I’m So Excited that I Just Can’t Hide It!

 

Hi Everyone…

I had to write Mason’s blog today because he is so cranky and out of sorts with everyone. I am sure it will pass, but you know how he hates change of any kind (unless it is a new food being added to his diet!), and Grandma and Grandpa’s new pug, Cecily, has really put him in a funk. I, however, am beside myself with excitement and cannot wait to meet my new sister friend. I know from Mom that she is a beautiful black pug who has had two litters of puppies and that she was shown a few times. She sounds so sweet and fun that I can hardly wait. I feel sad for her because she has always lived with lots of pugs and has never been the only dog until now. I think Mason and I need to welcome her into our family but Mason is being a brat about it. You know how he was (and still is sometimes) about my coming into his life. He is not a typical pug who likes lots of friends around, sharing his space and playing with him. He can be a real pill about that and just last week he went for me when I was licking Mom’s hand while we were sitting on the couch. He tolerates me up to a point and then he just can’t seem to control himself. I think he needs anger management.

I am really anxious to meet this new pug and I already think we are going to be great friends. Mason just mutters to himself about her. “She’s probably as stupid as Lizzie, She’s probably going to steal all of my food, She’s probably going to sniff my butt and then want to cuddle with me, She probably thinks she’s the boss of Grandma and Grandpa, She’s probably found all of my old hiding places in the woods.” He can go on for hours this way until I want to bite him! Well, I wouldn’t bite him but sometimes I really want to.

So, Cecily, welcome to our family! I will be your friend even if Mason doesn’t want to right away. Be patient and you’ll see…he’ll come around. His bark is much fiercer than his bite. See you Wednesday night!

 

Your loving sister/cousin/friend,

Lizzie

Here she is in Grandma's office. I love her already!

Look at how sweet she is! Grandma says she has to learn how to photograph black since it is harder than fawn.

A World Turned Upside Down, or One Pug Too Many

Since Mom, Grandma and Grandpa have been in New Mexico for five days, I’ve had no means of communication, forcing me to live with my thoughts, chief of which concern the coming of Daphne in December. I’m sure that most of you by now are aware of Grandma and Grandpa’s acquisition of the French bulldog puppy and I’m also sure that most of you think she is adorable (which is highly debatable). This is truly a bitter pill for yours truly to swallow. I am at that venerable age when all one wishes for is peace, loving attention, and plenty of food and treats. Please note that none of these wishes includes a squirming, biting, yipping, demanding puppy! So that even as I am trying to wrap my mind around this new intrusion and trying to form a more charitable, tolerant attitude, Mom announces that there will be yet another addition to this menagerie.

Yes, dear reader, that is correct. Grandma and Grandpa are not content with upsetting one proverbial apple cart, but now two! Please forgive the overuse of exclamation marks, which I loathe, but you must fully appreciate my anger, shock, and horror at this news. Now there is coming into my extended family a black female pug. She is four years old and to hear Mom speak of her is to hear of the second coming. Grandma and Grandpa go to meet her Saturday, and if the breeder agrees, she will be returning with them.  I am sick, sick, sick and there is no cure. Lizzie and I were very clear with Mom when she shared her “exciting news” with us, telling her in no uncertain terms that this would not work. We cannot begin to understand why Grandma and Grandpa would ever want more than us. Between the two of us, Lizzie and I are able to provide all of the pug energy and personality any person could desire. I just don’t get it.

Yes, this may be the advent of the holiday season for humans, but for two pugs in Manhattan, it feels more like doomsday.

Respectfully and dejectedly submitted,

Mason

I don't know about you, but she looks fierce to me.

Here she is being groomed at her home. Why is she smiling? I'm certainly not!

The Week in Review, or Through A Pug Darkly

I must clarify a few things misspoken by our Miss Lizzie in her latest blog posting, which is to what my tweaked biblical quotation refers. I’m afraid Lizzie’s view of the world and its events is somewhat inaccurate. She has been on some rampant ego trip lately that has me completely flummoxed. So, dear reader, while you may find her sweet, simple expression charming and disarming, she is a pug with a highly inflated sense of self worth.

She does not overpower me, but rather she is sneaky, underhanded, and very manipulative. There is a word for it but I risk the wrath of all of my female readers if I dare utter it.

I’d like to move on to a topic of greater interest to me, and that is my mom’s birthday yesterday. The weeks leading up to this event every year are torture for all of us, and by that I mean Dad, Grandma, Grandpa, Lizzie and me. She does this uniquely human thing that I find wholly self-indulgent. By attaching so much importance to the actual age achieved, rather than the success and happiness attendant upon it, she spirals down into this abyss of depression, tears, and angry outbursts. I have learned, and Lizzie is starting to learn, but her learning curve is so slow, that it is in our best collective interest to keep a low profile and only cuddle when she gives a positive signal. This year was no exception…the crying jags, the snappish temper flare-ups, and the withdrawal into a fetal position all began a good month before the actual date. Now I think most of you know how much we love our mom and how much she means to us so that the approach of this black cloud is just something we must endure. After the birthday, the very next day, the sun starts peeking through again. Mom, we love you so much. You are so beautiful in every way, but we’d like to see you move beyond this emotional train wreck.

I have to update you on the status of Grandma and Grandpa’s acquisition of a dog. This is a bitter pill for yours truly to swallow, but I am a pug who deals only with reality…no sugar coating for me. Her name is Daphne, as I mentioned, and they will be picking her up on December 5^th.  This will be a sad day for me, but I’ve lived through other challenges and this is no different. I will face it with equanimity and grace. Lizzie, of course, is doing her “happy girl” dance because she feels there will be a natural connection between her and this baby French bulldog. Lizzie is a fool and always will be. It is a somewhat frightening thought though, but I can’t imagine any dog so stupid as to align herself with Lizzie.

And there you have it, folks: my news from the city that never sleeps. I, however, am ready for a much-deserved nap.

Respectfully submitted,

Mason

Here she is, in my mom's arms. I call her Bat Girl. I know Mom was an emotional puddle the day they went to meet her.

This is what a dog should look like. Lizzie and I were trying to be brave in the face of adversity.

 

What’s Good for the Goose is Good for the Gander, or You’ve Taught Me Well, Mason

Oh my, it is so weird being back in NY and living our NY life, but change is not so difficult for me. I think Mason has a harder time adjusting to a new schedule, rules, and environment. As long as I have a cozy spot on the couch or bed, tasty food, walkies, and cuddling time with Mom or Dad, I am fine. I think because Mom feels so bad about taking us away from the Cape she may have overdone the treats. What I mean is she gave us too many marrowbones and pizzles. Mason will kill me when he reads this!

Mom supplied us with the juiciest marrowbones and biggest pizzles ever last week, and Mason did what he always does…steal and hoard. I mean really, Mason, there were enough treats for an entire kennel of dogs! Because I am becoming smarter and stronger, I decided to take what I’ve learned from him and then apply it to the situation. So, when he wasn’t looking I took every marrowbone and pizzle, hauled them into my bed, and then crawled in with them. Mason came back into the room, looking all over for the treats, and then saw me chewing on one in my bed, surrounded by the entire lot of them. He came toward me as if to grab one and I let loose with the most threatening barking and growling I could muster up. Mom came running in to scold Mason and then froze in her tracks when she saw I was the one holding Mason at bay. I watched Mason look at her for help and then I felt bad, like I always do. He really is clueless…he just doesn’t get that a girl like me can be so fierce and aggressive. But guess what, he did back off and leave me alone.

The story doesn’t end here though. Yesterday, after Grandma left, Mom hauled out the most beautiful marrowbones ever, giving one to me and one to Mason. Because I really wasn’t interested in chewing at that time, I stayed curled up on the couch where I had a pretty good view of everything going on the room. Mason, thinking I was asleep and that Mom and Dad were busy doing something else, took his bone over to his bed and buried it under the pad. He even patted it down so it didn’t show so much and then, without a moment’s hesitation, he hopped into my bed and began chewing on my bone. Isn’t he the trickiest pug you’ve ever known? I giggled to myself because he thinks he is the master of his domain, but I saw the whole thing.

I guess you could say our days, even though we’re alone a lot, are never dull.

Love,

Lizzie

Grandma took this photo Sunday morning at Tompkins Sq. Park. This is what Mason is sometimes. Hahahaha.

I feel so bad about the last picture I had to include this one of us by a flower stall.

Two’s Company and Three’s a Crowd, or There’s Only So Much a Pug Can Take

Believe it or not, dear reader, I am not a pug who asks much of life.  I also consider myself to be fairly tolerant and accommodating. I alluded to there being too much excitement in my apartment lately and that is the topic to which I turn today.

I know Grandma is coming tomorrow, but not to see Lizzie and me. You are probably asking, “Why not?” and the answer is diabolically simple. She and my mom are traveling to Pennsylvania to “just look at” a French bulldog puppy. I, for one, am feeling a huge range of emotions…shock, confusion, betrayal, and outrage. The puppy is not for us, but for Grandma. I cannot understand why she would want to tamper with what is a fine and somewhat equitable arrangement. I mean, really, what is to be gained by such foolhardy and wanton behavior? Look at how I’ve struggled with the inclusion of one simple-minded, weak-willed, nincompoop of a pug (read “Lizzie”) into our family. And at Grandma’s I’ve had to endure the crack-addict antics of an adolescent female cat (read, Zoe) and her arrogant, dismissive consort (read, Oliver). I’ve dealt with all of these inequities with grace, dignity, and patience…but this is a low blow to yours truly. Forgive me, dear reader, but the last thing Grandma and Grandpa need is a peeing, pooping, puking little puppy!

Mom says that Grandma and Grandpa love us so much that they are having a hard time dealing with the yearly separation…that they need a full-time dog of their own. That they will always love us first and that we will still be there for our summers, and that blah blah blah. Does any of this sound familiar, folks? I make no apologies for my resentment. It is just another nail in my proverbial coffin.

I will keep you updated, rest assured.

Respectfully submitted,

Mason

Pug: $2,000, Vet Bills: $10,000, Pug Food: $5,000, Cost of Living in NYC: Astronomical, Mom and Dad’s Love: Priceless.

After a week’s hiatus I am ready to resume my musings for you, dear reader. Re-entry into the hustle and bustle of Manhattan takes some adjustment for yours truly. Getting back my city streets mojo is a far cry from living our pastoral type of existence on Cape Cod, but I’m feeling my old self again and ready to rant, rave, and whine.

Of course the real bonus in this is being wrapped nightly in my Mom’s arms and then knowing that when I awaken in the morning she will still be pressed against me, no matter how many moves I make during the night. That feeling of security is beyond compare…well, maybe a nice juicy marrowbone comes close, but no, not really. I am able to survive our long days alone in the apartment because I know my mom will be home in the evening, ready to reclaim our emotional connection.

This weekend was spectacular because we had long outings to Tompkins Square Park, cuddles on the couch, and a primo bull pizzle, which Lizzie and I consumed on our terrace. Life is good for us, I must confess. The only issue I currently have is the lack of comestibles in our NY home. At Grandma’s there was always a steady, flavorful, and diverse supply of treats. Grandma was mindful of fulfilling our palate’s constant jonesing for an amuse-bouche. I do miss those daily samplings and the heavenly aromas emanating from Granny’s big kitchen.

In the grander scheme, I am quite content and have been reminded this week of the old Simon and Garfunkel song lyrics:

Home where my thought’s escaping,
Home where my music’s playing,
Home where my love lies waiting
Silently for me.

Mom, your little man is happy to be home again.

Respectfully submitted,

Mason

Just couldn't resist including this shot since it shows me at my finest...working on a lobster claw. Happy times!

You Can Go Home, or To Every Season There Is A Purpose

Forgive the ruminations of a sentimental old pug, but I find it comforting to recall the life I just left behind. Lizzie and I now are ensconced in our Manhattan apartment, napping and waiting for our new dog walker to arrive for our afternoon outing. It is hard to believe the dramatic change we’ve undergone within the past twenty-four hours.

We love being with Mom and Dad again but, like anything in this life, there is a tradeoff. We lose the natural beauty of our surroundings on the Cape, the freedom of running or sleeping outdoors without leashes, and having human company all day long. In NYC, we are alone during the day (except for the dog walker’s two visits), our walks are on leashes on the sidewalk but at least the smells are intoxicating, our apartment is small but at night we sleep with Mom and Dad. In either case we gain and we lose something.

I miss Grandma and Grandpa and all of our car outings, I miss visiting Chloe, I miss going out on the boat, I miss clamming, and I miss evenings in front of the fire.  I love, however, waking up in bed with Mom and Dad and having that extra cuddle time in the morning, I love weekends walking to Thompkins dog park, I love napping on the sofa with Mom on a Sat. or Sun. afternoon, and I love sharing a pizza with Dad.

Both lives are wonderful and we are extremely fortunate but I still hate goodbyes. Lizzie is an idiot and will cuddle with any warm body, so I don’t think she cares where she lays her head. I, however, am extremely mindful of my surroundings and always suffer from dramatic change syndrome.

If you see us walking around the Lower East Side, stop and say hello. We miss all of our friendly faces on the Cape.

Respectfully submitted,

Mason

Our last day on the Cape...

Our final lobster dinner

Lizzie going for the last drop.

Look at me going for my last taste!

And, our last boat trip....

“The smallest worm will turn, being trodden on” (Henry VI, part III), or This Pug Has Teeth

I don’t know why I am always shocked and amazed when certain events in this life don’t go the way I expected. Just because a pug behaves in a highly consistent and predictable way each and every day of her life, doesn’t mean that she will continue to do so forever. I know this sounds a bit cryptic and obtuse but bear with me on this.

I believe most of you readers know me well enough now to appreciate my mastery of life skills. My ability to procure and consume vast quantities of food/snacks/treats is legend in dogdom. My overwhelming supremacy in the art of control and self-defense needs no explanation. My talent for eluding detection of unaccomplished toileting remains unchallenged by any pug. So then, dear reader, how did one timid, reluctant, passive, spineless, stuffed partridge of a female pug grow such massive, forgive me, cahones, while under my tutelage?

Grandma was preparing a butternut squash soup yesterday and there were many cooking utensils needing our attention after their use. I was given the food processor and Lizzie the large skillet.  In record time I completed my assigned task and then ambled over to Lizzard’s cleaning area to assist her, in what I assumed was far too great a job for one pug. Lo and behold, I was greeted with the most ferocious vocal and physical attack ever! WAHHHHAAAAHHHH, as she lunged for me. I don’t know who was more shocked, Grandma, Grandpa, or me. Lizzie was unaffected, hopped back into her skillet, and resumed her licking. My immediate reaction was to go flying across the the kitchen, as far away from this fiend from Hell as I could get.  Then I became angry and resentful, and finally awed and somewhat proud. This insignificant, wimpy, and lowly pug had given me back what I’d been giving her for over a year. She now feeds like a greedy pug, begs for treats from Aaron, the UPS driver, and defends her food like a pug-beast should. It is with mixed emotions that I dedicate today’s blog to Lizzie.

And yet again, Mr. Shakespeare says it best.

Respectfully submitted,

Mason

Here is a good perspective of the scene prior to Lizzie's outburst.

Here is "The Terminator" standing in the skillet cleaning it thoroughly.

And yours truly, staring in disbelief and wondering why he didn't receive the lion's share of this treat.

I Hear Your Voice

“I hear your voice-(call)

your voice (call)

your voice (call)

the way it used to do

I feel my heart (fall)

my heart (fall)

I try to keep you off my mind

but every time I do, I hear your voice”    Lionel Richie

I am not a huge fan of pop music, dear reader, but today Lionel says it best.

This morning, while Grandma and Grandpa were having breakfast, my mom phoned (which she does on a daily basis), and Grandma decided to put her call on speakerphone so that I could hear her easily. I cannot even begin to describe my response. It was unlike anything I’ve ever experienced before. In the past, Grandma has put the phone up to my ear for these chats with Mom, but they always frighten and disturb me. This, however, brought my mom’s voice right into the room, as if she were there. I must admit that I looked around for her but without any success. I really don’t understand how her voice can be so immediate and clear, and yet she not be there physically. All I know is that hearing her unleashed a torrent of emotion and longing. I was fine until that call.

Now I cannot stop thinking about her. Grandma reassures me that she and Dad are arriving on Friday for the weekend and that Lizzie and I will be returning to Manhattan with them for the winter. That news also triggered another emotional outpouring. While I am excited and thrilled to be with my parents, the thought of leaving Grandma and Grandpa is tearing my little pug heart apart.

I do know, however, that Lizzie and I have a great capacity for adjustment to change. We are highly adaptable creatures; otherwise we could not live these two separate lives so well.

Trite but true axiom: when one door closes, another always opens. This is my last week on the Cape and I plan to suck all the marrow from the remaining time before my NYC apartment door opens.

Respectfully submitted,

Mason

A bittersweet time for us.