Sunday, June 23, 2019
A book review of “Tails From Rainbow Bridge 2: Tributes and Observations”
8:41 AM | 
Posted by
Bruny Hudson |
By Wylie Hudson
Foley Monster, the author of the book Tails From Rainbow Bridge 2: Tributes and Observations, is a judge at Rainbow Bridge, bringing justice and freedom to pets’ immortal lives. Her stories about the afterlife show how every pet either continues a flourishing life or gets a better deal if its mortal life had been a letdown. With help and support from each other, the pets work hard to lessen the pain of pets and humans separated by Rainbow Bridge and to lift their spirits.
I enjoyed reading about the manners, quirks and interests of my friends at Rainbow Bridge, some habits they took over from their mortal lives, others they developed later, and got a kick out of the antics they pulled. Their love and dedication to each other and to their families and friends on the mortal side hold a special place in my heart since we pets are champions for family ties and friendships that last forever and ever. Pets and pet lovers will sense this special bond throughout the book.
Foley Monster took a lot of effort and care to write such a wonderful collection of stories as she kept up with all of her friends’ lives. The book will delight readers and will bring back beautiful memories to those who know pets across Rainbow Bridge.
The book is available at amazon.com.
Labels:
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pet adoption,
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Tuesday, February 19, 2019
And I thought I was having a nightmare
By Sabrina Hudson
Our mom almost got killed by a kitchen cabinet, and I slept through the whole ordeal, right next to it in the dining room. I was taking my beauty siesta and heard a thunderous crash. Peeking through one eye, I saw a black monster run like the devil and thought I was having a nightmare.
I later learned it had been my kitty brother Tiger. He had witnessed from his chair opposite mine at the dining room table Mom desperately holding on to the kitchen cabinet. It had come crashing down on her when she opened its door, smashing to smithereens pottery and glasses. Tiger had hightailed it at the first sound of the boom and clatter and watched everything from a safe distance.
Mom’s desperate shouts for Dad to come and rescue her tore into my sleep, but as I said, I thought it was a nightmare in which the devil was after Mom when in fact, it was the kitchen cabinet that was after her.
Dad arrived just in time before Mom’s arms gave out. He took over holding the cabinet sitting with its edge on the kitchen counter. After Mom and Dad pushed it all the way on top of the counter, they stared in disbelief at the broken glasses and whatever, scattered all over the floor. Then, they carefully removed the broken pieces still inside the cabinet.
Listening to what had happened, I was thankful that mom came out of that disaster unscathed. She was shook up but only had a scratch on her wrist. Surprisingly, a few of the drinking glasses were still in one piece, even without cracks or chips.
We are all proud of our mom who had put her life at risk to save the kitchen cabinet and the floor.
Our mom almost got killed by a kitchen cabinet, and I slept through the whole ordeal, right next to it in the dining room. I was taking my beauty siesta and heard a thunderous crash. Peeking through one eye, I saw a black monster run like the devil and thought I was having a nightmare.
I later learned it had been my kitty brother Tiger. He had witnessed from his chair opposite mine at the dining room table Mom desperately holding on to the kitchen cabinet. It had come crashing down on her when she opened its door, smashing to smithereens pottery and glasses. Tiger had hightailed it at the first sound of the boom and clatter and watched everything from a safe distance.
Mom’s desperate shouts for Dad to come and rescue her tore into my sleep, but as I said, I thought it was a nightmare in which the devil was after Mom when in fact, it was the kitchen cabinet that was after her.
Dad arrived just in time before Mom’s arms gave out. He took over holding the cabinet sitting with its edge on the kitchen counter. After Mom and Dad pushed it all the way on top of the counter, they stared in disbelief at the broken glasses and whatever, scattered all over the floor. Then, they carefully removed the broken pieces still inside the cabinet.
Listening to what had happened, I was thankful that mom came out of that disaster unscathed. She was shook up but only had a scratch on her wrist. Surprisingly, a few of the drinking glasses were still in one piece, even without cracks or chips.
We are all proud of our mom who had put her life at risk to save the kitchen cabinet and the floor.
 |
The kitchen cabinet sits on the
countertop
after crashing down from the wall.
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Friday, July 6, 2018
A guilty conscience
By
Wylie Hudson
Dear
friends. My blog is a bit late this week because it was very difficult to
write. I’m sure that you all think that because I am Hobo’s brother, my soul is
lily pure as Hobo’s was, but this isn’t the case. I have a horrible secret vice,
and it’s time to bare my soul. I am a Squirrel Chaser.
Hobo
was always able to help me contain this evil urge, but, now that he’s gone, I
find it breaking out more and more often. I was sitting quietly beside Mom on
the sun deck a couple of evenings ago when one of the critters ran by me and
tickled my nose with his tail and I was off like a shot.
When he
saw this, he made a desperate leap for the top of the fence but his leap was a
bit short, and he fell right into my waiting jaws. Just as I was about to snap
my jaws shut, I heard a high pitched scream. WYLIEEEE, don’t you dare! I never
knew you were a SQUIRREL CHASER!
This
was my low point when I realized that I was becoming out of control and joined
Squirrel Chasers Anonymous. This is helping somewhat, but it will take time. It
does help to stand among my fellow addicts and say, “My name is Wylie and I am
a Squirrel Chaser.” After a glance at my stop watch, I continue, “It’s been 18
minutes since I’ve chased a squirrel.” After a round of supportive barks from
my fellow addicts, I sit back down and do feel better for a slightly longer
time each day.
Wish me
luck, my friends, because I’m going to need all the support I can get.
Tuesday, June 19, 2018
What would Hobo do?
By
Wylie Hudson
Now
that Hobo is gone, I’ve had to take over the job of minding Dad, which is a
full-time job because he’s always coming up with some hairbrained idea of
fixing something around the house.
Yesterday
started as a normal day. Dad and I ate breakfast and took a little walk, but
then, Dad announced he was going to replace the switch on Mom’s floor lamp so
she wouldn’t have to hold a flashlight to read by any longer.
My
heart sank on hearing this because Dad is not the handiest dad on the planet
and I still remember the saga of his replacing the faucet on Mom’s laundry tub
a couple of weeks ago, which is a story that is best left untold.
I
walked over to have a look at the lamp. It had a round, heavy base with the
electric wire entering it and a hollow pipe about 4 feet long attached and then
a heavy light fixture screwed on the side near the top. The switch in question
protruded through a hole in the top of the fixture and was attached to the
socket.
Dad
came out with a pair of pliers and unscrewed the nut holding the switch to the
fixture after first unplugging it from the wall, and that’s where the problems
began. He grabbed the light bulb and started to pull the socket out of the
fixture, and it wouldn’t move!
He then
took the bulb out and grabbed the socket with a pair of pliers and gave it a
hard yank, but it only moved an inch or so. After sitting back and thinking the
situation over, he decided the electric wire must be going through so many
twists and turns when passing through the fixture base that friction wouldn’t
allow it to slide.
The
worst point was a sharp bend where the wire made a turn from the upright pipe
into the fixture so Dad decided to unscrew the fixture and then feed the wire
through a bit at a time. Simple, right? WRONG! The screws holding the fixture
to the pipe had a square hole in the top, and Dad didn’t have a tool to fit. He
took a small chisel and started trying to turn the screw by tapping the edge
but couldn’t move it. I raised my head toward heaven and closed my eyes. Hobo,
what do I do now, I asked. The answer came to me in a flash. Cut a slot across
the top of the screw and use a flat blade screwdriver!
When I
suggested it to Dad, he thought it was a great idea and proceeded to get his
Dremel out and make the cut. Naturally, the screws came right out, but he still
couldn’t pull any slack. I then suggested that he reach up inside and cut the
wires. This worked great, and he finally got the socket and switch out.
After a number of other missteps, he finally got the new switch and socket installed and he was ready to test his work. He turned the switch on, but nothing happened. I opined that it might work better if he plugged it in first. After that, it still didn’t work, and I asked if it would work better with a bulb in the socket. When he screwed in a bulb, it lit up so he was good to go, and the half-hour repair job only took about eight hours instead of the hour maximum it would take a normal dad to do the job.
He then
picked up the lamp by the center of the pole to return it to Mom, and I noticed
something odd on the bottom and asked Dad what it was. He laid the lamp on its
side and peered at the bottom.
“Darn,”
he said, “I forgot all about the little clamp on the wire that prevents the
wire from being pulled loose if the wire is jerked.”
I again
raised my head toward heaven and closed my eyes. “Hobo,” I said, “what do I do
now?”
The
answer came back in big blazing letters. BITE HIM! The first thing I saw when I
opened my eyes was Dad’s hand with the middle finger extended so I reached out
and took a bite. I guess I bit a little harder than I had intended because red
water started pouring from both sides of his finger. It didn’t take Mom long to
stop it, but she wasn’t too happy with the mess on her new carpet.
When we
got up this morning, his finger was very swollen and he was crying about not
being able to tackle the next repair job. At least, I’m safe for today while he
just sits around and reads.
Sunday, December 3, 2017
Regal, but not welcomed
By Hobo Hudson
An unlikely guest visited my cafeteria last week. I felt honored that such a regal bird, a hawk, showed interest in the food I offer, but he must have received the wrong information of what is on the menu. I provide peanuts, corn and bird seed for my customers who are squirrels, ducks, pigeons and small birds.
Somehow, Mr. Hawk must have thought my customers were items
on the menu. Luckily, none of them were around at the time of his visit, and I asked
him in a stern barking to please leave my premises. He obliged and flew off
grumbling that would be the last time he visited my cafeteria.
Labels:
birds,
Doggy humor,
dogs,
ducks,
hawks,
pigeons,
squirrels
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Wednesday, October 25, 2017
Collections for a high wall
By Sabrina Hudson
My kitty brothers, Thomas and Tiger, and I are going to build a wall, a high wall, a lovely wall, a very lovely and high wall. It will go up around our private domain to keep our doggy brother Wylie out of our bathrooms. He’s stealing our brown-tinted golden nuggets, and we cannot allow that.
I had a hard time convincing Thomas and Tiger to go for this outstanding, extremely outstanding project, but they finally agreed. Even my doggy brother Hobo is in on it, and so we have the best, the bestest consultant on our side. With his entrepreneurial flair and financial know-how, the wall will be an incredible master piece and the prototype of many more to come.
We haven’t decided yet on the design but have accepted an array of free professional samples, already put up, and are playing with numerous suggestions by renowned artists, also free of charge.
Any donation will be a well worthy contribution and will increase our own kibble fund so that we can start building the wall in earnest. We appreciate each payment sent to: hobo@pmail.com.
Sunday, September 17, 2017
My first experience with a hurricane
By Wylie Hudson
We all came through Hurricane Irma without many problems. In
fact, I did it in style, having finally gotten my wish to sleep on the big bed.
The night Irma paid us a visit, my parents, my kitty
siblings and Hobo and I hunkered down in the master bedroom. We all went to bed
around 10 p.m., and by then, the wind had already picked up speed.
Mom sat down on the bed, and before she could say anything,
I mustered all the strength I have in my legs, and with one jump, I landed next
to her. To my surprise, she didn’t shoo me down and instead hugged me and told
me I could stay. I snuggled up to Mom, then turned over to Dad and then found a
comfortable place between them. But not before I pushed Mom to the edge of the
bed so that she had to hold on to me to keep from falling onto the floor.
While Hobo kept sleeping in his own bed, Thomas and Tiger,
my kitty brothers, joined us on the big bed. And then, my kitty sister, Sabrina,
jumped on it and walked around and around asking again and again if everybody
was comfortable. She did that for about an hour until she settled down
somewhere when we lost electricity and our night light went out.
By that time, the wind was gusting at full force and lashing
at the house. One time during the night, I heard a couple of loud bangs, and it
turned out to be part of our fence that the storm had knocked down. The wind
had also toppled our three papaya trees. We woke up to a dark and warm house, which
would feel like an oven for the following two days, but everything else was OK.
All in all, and I think I can talk for everybody, it was a
sleepover of which we’ll have fond memories.
Tuesday, August 22, 2017
Be careful what you wish for
By Wylie Hudson
I wish I’d known the meaning of the saying: “Be careful what you wish for” earlier. I would have been less tempted to pine for Hobo’s diet canned food. As is it, I got my wish but the hard way.
I had to get sick myself before someone finally offered me a similar food to what Hobo is eating nowadays. I woke up Saturday morning, not feeling well at all. Mom took one look at me and knew something was wrong. She said she could see it on my face. And she was right. I didn’t eat my breakfast and didn’t even touch a treat.
Now, Hobo can sometimes be cautious with his food, especially when he thinks it’s tainted with drugs, but I gobble down everything in front of me that looks edible without hesitation. So, Mom didn’t waste a second when I turned my nose away from the food, and off we went to the clinic.
The vet didn’t find anything alarming apart from my temperature which was a tad elevated. He gave me a few injections and then offered me something to eat. OMD, I thought, that smelled and looked almost like Hobo’s food, and I scarfed it all down and licked the bowl clean.
We went back home with a bag full of canned food for me and some pills for nausea. I didn’t need to take the pills and happily started to eat on my new diet. I feel better again but still a little bit sluggish.
This was certainly not the way I wanted to get meals similar to Hobo’s. I’d rather stick with my usual dry food than being sick.
Labels:
dog food,
dog treats,
dogs,
loss of appetite,
pet care,
pet health
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Thursday, August 10, 2017
Recuperating takes time
By Hobo Hudson
I guess having been living together with cats almost all my life, I acquired their peculiarity of having nine lives. I don’t know how many I’ve used up already and for how many my last health scare counts, but it surely was a roller coaster ride.
A week after my kidney treatments at the vet’s clinic, I
ended up at the clinic again. As before, I had stopped eating, and as before,
without ado, Mom had hauled me to the vet. This time, I had a slight fever. The
vet kept me for observation and gave me injections to bring my temperature and my
nausea down. A couple of hours later, I
asked him for some of the sandwich he was eating, and not wanting to share it
with me, he called my parents to pick me up and feed me at home.
I took a bite or two of the food Dad served me. This wasn’t
anything like the meat I smelled earlier that was in the vet’s sandwich. On the
contrary, this was the slop that came out of a can and made up my new, strict diet.
I told Dad he could have the rest of my canned food. Dad wasn’t happy about it,
and neither was Mom.
The next morning, I chomped down my diet food. My thinking
was that it would be unfair to upset Mom and Dad even more by my refusing to
eat than they already were. The food wasn’t really all that bad. In fact, my
doggy brother, Wylie, and my kitty sister, Sabrina, said it was excellent while
they were trying to steal it from under my nose.
But the main reason I chomped it down was because I was suddenly
hungry. Dad couldn’t have slipped an appetite-boosting pill into my mouth
without me knowing it, could he?
Anyway, I’m on high alert now for anything that I swallow to
make sure it’s not drugged. Otherwise, I’m eating more or less regularly again,
but my appetite isn’t what it used to be. I think gobbling down a big, juicy
steak for a few days at dinner would bring back my passion for food in no time.
Labels:
Cats,
dog food,
dogs,
kidney failure,
loss of appetite,
pet care,
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Sunday, July 30, 2017
Retirement comes with unexpected surprises
By Hobo Hudson
Wow, I had another close call and suffered from a health
problem due to old age. It crept up on me like the pancreatitis last year and
then made its sudden appearance by giving me nausea. I quit eating from one day
to the next. It was a red flag for my parents, and without waiting to see if I got
my appetite back, they took me to the vet. A blood test showed that I had
kidney failure.
For two days, I spent most of my time at the vet clinic having
my kidneys flushed out. Mom took me there early in the morning, and Mom and Dad
picked me up late in the afternoon. Even though I received excellent care from
the doctor and the staff at the clinic, I hated to stay there and wasted what
could have been a productive day at home. Despite being retired from the
corporate life, I’m a busy dog and have important things to do.
I am back at home for good and trying to regain my strength.
My kidneys are working better again, but the bad part is: I have to follow
another diet. Last year, it was a low-fat diet—I loathed it—now, it’s an even
more restrictive diet, limited to special canned food for kidney problems. It
doesn’t do much for whetting my appetite, but I force myself to cram it down my
throat.
To make matters worse, the vet prescribed antibiotics for me
to take. All my explaining that I don’t do drugs is like talking to a brick
wall, and Dad has been determined to spurt liquid medicine into my mouth. So
far, I have let him win our fight twice a day, but I have the feeling by the
time the bottle of antibiotics is empty, I’ll be the winner.
Labels:
dog food,
dogs,
dogs. pet care,
kidney failure,
pancreatitis,
pet health
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Thursday, February 16, 2017
Accepting applications
By Hobo Hudson
When I ran across the fashion sample while perusing the
business section of our newspaper, I knew it would be right up my alley. Even
though it isn’t one of the designer’s trademarks that caught my eyes, it
kindled my entrepreneurial spirit.
My jeans business, before I sold it to a British company,
had been such a hit among the young folks that I’m sure this new line of
fashion will follow suit. And the best part is, I would go back using the same
kind of crew that I have experience with and that made my former business a
success: cats.
Now, I already hear some of you ask: But what about all the
headaches they gave you and the strikes they organized while they had been in your
employment?
Well, I doubt it will happen this time. The care package for
my employees will be to their satisfaction, and since there will be no shortage
of cats eager to work for me, I’m sure the one who will stay employed won’t
stir up trouble.
But now to the job description. The work would entail
roughing up the edges of human garments. I haven’t quite decided yet on the
wardrobe I will offer, but it will include any kind of pants, shirts, blouses
and maybe skirts and dresses. Later, I might expand my line to home decoration,
such as blankets, bed linens curtains, and so on.
In the meanwhile, I’m taking applications from any cat
interested in the job. I’m not discriminating, but cats who have been declawed
won’t be able to do the ripping of the material, at least not to my liking. They
can, however, apply for the less challenging job of flattening and evening up
the ripped hemlines.
To give you an idea of what I have in mind, I include my own
fashion sample my kitty sister and retired foreman, Pogo, was kind enough to do
for me.
Tuesday, January 31, 2017
How to outtwitter the president
Satire
As my readers know, I am the richest dog in my small town and have a reputation of almost never making a mistake in the bone market. However, I have been losing my tail recently. It seems that every time I make an investment, the stock suddenly starts to fall.
I have been racking my brain trying to determine the cause and have finally decided that my misfortune is due to our new president’s Twitter account. He suddenly tweets that he’ll do something or other and certain stocks rise in reaction. Five minutes later, he tweets the exact opposite and the same stocks fall.
While mulling over my problem, I decided to take a walk around my backyard, and a no-see-um landed on my nose. The little guy was so tiny you could barely see him, and I immediately decided he would be the perfect spy to report what our new president was thinking, and so I made a deal with him to fly over to Mar-a-Lago and crawl into our president’s ear then tunnel into his brain and report what the guy was really thinking.
This plan went awry when I received an email saying both ears were filled with concrete and it was impossible for anything to get through into his brain. I returned the email with a suggestion that he enter by crawling around his eyeball and try to enter via the optic nerve. The return email told me the eyes were blocked with a rusty old pair of steel shutters with a tiny hole in the center of the right eye shutter that was too small for even him to squeeze through.
After learning all this, I concluded the guy was operating on very old information and it would be impossible to predict what he will say next and, therefore, I am selling all my investments and will keep my assets in bones until he has operations to remove the concrete and shutters so that he will be able to receive and process new information.
By Hobo Hudson
As my readers know, I am the richest dog in my small town and have a reputation of almost never making a mistake in the bone market. However, I have been losing my tail recently. It seems that every time I make an investment, the stock suddenly starts to fall.
I have been racking my brain trying to determine the cause and have finally decided that my misfortune is due to our new president’s Twitter account. He suddenly tweets that he’ll do something or other and certain stocks rise in reaction. Five minutes later, he tweets the exact opposite and the same stocks fall.
While mulling over my problem, I decided to take a walk around my backyard, and a no-see-um landed on my nose. The little guy was so tiny you could barely see him, and I immediately decided he would be the perfect spy to report what our new president was thinking, and so I made a deal with him to fly over to Mar-a-Lago and crawl into our president’s ear then tunnel into his brain and report what the guy was really thinking.
This plan went awry when I received an email saying both ears were filled with concrete and it was impossible for anything to get through into his brain. I returned the email with a suggestion that he enter by crawling around his eyeball and try to enter via the optic nerve. The return email told me the eyes were blocked with a rusty old pair of steel shutters with a tiny hole in the center of the right eye shutter that was too small for even him to squeeze through.
After learning all this, I concluded the guy was operating on very old information and it would be impossible to predict what he will say next and, therefore, I am selling all my investments and will keep my assets in bones until he has operations to remove the concrete and shutters so that he will be able to receive and process new information.
Thursday, December 29, 2016
I have a new job
By Hobo Hudson
The extra perks I enjoyed as a well-known business dog were
the exclusive meals I shared with friends and business partners. During that
time, I developed a taste for fine and rich food and special drinks, and I
nurtured it after my retirement from the business world. It gave me energy and
made my life in old age so much more enjoyable.
Then, all hell broke loose. Now, after my first and I hope only
bout with pancreatitis, my mom and dad are strictly following my doctor’s
orders and have barred me from my beloved high-fat food. In exchange, they put
me on a very low-fat diet, and it’s for the birds.
What does my doctor know about what makes me happy and
productive? I’m still a working dog, and with four cats inside the house, work
never ends. And that led me to a brainstorm and the perfect solution for my troubles.
I took on the job of a janitor. Now, I’m not just any
janitor, I’m the dog who cleans up after the cats. But mind you, I don’t touch
and tackle their bathrooms. That’s exclusively my mom’s job. I take care of the
cats’ dining room. I watch my cat siblings like a hawk when they’re eating
their meals and desserts from a room away, and as soon as they’re finished, I
come running and do the cleanup. You wouldn’t believe what a mess they leave behind,
and I’m always more than eager to make sure there’s not a single crumb of any
kibble left on the floor. I’m very meticulous at my new job.
Being a cats’ janitor is very rewarding and fulfilling. I can recommend the job to any of my doggy
friends who are on a restrictive diet or want to earn some extra kibbles.
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