June 21st 2012 11:43 am
[ Leave A Comment | 9 people already have ]
That's how long I've been here at the Bridge. Time goes by so very quickly. Since my arrival so much has happened. Recently I made a wonderful new friend. His name is Strider.
Some might say he can be a little grumpy at times, but I love that about him. The two of us head off looking for trouble.
Did I just say that? Don't worry, sweet Remy, we don't get into trouble. No, not us . . .
At least that's what I tell Cookie. She can be so protective. Even more so that my dear, Remy and his brother Magnum.
You know, adventure is all around us . . . across that creek, around the next bend. Something tells me that Strider and I will find trouble one day. I found it once, those years ago when I first arrived at the Bridge and something tells me that I'll find it again.
Sometimes trouble has a way of finding you.
Thank you to all of my wonderful friends for sending me messages on my crossing anniversary. You know how to make a girl feel special.
April 21st 2012 9:32 am
[ Leave A Comment | 8 people already have ]
We still celebrate them here at the Bridge. Really any excuse to get together and have a great time and we're all over it.
This morning, before the festivities of later today, my new arrival pal, Strider and I are going to head out on a little adventure. There's trouble out there and we want to find it.
June 17th 2010 8:11 am
[ Leave A Comment | 10 people already have ]
The crisp chirrup of the white-winged swallow beckoned her onward. The iridescent blue-green wings, neck and head shimmered in the sunlight and created a mesmerizing contrast to the stark white underparts and rump.
An hour earlier, while relaxing in the tall grass, this spirited little swallow had swooped down and chirruped right in her face. It was at that moment a friendship had been born. For Rosie, her interest in watching birds had started many years earlier. While on earth she had loved to watch these elegant and graceful beauties soar into the clear blue sky and effortlessly dance on the crests of the wind.
This same fixation was now leading her through the dense brush of the woods and past a meandering creek. The world around her disappeared and she lost herself in the magnificent beauty and summoning song the swallow was performing.
Out into a large open field she followed, never breaking her stare. The tall, dry grass swayed back and forth like the arms of the crowd at a rock concert during the performance of the band’s love ballad. To the top of a gently slopped ridge she went and when she reached the top she came to a stop.
Waiting for her was Vermont Labbie, Remy. With her arrival, his head rose high and his ears perked up. Despite his large size, he spritely jumped to his paws, his tail wagging. The white-winged swallow glided past him and hung in the air just beyond his shoulder. Next to the lab was a blanket and upon it were plates of fresh fruit and veggies; a delightful assortment of some of Rosie’s favourites.
“Remy!” Rosie exclaimed in surprise.
Normally full of confidence and machismo, Remy now approached with a gentleness and vulnerability. He extended his paw toward her and she took it as he led her back to the blanket.
“I can feel your paw tremble,” she said to him.
He released his grip and gestured for her to sit on the blanket.
“Nerves, I guess,” he replied.
“You shouldn’t feel nervous around me, Remy,” she quickly countered, wanting him to relax and feel at ease.
The lab sat next to her and presented a plate of strawberries and asparagus. A strange combination, but one that Rosie loved.
“This is a very special day,” Remy said as Rosie took a strawberry. “One year ago today I first set eyes upon you.”
Rosie took a bite of the strawberry and looked up into Remy’s eyes. He was gazing at her with a tenderness that melted her heart. He had always had that affect upon her.
“From the moment you arrived at the bridge . . . ” he paused, searching for the words. He had rehearsed this moment many times, but now that it was upon him, he had trouble recounting the elegant prose he wanted so badly to recite to her.
Rosie leaned forward and nuzzled her head into his neck. He closed his eyes and wrapped his large, bear-like paw around her shoulder.
“Remy,” Rosie broke the silence. “I always fell safe with you.”
Remy’s tail thumped against the blanket.
With a chirrup and flap of its wings, the white-winged swallow did small circles only a few inches from their heads. Rosie broke the embrace and laughed at the silly antics of the swallow. She turned back and gazed into Remy’s eyes.
“I just want you to know, Rosie,” he said. “That you coming to the bridge and us meeting has made me very happy. I wanted the two of us to share some special time together before the party tonight.”
The two sat together and finished off the strawberries and asparagus. They laughed and talked and play wrestled. The sun moved across the day sky and Rosie and Remy lost track of time, the hours passing so quickly.
Before they knew it, it was time to head back to the farm for the party. Rosie was celebrating her one-year crossing anniversary and Alex was celebrating his four-year anniversary.
December 9th 2009 4:50 am
[ Leave A Comment | 2 people already have ]
Hi everyone, it's The Rosinator.
By now a lot of you have read about the great adventure us angel pups had. we all worked together to defeat Leviticus and ensure that our way of life prevailed--unconditional love won!! Personally, I've received so much love and support from all my pup pals.
I'd like to say thanks to two very special pups. My good friend, yellow lab, Daisy. She is the best friend a girl could ask for. If you get a chance, please go by the Angel Babies group page and visit the story link. Daisy has posted each pupisode for all of the angels, and she has also posted photos of the dogs and cats. She has done such a great job. Thank you very much Daisy. I know that Daisy would love to hear from you.
I'd also like to wish my hero, Vermont Labbie, Remy, a very happy woofday. Remy saved me from the clutches of coyotes and was instrumental in the events at The Bridge. If you get a chance, wish Remy a happy woofday.
Oh, I have to give a loud bark-out to my two sidekicks, Jack a Roo and Flopsy. You guys are great pals.
Thanks to all the pups and cats. You are all heroes!!
October 23rd 2009 5:40 am
[ Leave A Comment | 2 people already have ]
EVERY TALE HAS A BEGINNING
Learn how it all began in Rosie’s Harbinger of Darkness
ON MONDAY, THE ADVENTURE CONTINUES . . .
Join the cherished dogs of the bridge as the winds of hazard sweep through their tranquil and peaceful home, propelling them on a road of adventure that will rule their future.
Catch each PUPISODE every Monday, Wednesday & Friday
The Cookies In Cream Chronicles
August 28th 2009 4:28 am
[ Leave A Comment | 6 people already have ]
I didn’t know where to begin, or what steps to take in order to find the secret chamber. I raced around the field, my veins coursing with determination and a desire to help my friend. I pawed at the dirt in certain areas, but that had little impact. Even if I tried to dig in specific areas it would take me forever. I only had a few more days before Jack a Roo and Flopsy would return. They might even be bringing others to help with the planting. I had to find the chamber. I had to find the map for Oberon.
“Where do I begin?” I asked Oberon, certain he would be able to point me in the right direction.
“Follow your instinct, Rosie,” he replied. “You coming to the bridge, me pulling you from the pond, you inheriting this field and befriending me has all happened for a reason. You already know where to find it, you just need to search within you” Oberon paused. “This is your destiny.”
My destiny, I thought. It all seemed a little over dramatic. How could little old me, a girl who spent most of her life in isolation on earth, have a destiny at the bridge? Movement overhead caught my attention. High in the sky a small dark speck circled. I looked upward, following the object as it circled in tune with a silent melody. It grew in size with each swoop, larger and larger it became. I could now make it out more clearly.
I strained my head and twisted my neck in order to keep it in my sight. Rather than flying off in another direction, it circled the field and swooped down close to the ground and hovered just above the turned soil. In my time at the bridge I hadn’t seen such a bird. Robins and Blue Jays were common, and were among my favourite. I loved to follow the flight of birds, mesmerized by their fluid movement and elegant grace.
As the bird flew past me, my shoulders lowered, my head went forward and my tail stiffened and stood tall. I raised my right paw and cradled it just under my chest. My point was frozen in time, fixed on the bird as it landed on an old tree stump at the edge of the field. The once thick trunk of a towering oak tree had split and fallen. The remaining portion of the stump was rotted leaving behind a crevice and hollow area—this could be the chamber!
I broke my point as my front paws tore into the ground. With each powerful stride my ears flapped up and down like the wings of the black bird that had guided my way. The bird let out a high-pitched caw and took to the air as I approached the stump. Instead of soaring high into the sky, it stayed close to the tree line. I shifted my attention from the bird to the hollow area of the stump. I began digging at the shavings and rotted wood, tossing the remnants behind me. My spirits rose with the removal of each pawfull of rotted wood, and then the last of the shavings were removed, revealing a small passage that went deep below the ground. I yelled out to Oberon, who had jumped to his paws and was watching me from the ridge. “I found it! I found the passage.” I shouted out to him in excitement.
Oberon rushed down the hillside, nearly losing his footing and falling the last few feet. He steadied himself and leaped onto the freshly turned soil. He called out to me as I climbed up into the hollow opening and began to make my way down into the passage. “Be careful, Rosie.”
The passage was narrow and the sides were rough as they scratched against my sides. I continued forward determined to squeeze my way through the tiny opening. After heading downward for several feet the passage began to widen. It was then that I noticed markings on the passageway walls. Drawings of symbols were accompanied with paintings of strange looking people. Together they were telling a story. One of the portraits was of a person with a dog-like head. Surrounding him were dogs that looked like Mercury and Elvis, their long narrow snouts pointed upward towards an object that appeared to be a star in the night sky.
The drawings and paintings fascinated me, but I had to keep going. As I made my way to the end of the passage, a large archway appeared leading to what must be the chamber. I stopped just in front of it to catch my breath. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest. I again thought about what Oberon had said. Maybe this was my destiny. I walked through the archway and into the ancient chamber. In the centre stood a stone monument of an Egyptian Hound. It was intricately carved from a solid block of alabaster. Each strand of hair had been vividly chiseled. The detail and life-like precision was striking. I stood admiring the craftsmanship. As my eyes scanned the monument I noticed a cylindrical object clutched in one of the paws—the map!
My back legs gave out as I rushed forward. I slid along the floor and came crashing into the base of the monument. The cylinder was now within reach. I raised my paw and removed the cylinder from the embrace of the statue. It was light and made of wood. It, too, was covered in carved images and painted symbols. I placed the cylinder in my mouth and clutched it securely as though it was a bird from the field that my muzzle would softly hold. Without wasting another moment, I headed back through the archway, but before I was through it something compelled me to look back. When I turned the statue was in a different position. The dog-like head was pointing upward, toward the ceiling. I raised my head to follow the statue’s gaze. A blinding burst of light suddenly engulfed the room, originating from a pinpoint in the ceiling. I squinted and turned my head away. I could feel the warmth of the light wrap around me like a blanket. I didn’t wait to see what would happen next. I sped through the archway, along the passage and back to the tunnel that led to the surface. Triumphantly I broke out through the opening of the stump and landed on the ground. Oberon was there waiting.
I landed with a thump as the cylinder dropped from the grip of my mouth and rolled on a few pebbles nearby. I lay winded, struggling to regain my breath. Oberon reached down and gathered up the cylinder into his front paw. I looked up at him and saw his once soft and tender eyes turn dark and sinister. His expression became grave as his head bent upward and he gave out a menacing howl that sent shivers through my body.
As I remained still a thunderous pounding vibrated and rippled through the ground. Movement on the ridge captured my attention as a line of coyotes emerged. Together they marched forward, down the ridge towards us. Oberon confidently stepped by me and greeted his fellow coyotes. The line of soldiers separated and from behind them stepped a monstrous wolf. He was easily three times as large as the mightiest coyote in his entourage. His coat was sprinkled a brown, grey and deep black.
Oberon stood before him. From the sky came the black bird that had guided me to the stump. It did quick circles and landed on Oberon’s shoulder. He bowed before the wolf, handing him the cylinder and said. “My master . . . I present to you the map of the Lion’s Path.”
The wolf reached out and took the cylinder from Oberon. “This is first step in harnessing the Nehebau-kha,” he replied. “The Collar of Kelb-tal Fenek will be mine.”
The wolf brushed past Oberon and came toward me. His towering height blocked the sun’s rays and casted me in shadow. His piercing, yellow eyes burned with hatred and anger. His baleful expression filled me with fear. I began to tremble. He bent down and looked directly into my eyes. I felt the warmth of his breath on my face. The smell of putrid flesh filled my nostrils.
“Rose Bud, you have fulfilled your destiny. In my Kingdom, I will see to it that you are rewarded,” I wilted at the mention of such a nickname. He continued, “your actions have ensured the blooming of a new world.”
He turned back towards the others, the cylinder safely tucked under his foreleg, and they all headed back up the ridge and disappeared out of sight.
I lay motionless. My body frozen in fear . . . in despair . . . in loneliness . . . in confusion.
What have I done?
An ancient Egyptian legend speaks of an everlasting power that was bestowed upon a Pharaoh’s beloved dog. Armed with the Collar of the Afterlife, the Pharaoh’s best friend would harness the power of the Nehebau-kha and rule over all at The Bridge. Using the map of the Lion’s Path, this power now lies in the wrong paws. On the rising of the dog star, the legend comes to life.
While out on a hunting expedition, Cookie and Stryker find themselves entangled in events surrounding the legend. The time has come for Ibizan Hounds, Mercury and Elvis—ambassadors of the legend—to reveal the truth behind the myth and set in motion a plan that will maintain balance and harmony.
Join the cherished dogs of the bridge on their quest as the winds of hazard sweep through their tranquil and peaceful home, propelling them on a road of adventure that will rule their future.
The Cookies In Cream Chronicles
The adventure begins this fall
August 27th 2009 4:17 am
[ Leave A Comment | 7 people already have ]
I approached with caution. Since our first meeting a number of weeks ago I had asked a few pals about where the coyotes lived and why they weren’t amongst us. Most were uncertain, they had either recently arrived at the bridge or had only been here for a few years. Cookie’s good pal, Alex, a very flirty German Shorthaired Pointer told me a story he had heard during his travels. A little playful flirting in return usually resulted in Alex revealing many of his secrets.
Alex had been traveling through the countryside and came upon a hill with a modest house. Just to the left of the house was a small spring. Next to the spring sat a black German Shepherd. Her name was Cleo and she invited Alex to join her. During their conversion, Cleo told Alex about a group of animals that had grown tired of living as equals. They wanted it to be more like it was on earth, with them being the mighty. Not all of the coyotes, bobcats, wolves and foxes shared this rogue group’s desire to rule. Most of them enjoyed living in harmony with dogs, cats, birds and other small animals, but when the treaty was signed and the coyotes headed beyond the great canyon to start their own colony, all of them had to follow.
“That was a troubled time and the forced exodus was a black mark on our history,” Cleo said.
Another one of my pals, a Great Dane/Dalmation named Giorgio recounted to me the time he had come face-to-face with a bobcat. He was travelling with another friend across the badlands that run parallel to the great canyon when all of a sudden a bobcat emerged from behind a row of boulders. Being imposing himself, he didn’t fear the smaller bobcat. Turns out the bobcat wasn’t on a hunt but was simply lost after wondering away from camp. Giorgio pointed him in the right direction and wished him luck.
Now I found myself approaching the interloper, as I got closer I could sense that he didn’t mean me any harm. In the bright afternoon sun I could easily see that he was covered in thick, dried mud. His hair was pressed close to his skeleton frame. This made him look even more emaciated than when we first met. A fresh wound and a trickle of blood stood on his left ear, likely caused by a thorny bush.
“You left so quickly,” I began. “We didn’t get a chance to fully introduce ourselves.” I moved in a little closer, keeping my head low. The stranger sat calmly, watching me approach him.
“My name is Oberon,” he replied in a faint, monotone voice. His eyes moved from me and gazed down into the freshly cleared field. “This was my field,” he continued, his voice now filled with a hint of sadness. “A long time ago . . . “
I turned and looked down at the field.
“I’ve been watching you,” he continued. “You are a hard worker, Rosie. I’m proud of you. You are returning this field to its former glory.”
The compliment pleased me. I led Oberon down into the field and offered him water. The two of us sat under the row of trees. He began to tell me stories of when he farmed the field. There was a time when he was a provider for his village—that all changed almost a decade ago. I began to ask questions, but he clearly wasn’t ready to discuss the past. “In due time, my friend,” he said. “In due time you will know it all.”
For the next several days, the two of us worked side-by-side and finished turning the soil. As we worked he continued to tell me stories, some of them were of his life on the farm, while others were of his home beyond the canyon.
During one of our breaks, I asked, “Oberon, why are you here?”
He paused for a long time and just looked at me. It was as though he was silently assessing me, determining if I was ready to hear his full story.
“We’re friends, aren’t we?” He asked breaking the silence.
“Yes, of course,” I answered. Over the last several days, a bond had developed between us. He was very much like me: hardworking, determined, looking for acceptance, wanting to be a provider. I felt a strong connection to him.
“I was growing restless with my life in the canyon,” he hesitantly continued. “So one day I set off to explore the lands on the outskirts. If my pack leaders learn of my expedition I could be in a great deal of trouble. Of course none of that entered my mind when I left, but over the last several days it has consumed me.”
He paused and looked directly at me, his eyes grew as large as boulders, his eyebrows perked up as the folds of skin and fur between his eyes synched together. For the first time he had a look of concern. Ever so slightly his mouth opened as he began to pant.
“I must return home,” he said in a dyer tone. “I have put my family in danger. If my leaders think I have left for another pack or deserted my family, they might hold the ones I love responsible for my actions. I can’t have them pay the price for my foolishness.”
“Then return home,” I replied calmly.
“If only I could,” answered Oberon. “In my wandering I have lost my way. I was gone for several weeks before I stumbled upon you at the edge of the pond. It was a few more days before I found my way here. The countryside has changed a great deal since I was last here. I no longer know my way. I also narrowly escaped being spotted by some of your friends. If they knew I was here, or worst yet captured me, I would be putting the treaty in jeopardy.”
Oberon paused, allowing the significance of what he had just said sink in. “You must never tell anyone that I am here. You must promise me that, Rosie. Do you promise me that?” He asked. “Do you?”
“Yes, Oberon. Yes, I promise.” Determined to help, I asked if there was anything I could do to help him get home.
“There is something,” he replied.
I hung onto his next words, waiting for what he would say. I desperately wanted to help my friend. To do whatever it took to get him home to his family. “What?” I stammered. “What can I do?”
“Buried somewhere beneath this field is a hidden chamber. In that chamber, within a carved cylinder is a map. That map will lead me home.”
“Let’s get started,” I interrupted, jumping to my paws ready to begin the search. “We’ll find it together.”
Oberon turned away, his head low, his tail tucked. A sadness suddenly clouded him. Confused by this change I circled around him. “What is it?” I asked. “We’ll find it, Oberon. We’ll find it together.”
“That’s just it, my friend,” he answered with a defeated tone. “I can not help. The powers that protect the map’s location will prevent us from finding it. The passage that must be entered is too small and narrow for me. I am of no help to you.” He paused. “You must do this alone.”
He looked up at me, his eyes now filled with hope and encouragement. “Can you do this?” He asked. “Will you do this for me? Find the one thing that will help me to get home.”
“Yes!!” I exclaimed. “I will help you, Oberon.”
August 26th 2009 4:18 am
[ Leave A Comment | 8 people already have ]
The strain was evident on my face. My long pink tongue dangled out through my teeth. I panted feverously as the heat of the day pounded down around me and heated up the black fur on my head and spots on my back. With sheer determination, I worked endlessly at the task at hand. I used all of my 38 pounds to pull and drive myself through the solid earth. Like a plow I worked the land, turning the soil, preparing it for a new harvest.
A few weeks earlier, while drinking coffee with Remy, Stryker and the gossip hound, Daisy, the subject of farming came up. It wasn’t long before Daisy had us laughing about some celebrity farmers. It was a good coffee break. I didn’t give the subject of farming much thought after that until it came up again when I was with Pongo, an American Stafford Terrier/Basset Hound. Pongo thought that I would enjoy farming and that I would be good at it. He said that my intensity and determination would be the perfect combination for a winning farmer.
Later that night I mentioned my conversation with Pongo to Cookie and Stryker. For much of my life on earth I longed to be accepted. I wanted to belong and wanted to feel needed. Stryker thought if I could farm and provide food for the dogs then I could achieve those things.
So the next day I set out with my best pals, an Australian Cattle Dog named Jack a Roo and a Beagle named Flopsy to begin farming. A pair of Ibizan Hounds named Mercury and Elvis led the three of us on our journey to my new field. The two had consulted with Pongo and Stryker and felt that the perfect spot was an old overgrown plot of land that hadn’t been harvested in nearly 10 years. I guess they thought I was up to the challenge. With my hard work and determination and with Jack a Roo’s herding skills and Flopsy’s ability to sniff out solutions to problems, the three of us could really make a go of this, and turn the vacant and neglected land into a full working farm.
It took us nearly three-quarters of the day to reach the ridge that overlooked the property. During the journey, Mercury entertained us with stories and spoke of great adventures that had taken place years before. Jack a Roo was mesmerized and hung on Mercury’s every word. Jack was young and sought adventure, while Flopsy and I were more level-headed and knew the stories had been a tad embellished.
I took the final steps to the top of the ridge and then looked down on what would one day be my farm. Before I could say anything I swear Jack a Roo and Flopsy had turned around and were heading back the way we came. It was difficult to envision that a crop once grew in what was now filled with dry twigs, brown and wilting bushes and long stems of grass and weeds. It was an inhospitable wasteland, but it was mine.
That was a few weeks ago, a past memory that only now lives in the corners of my mind. Just as Pongo and Stryker had thought, I was perfect for the job. I toiled away from sunrise to sunset day after day. Jack a Roo and Flopsy helped tremendously. Although Jack is only pint-sized, his working class genes shone through. The two of us cleared the land with the help of an ox that Flopsy had convinced to help us. Where Flopsy found that ox I’ll never know. One morning while Jack and I were clearing a large bush from the land, the two us digging franticly to reach the roots, along came Flopsy and Cowboy, the white and red Ayrshire ox.
Together, we cleared the land. After a few days of rest, Jack and Flopsy headed back to camp. There were a few things we needed in order to guarantee a good crop. Flopsy had heard from a falcon that a farmer in a nearby village used a special seed and natural fertilizer to foster and nurture good growth. I stayed behind to begin turning the soil.
I had been working for hours, as morning turned into afternoon. At that point, a quarter of the large plot had been turned. I was in desperate need of water to quench my thirst. I finished another row and then headed to the trough. The trough was located in a shady area, near a row of high trees. I took a long drink and rested. As I looked out towards the ridge, I saw a familiar shape
August 25th 2009 6:29 am
[ Leave A Comment | 9 people already have ]
The roar of the motor startled a flock of birds that were wading in shallow water close to shore. Suddenly, they took flight. I watched them hover just above the surface of the pond and then head upward into the blue sky. With each crash of the waverunner on the cresting waves a blanket of water splashed over my body. I clung to the white fur of the driver. Behind us a towering jet of water shot up toward the sky as we propelled forward.
“Watch this!” said Cheyanne. I gazed out from under her foreleg and saw another watercraft about 50-feet away. We headed straight towards it at top speed, covering the distance in only a matter of seconds. At the last minute she nudged the steering column to the right, expertly aligning us parallel to the other craft. The last second maneuver created a tsunami-like wave that crashed over the other boat’s side.
The wave came down on the deck of the floating doghouse—that’s what the captain of the boat called it—and sent the first mate, a Samoyed mix named Sam careening over the opposite side of the boat. The captain, a brown Doberman in a yellow lifejacket, was safely at the helm, out of reach of the wave. The powerful surge rebounded off the side and sent a mini-wave back onto us. The waverunner went up on one side as Cheyanne fought to regain control. My front paws slipped from Cheyanne’s waist and I desperately tried to regain my position. As we steadied ourselves, the waverunner came down with a force that dislodged my hind end and sent me head-over-tail into the water.
The undertow created by the swirling waters of the two crafts caught a hold of me and swiftly pulled me under as I struggled to resurface. Several moments passed, although it seemed much longer. I was shaken and in a daze from the impact of the fall and being dragged under. There are several dogs, as part of their daily routine, who enjoy the delights of the water. I am not one of them.
The Matriarch of an Australian Shepherd family named Mandy loves to swim. She can be found in the water every morning and for most of the afternoon as well. Her daughters Callie and Amber Ann watch from shore, soaking up the rays of the sun. Granddaughter Carrie can’t swim at all, but she ventures into the water with the assistance of her lifejacket. Daisy, their adopted sister, often joins Mandy for a frolick in the water. My attraction to Turtle Pond emerged on my first day at the bridge. Cookie and I were strolling along the banks with her Doberman pal, Sheba and fellow English Pointer, Tinsleigh. When I came to the water’s edge I caught a glimpse of my reflection and it froze me in my tracks. My teeth were tall and sharp and sparking white! It had been many years since I had all of my teeth. I stood for several minutes just admiring my smile as the three others slowly walked along the shoreline.
Now I found myself in the water, fighting to gain control and pull myself to safety. As I struggled the swirling waters carried me around a small bend into an isolated area, completely out of sight of the others. I knew that Cookie would be panic-stricken. I vowed not to give up and continued my desperate underwater struggle. At that moment a paw crashed through the water, gripped me firmly and pulled me straight up and out of the water.
The warmth of the afternoon air instantly engulfed me. I lay on the rocky shore and tried to catch my breath. My head was numb and my limbs weak. I looked up to see my hero, but couldn’t make out any features. A stream of light cascaded through an opening in the tree branches and created a blinding streak that masked its identity. My limbs were coming back to life and I stumbled to my paws. As I shifted into the shadow of the trees I had a clear view. Standing before me was a scraggly, mangy beast. Its snout was long and narrow, its ears triangular. Deep dark eyes looked directly at me with a tender sadness. Its frame was thin and boney, long matted hairs grew in differing directions.
“Thank you for saving my life,” I said, a bit apprehensive but ever grateful. I lowered my head in a submissive, non-threatening manner. I crept closer to the animal to give it a sniff. It stepped back awkwardly, almost losing its footing on the slippery rock.
“My name is Rosie,” I continued.
From just around the bend of the shoreline I heard the humming of the floating doghouse motor. I turned to look in the direction of the approaching boat and saw the tip of it creep into view.
“Thank goodness I found you,” Roman called out when he saw me.
“I’m okay, Roman,” I replied. “My friend here saved me.” I pointed back to where my mysterious rescuer stood.
The floating doghouse edged its way closer to shore. “You must be delirious from the fall. That’s why I wear this lifejacket. I can’t swim worth a lick . . . never could.” Roman paused as he watched me turn around and confusingly search the shoreline. “My Sweet Rosie, there’s no one here with you.” The first mate, Sam—still wet from his misadventure in the water—unfolded the gangway for me to come aboard.
“He was right here,” I stammered, looking around the low lying branches for any trace of my rescuer. “He reached into the water and pulled me out. Really, he did” I ran up and down the shoreline refusing to believe that he wasn’t real.
“You better get on this boat,” Roman forcefully called out. “If I don’t get you back to Cookie soon, she’s going to have my neck. Come on now, my little Rosie, all these fun and games are over for the day.” Reluctantly, I boarded the floating doghouse.
Roman travelled along the shoreline to a spot where it was better for him to turn around. All the while I looked out into the tree line for any glimpse of him. “This hero of yours,” Roman said while steering the boat, “what did he look like?” I described every detail I could remember.
“Sounds to me like you’re describing a coyote not a dog, at least no dog I know and I’ve been sailing around here and down to the neighbouring villages for a long time.”
“Well, that’s what he looked like,” I replied a little put off that he didn’t seem to believe what I saw.
“I’m not doubting,” Roman countered. “Its just coyotes don’t come around here, not for many years. Long before I arrived at the bridge we all lived together in harmony and as equals. We are still all equals and we still live in harmony, but to keep it that way certain animals had to leave and start their own colonies. The coyotes live beyond the great canyon. They like rugged and barren land, so it’s just more suited to them out there.”
As the floating doghouse motored further away from the shoreline and closer to the dock, I could hear the barks of my friends on the opposite side of Turtle Pond, relieved that Roman had found me.
“You know, Rosie,” Roman said to me. “If it was a coyote, he’s a long way from home. The journey would have taken him several days, and someone else would have spotted him long before he made it this far.”
“I guess you’re right, Roman,” I answered.
At the time, Roman’s words were logical. If only they were true.
August 24th 2009 5:30 am
[ Leave A Comment | 9 people already have ]
I had only just arrived; yet another journey in a series of many. My most recent journey was moving from just outside of Chicago to my forever home in Toronto. There I lived with a wonderful family. Much of my time was spent with my furbro, Riley. In the early days I was very bossy. He recognized my high levels of stress, and gave me my space. Over time I warmed up to him and as the weeks went by I grew to love him very much, and he the same.
I also grew to love my new parents. I followed my Mom everywhere around the house. When my Dad came home from work, I would watch TV with him and bury my head in his shoulder as we lay together on the couch. On the weekends, I would lie on the couch in his office while he surfed the internet or worked on his computer. He had several nicknames for me. The first was “Tanker”. He started calling me that due to my determination and rhino-like zest. On walks I plowed ahead through branches, over logs; nothing could stand in my way.
As time passed he began to call me “The Rosinator”. Again, this came out of my rugged, determined approach. My years of hardship had taken its toll on my life and this was evident. I was not, however, without softer moments, more gentle times. From that I earned the nickname “Rose Petal”.
For the first time, I felt as though I belonged. That I was in a real home.
As I made my way across the bridge, likely my final journey, I wondered what new nicknames I would earn. I wondered what awaited me.
The breeze was warm and soothing. I could hear birds chirping in the distance. Directly ahead of me stood the arc of a magnificent rainbow. The colours melded together but at the same time separated to stand alone. Vibrantly it radiated over the land. I was astonished by the presence of a rainbow in the absence of clouds or rain. During my life I had been plagued with severe storm anxiety. Years of being left outdoors to fend for myself during some of the worst storms had left me with deep and painful scars. Wounds that I was never able to heal. Fears that I never conquered.
At the end of the bridge stood a black and white English Pointer. I didn’t need an introduction, I knew her to be my family’s beloved, Cookie. Over a year earlier she had passed suddenly leaving a large hole in my family’s hearts. It was her passing that led them to me. During my time with my family, I silently thanked Cookie for helping me out of my despair and leading her family to me. Now she was here to greet me.
As I stepped off the bridge and into this foreign land I had no idea of the true significance my arrival would have.
Sort By Oldest First
(What does RSS do?)