Pugs Gone Wild or Down and Dirty in Manhattan

It is has a very dry spell for me, dear reader, since Grandma was called to San Diego on an emergency for two weeks. She is my transcriber and without her, I have no voice. So, no worries…I am back with words unwritten and thoughts unspoken.

 In the spring a young (or more mature) pug’s fancy lightly turns to digging in the earth.  I do apologize for the brutal paraphrasing of Tennyson’s “Locksley Hall” but spring is finally in the air for us poor northeastern beasts. Mom took Lizzie and me to the park on the East River this Saturday and we certainly took time to smell the flowers…not only to smell them but also to dig them up! Lizzie and I could not stop digging and flinging dirt with wild abandon. What a glorious time for us. I know Mom was beside herself since she has no idea what would cause a normally decorous and dignified adult male pug to give in to the most primal animal urge. Digging releases all kinds of pent up winter emotions, allowing us pugs to connect with our inner dog. No, we aren’t looking for bones, garbage, or dead rodents…just inhaling Mother Nature’s bounty. We love dirt, we love its smell as it awakens in the spring, we love throwing it about, and we, literally, just dig it. There is no deep, meaningful purpose associated with this activity. We are just pugs experiencing our version of spring fever.

 So, with the coming of spring I know that moving to the Cape for the summer cannot be far behind. Oh happy day!

 More later….

 Respectfully submitted,

 Mason 

 

Look at us last summer on an island, scanning the beach for clams.

 

Here's another from the archives...I can hardly wait!

But Whenever Monday Comes You Can Find Me Cryin’ All of The Time – A Pug’s Lament

I know that whatever goes up must come down and this is particularly true for a pug on Monday mornings. The Mamas and the Papas got it right in their Monday, Monday lyrics.

I don’t think there is an easy way down when a weekend has been so filled with love, attention, outings, and quality time. This was such a weekend…perfect weather and an inordinate amount of time with Mom. I felt reborn, completely hers, wrapped in the cashmere of her love, and then came the Monday morning reality check.

Lizzard doesn’t feel it because she is so amoeba-like in her wiring…as long as she is fed and curled up someplace warm and soft, she is happy. I, however, have much more refined and patrician needs. I am cursed with such sensitivity that, like the fabled princess who slept on a hundred mattresses covering a pea and suffered from the painful lump, I awake suffering from the pain of Monday morning.

Not to belabor this metaphor, I must move on and find the strength to make it through today. Knowing that Mom is suffering from the same pangs while at work is small comfort for me. I guess I’ll take my cue from Lizzard and snooze until the workday has ended.

Respectfully submitted,

Mason

A portrait of a pug in pain as he struggles to escape into sleep.

Pugpourri – Random Thoughts From A Thoughtful Pug

Since I don’t feel cranky, curmudgeonly, or cantankerous, I really can’t rant about anything today. On the other hand, I don’t feel especially happy, upbeat, or warm and fuzzy. So, that begs the question…what is a pug to do? I came up with the idea of just “twittering” some random thoughts and observations.

 It’s nice having Lizzie. I can blame her for most everything that goes wrong in my life and still enjoy her company when I choose to.

 I stopped punishing Mom today and let her love me the way she used to, by lying in her lap, on my back, legs akimbo, and wallowing in her loving ministrations.

 Even though I’ve had frosty paws this week, I can feel and smell spring. I know it will explode without warning any day.

 I am not a fan of play dates. They are for the parents, not the dogs.

 I am comforted by attacking my stuffed bear. He serves as a pacifier when I am frustrated or a passive victim when I need to prove my virility.

 Why do we need baths? We’re pugs and as such should be allowed to smell gamey and oily.  I like the post bath treat though.

 What good does it serve to bathe a pug, then put his filthy harness back on, and let him return to his stinky bed?

 Walks are special for pugs…a time for bonding with Mom or Dad…so then why do they talk on their cell phones during our outing?

 Why do we have to wait to be fed? Why can’t we eat whenever we feel hungry?

 I like to fantasize about joining up with a pack of wild pugs…ones that are ferocious and predatory, roaming the streets of lower Manhattan.

 People always ask, “What do pugs want?” The answer is simple, folks, FOOD!

 

I apologize for my lack of focus today but sometimes a twitter is better than a squawk.

 

Respectfully submitted,

 

Mason

 

A typical day...Lizzie is acting like a fool and I'm thinking deep thoughts.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Oh What A Tangled Web We Weave When First We Practice To Deceive

Sir Walter Scott’s poetic line is certainly appropriate for today’s entry. I am caught out, undone, revealed, exposed, discovered, and busted. The jig is up. My dirty secret has been laid bare. My life will no longer run with its controlled clock-like precision, all because I had over-weaning confidence and let down my guard. I was sure I could keep up the ruse, fool my mom, deceive the world, and conceal the truth.

Saturday morning, a particularly wonderful day of the week for any right-minded pug, found Mom, Dad, Lizzard, and yours truly snuggled deep into a world of down…sandwiched between the featherbed and comforter. It was so warm and cozy that I let go, relaxed in the moment, and against my better judgment and instinct, did the unthinkable…I started playing with Lizzie.

We lay face to face and started batting each other with our paws while mouth wrestling. I know, I know…it was stupid. At that point, Mom peeked under the cover because she felt our little legs kicking and caught us in the act of joyful abandon! I have spent the past year convincing everyone that this silly little pug is something I merely tolerate and it is only out of the generosity of my spirit that she is allowed to share my space. To be foiled in such an unmanly way sickens me.

So now, dear reader, my folks know the truth…that Lizzie and I play when we are alone. We romp, we frolic, we gambol wildly, we interact, and we cuddle. Lizzie, because she is such a mental midget, sees no problem with their knowing the truth and so naturally she tries to do these same activities in front of them. I have had to rebuff her soundly so they wouldn’t assume “we have bonded.”

I can no longer make them feel guilty for leaving us. It is over and I am a ruined pug. Read this and weep for me.

Respectfully submitted,

Mason

 

Caught again by that d--- pug cam in our most compromising and revealing position!