As I dictate this entry, my thoughts return to Grandma and her visit this weekend. When she walked through the door Friday afternoon, I was sure that all of my wishes would come true. Seeing the bags she was dragging into the apartment, I knew that at least one item in them would be for Lizzie and me. I could scarcely contain myself, but in true Grandma fashion, she insisted that we go out for a walk before dispensing treats. I wasn’t at all keen on that idea since I knew the danger, pain, and extreme cold facing me. I wanted Grandma to see how well I navigate the streets but the reality of getting salt on my paws, and having to wear the dreaded hooded sweatshirt caused me to break like a little girl. I put away all pretenses of bravery in the face of this pain, and wildly shot out each of my paws while gyrating around on the sidewalk. Grandma, of course, realized the severity of my condition and plucked me up into her arms, cradling me like a baby. During this entire scene, little Miss Perfect Lizzie just kept trotting along without any sign of discomfort. Sometimes she really sickens me!
Home at last! Grandma rooted around in one of her capacious bags and whipped out the mother of all treats…the snack no self-respecting dog of any breed can resist…the smelliest and foulest of goodies…a bully stick, a.k.a., bull pizzle! For those of you, dear readers, who are ignorant of this particular delicacy, look it up on line. Oh boy, oh boy! Lizzie and I retreated to opposite corners, lay down, propped the sticks between our paws and began chewing, shredding, and sucking. What bliss, what joy, what incredible happiness. And then Mom came home…end of fun. She hates these culinary delights and quickly removed them from our jaws.
On Saturday, Grandma and Mom went shopping. Grandma was all buzzed because her sister had told her about a product that protects a dog’s paws from the salt on the sidewalks. I was not eager to try it since I naturally hate my paws being touched for any reason. You don’t mess with Grandma though, and she proceeded to rub on this waxy stuff. Outdoors I refused to budge, digging my feet in, but Grandma kept yanking me along, and surprise, surprise, there was no pain! How could this be? I was able to resume my normal alpha male walk, attracting the usual admiring looks. Now, I am not a pug who is a promoter of products, but this stuff really works. It is called Mushers and it was developed for teams of huskies in Alaska, so it’s got to be good. It is also used to treat raw and cracked paws. Now winter is not so unbearable for me.
Grandma left us Sunday and even though she can be tough, I really miss her. She is always ready with a treat, kind words, and a hug. Hurry back to us, Grandma. Mwah!