Humpy and the Vet

Yesterday Levi got his rabies vaccination and the rest of his puppy shots. He weighed 12 pounds 4 ounce---a gain of 2 pounds 2 ounces in two weeks. He's going to be a cow when he grows up! Mom says he's like picking up a Beanie Baby because he folds, bends and drapes as if he doesn't have a bone in his body. But he's still going to be a COW! A huge COW compared to all his poodle siblings up here at the Rainbow Bridge. The vet gave him a 'puppy love' neck scarf for being so brave---he didn't even cry when she plucked hair out of his ears---and mom got a bill for $125.32.


As if the little bugger didn't use up enough money from the metaphorical cookie jar, Mom took him to the pet store after seeing the doc and let him pick out a toy. The new stuffie was named Humpy because he looks like he was made for---well, you know. His butt is always in the air and he has a distressed look on his face. Levi likes him because he's got five squeakers implanted. He's addicted to squeakees.

Levi is trying really hard to figure out how to do canine-to-human mental telepathy and Mom is trying to figure out if he's doing it, or not. He is but he's sending his messages off into space without aiming them at any particular person. And you know what else that screwball does? He goes to the window, instead of the door, when he wants to poop or pee. Our angel sister up here at the bridge says Levi's misdirected telepathy reminds her of her time on earth. She says Levi is a space cadet like she was but our angel brother Jason says, "No, Levi's lack of skill is age-appropriate for a puppy." Sarah is sweet but she's still a space cadet. Most of the time we just humor her and her silly notions.

I'm signing off for now. Jason is on the orientation committee up here at the bridge and he's taking me along to greet a couple of newbies. We'll show them all around and make sure they find some friends so they won't ever have to be alone. ©
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First Trip to the Vets

My little brother is a putts. This morning our Dad dropped a corn flake on the floor and when Levi found it later on he just played with it. Granted, it's the first corn flake he's ever seen but even so you'd think he would have known enough to eat. I can't wait until he finds his first bug.

At the veterinarian's office, Levi was a whooping ten pounds, two ounces. I---an angel dog looking out for my earth brother---was right when I said the breeder lied when she told my folks he'd only be seventeen pounds full grown. The vet said we'll know in a few weeks because you can double whatever he weighs at sixteen weeks and that will be close to his adult weight. And she's sure it will be a bit more than seventeen pounds. Our MOTHEEEER is making a MISTAAAAKE with Levi. Every morning after she takes him outside and he's had a little play time inside, she rocks him to sleep in her computer chair in the kitchen while she surfs the net. That's not going to be easy to do when he's a two ton elephant sitting on her lap.

Levi got the works with his first wellness exam: an up the nose bordetella vaccine to prevent kennel cough, a pyrantel dewormer by mouth, and a starter kit for sentinel flea and worm prevention. He got his claws trimmed, too, and his stool checked for worms. Dad said Levi has flies. You got to laugh at Dad's language disorder. He meant that Levi has fleas but the vet tech couldn't find any signs of the varmints. The vet says Levi was the best puppy she's seen in a long time. I'll bet she says that to all new adopting parents.

I've got a play date at Rainbow Meadow with my new friends Nora, Nikka, Sam, Daisy, Mittens, and Pockets so I'm signing out from doggie heaven for now. My social calendar is filling up fast. ©

Photo: Levi played with his blanket and then wrapped himself up for a nap.
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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

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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Me and my Friend, Charmin

I love toilet paper. My humans buy Charmin Ultra and that's my favorite brand, too. I can snatch a mouthful, run out of the bathroom and half way across the bedroom before it quits following me along.

My folks play a fun game with me and the toilet paper. They take the roll off the roller and put the paper high on shelf where they leave it for a couple weeks, hoping I'll forget how to play the toilet paper game. Then, when they put it back on the roller, they sit back and take bets on how long it takes me to discover it again. I'm pretty smart. I usually find it right way and off I go with my mouth full of Charmin. Again.

I haven't had this thing for toilet paper my entire life. In my first two years on earth I was pretty persistent and played with my friend, Charmin, a lot. Then I quit for twelve years 'cause I got busy with other stuff. And last year I started the game back up again for reasons my humans don't understand. They even talked to the veterinary about it, as if she's a mind reader. NOT! No, doc, I'm not bored. I'm not senile and I'm not going through a second puppy-hood, thank you very much. I just enjoy messing with my humans.

For all you pups out there who also love the toilet paper game, I want to share my tips for getting around the traps that our humans like to set.

Trap #1) Red pepper inside the roller. This is easy to over come. Just turn your face away and beat on the Charmin with your paw until all the pepper falls on the floor. Then you can proceed as usual.

Trap #2) The child proof gadget. It has an elastic strap that keeps you from grabbing a mouthful of toilet paper and take off running. This is when you switch tactics on your humans and just bite off large chunks of the white stuff instead. It's fun to watch my mom's exasperated face when she tries to use my special puppy-pinked toilet paper.

Trap #3) The Cool Whip cover. Some humans will try to cover up the toilet paper thinking out of sight is out of mind. They'll remove the bottom off a Cool Whip container, cut a slit up the side and pop it over the toilet paper. Trust me, these homemade covers are quicker to remove than the time it takes your humans to make them.

Trap #4) The closed door. I'm pretty lucky. My humans can't close the bathroom door because it would make it too hard for my wheelchair bound dad to get in. But for you dogs who've run into this trap, check to see if the door has a lever or knob style opener. Levers are easy---I can open them---just jump up and pull down on the lever and presto the door opens. If you have knobs it's a much harder trick but I've heard of dogs who could master it. Don't be discouraged, keep trying.

There you have it, all my tricks for winning the toilet paper game. If you've learned any others, let me know. We dogs need to stick together and share the fun. And remember, if you can get your family to buy Charmin Ultra, it works the best. ©
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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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Purple Nose Syndrome

Last year my mom took me to the veterinarian's office because the whole end of my nose was a bright purple. "It's a fungus," he said and he went on to say that the cure was worse than the disease and not to worry about it. He was a quack! A couple of weeks later I went to my canine groomer and after my bath, she picked all the purple stuff off my nose and she showed it to my mom. I could almost see a light bulb go off her head when Mom made the connection that the matted stuff from my nose was exactly the same color as her new chenille bathrobe. I know she figured it out because when we got back home again, Mom washed that bathrobe a zillion times. It made a difference but I can still find a purple dust bunny under the bed once in a great while. Mostly, though, the dust bunnies are bland colored and they're not nearly as much fun to chase as the purple ones. Whenever I sniff them out, sure enough, the next day my mom picks my nose as if I were a baby or something. How embarrassing! Then she clucks like a duck saying it's time to vacuum again. ©

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. ©