. The third day my folks took the car away and it came home smelling like soap suds.

Someday I'll tell you about how I came to get my own, personal fire hydrant in my backyard. ©
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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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Bad Ticker Times Two

Mom put an ugly winter coat on me today and took me to the veterinarian's office. I wasn't sure I wanted to go after the conversation I over heard at home. Mom was telling dad that I probably won't live the year out with my heart problems. Dad's got the very same problem but she didn't tell him that he was going to die soon. What's up with that? I'm in better shape than he is. I might have a bad ticker and a little arthritis that makes my joints not move so good, but he can't even walk. I'm sway backed, but he takes ten times as many pills as I do.

My mom is making me crazy. One minute she seems sad about my health and the next minute she's planning my replacement. She even told the veterinary that she'd get one now---before I'm even gone!---if I hadn't peed on a puppy that some friends brought to over to the house a few years ago. Well, he deserved it. Why doesn't anyone understand that? He smelled too much like liver paste.

The vet and my mom talked about my heart, my kidneys, the lump in my groin, and my appetite. How embarrassing it was to have that woman feel me up as if I was a rag doll with no underpants on! Then she handed my mom a bottle of Enalapril pills and a bill for $80 and my mom said she was glad to get out of the place for less than a hundred dollars. I don't understand what all the fuss is about regarding medical bills but for some reason my mom wishes I were on the same insurance plan as my dad. ©