Monthly Archives: May 2009

Who Knew The Old Girl Had It In Her

Just when you think you know all there is to know about a certain creature, you discover there are facets you’ve missed. I refer, in this case, to the much-maligned Lizzie (maligned by yours truly). I must admit that after the event I am about to describe, I have a new found respect for this seemingly innocuous little pug bitch.

 We were returning from our walk Friday afternoon and had just made the turn onto Clinton Street when a woman coming toward us called out, “Your little dog has a chicken bone in its mouth!” Mom looked down and saw her angelic Lizzie, proudly trotting along with a Buffalo chicken wing clamped tightly in her jaw. Mom immediately shouted, “Lizzie!” And in true Lizzard fashion, she opened her little mouth and dropped the bone on the sidewalk.

While I applaud her cunning and deceitful acquisition technique, I disown her drop and release action. I would never, ever give up a tasty treat without a battle of epic proportion. Had she stayed the course, Lizzie would have earned my grudging respect.

 I am, however, becoming increasingly aware of her growing prowess and I am reminded that perhaps the student will surpass her master. She has definite potential if she can learn to develop some backbone and not cave at the first harsh sounding tone of voice.

 Ah, little Lizzie, you have a long way to travel but with patience and my tutelage there is hope.

 Respectfully submitted,

 

This photo says it all...she is weak, I am strong. A submissive pug has no future.

This photo says it all...she is weak, I am strong. A submissive pug has no future.

Mason

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A Pug Faces His Demons or My Soul’s Darkest Hour

I know some of you humans may think when you read this entry that I am being overly dramatic or blowing an innocuous situation completely out of proportion, but every pug will immediately understand what I am saying.

There is no soft peddling this topic, no sugar coating that makes such an unbearable experience palatable. I refer, dear reader, to the trimming of a pug’s toenails.

 This one event can transform a perfectly wonderful and carefree day into the blackest and most terrifying of a pug’s life…akin to staring into the gaping abyss of Hell and seeing Satan’s fiery maw waiting to consume sixteen little toenails! I have no idea why this is so extraordinarily painful for a pug, but it is. I have tried the manly approach, only to fold like a two dollar suitcase, requiring the assistance of five vet techs to restrain me whilst foam spews from my mouth, unearthly howls erupt from my throat, and my eyes bulge and roll wildly about in my head. This is humiliating for me but it is one thing over which I seemingly have no control.

 I have heard whispers from my mother that a trimming is imminent. I heard her speak with Grandma about doing it tomorrow, along with the dreaded bath. I think, however, that they’ve decided to wait for my appointment with my Cape Cod doctor the following week. I can only hope and pray that this is true. I know it is only delaying the inevitable but a week will seem a great gift.

 There are not enough treats in the world to assuage the anxiety, stress, and pain of this medieval form of torture. The bitter irony of this is that simple- minded little Lizzard rarely, if ever, has to have hers trimmed! I don’t understand this at all. We walk the same streets in the same manner and her toenails are always perfect.

Pray for me…

 

Respectfully submitted,

 

 Mason

 
 

Happier times...buffalo jerky in my mouth and toenails that look fine to me.

Happier times...buffalo jerky in my mouth and toenails that look fine to me.

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Parting Is Such Sweet Sorrow, or A Pug on the Cusp

I apologize for the lapse in my writing, but Grandma seems to be traveling a lot more than I anticipated when I began this literary adventure. Without her, I have no voice. She is back, however, and ready to process my words again.

 This is a strange time of year for yours truly; I am on the cusp of leaving one life for another. I leave behind Winter Mason and assume the mantle of Summer Mason. I love both Masons but there is always a price to be paid for the exchange. I am somewhat embarrassed to admit that I have been quite needy lately, and not in the “I want food or a treat right now” kind of way, but rather in the “I want my mom right now” kind of way.

It has taken us both by surprise because I am by nature a dude kind of guy- independent, and a bit removed from the cuddly snuggly sort of pug. Lately, though, I have felt the need to be held in my mom’s arms while she sits on the couch, to nestle close to her in bed, and be in the bathroom with her while she showers. I can attribute this aberrational behavior only to my impending departure for the Cape. Of course oblivious Lizzie has no idea that our departure is imminent; she probably has no sense of seasonal change either. All she cares about is being cuddled and cosseted. Sometimes I think I am a saint for tolerating her insipid behavior and lack of intellect!

 At any rate, dear reader, I know that next week we move our pug world from a one-bedroom apartment in Manhattan to a five-bedroom home on Cape Cod. I understand we have some speaking engagements and appearances in conjunction with our book while we are there, but mostly we will live our lives as free-ranging pugs who go shellfishing, boating, to baseball games, eat al fresco, and loll about, chewing marrow bones in a huge back yard. Not too shabby, right?

I’ll miss my mom and dad though.

 

 Respectfully submitted,

 

Mason

 

I know this is an oldie from my very first blog, but it helps get me ready for summer on the Cape.

I know this is an oldie from my very first blog, but seeing it helps get me ready for summer on the Cape.

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Mistakes Were Made, or I’ll Take A Pug Latte, Please

Alas and alack, I fear yesterday did not begin auspiciously for yours truly and his consort, Lightweight Lizzie. There was nothing unusual about the morning, except that Dad decided to chill the coffee after it brewed. As most of you probably know, a glass pitcher may not be the wisest choice of container for scalding hot coffee. To add to this unwise decision, he then placed it in the refrigerator. Now you must understand that mornings at our house are pretty hectic; what with walking Lizzard and me, then feeding and medicating us, showering, dressing, making coffee and lunch, and racing to the subway, it is pretty much a foregone conclusion that mistakes will be made.

 After the feeding, we like to hang about in the kitchen, waiting for the possible crumb, accident, or  treat. Lizzie was standing quite close to Dad’s leg when tragedy struck. I, however, in my infinite wisdom, had the good sense to stand back from the immediate scene, affording me a better vantage point for assessing everyone’s activity.  Knowing I have the reflexes of a wild cat and can move in swiftly when speed is necessary, allowed me a degree of comfort and confidence. You have to wonder about the random nature of the universe when something unexpected, like what happened next, occurs. Mom opened the refrigerator door, noticed coffee leaking, I observed that Lizzie had moved too close to Mom for my liking and I assumed she was being offered a treat. Mom picked up the pitcher, whose bottom immediately fell away onto the floor, spilling copious amounts of lukewarm coffee  all over Lizzie, as I lunged for her throat in an attempt to wrest from her the treat I imagined she had scored. Only Brueghel could have painted a more disturbing scene!

 It was late, my parents had to dash, and I saw poor miserable Lizzie receive a hasty toweling. I am afraid she was forced to spend the rest of the day drenched in caffeine. What a pity it hadn’t been hot fudge sauce, gravy, or raw eggs. I have no interest in coffee so I couldn’t even lick her. Oh, and there is also the piece about my going for her. No, there was no treat; she was just an unsuspecting victim of a morning disaster. I did feel sorry for her but truly she does go into this bizarre zone where she loses all sense of time or place.

 Well, dear reader, you can see the paucity of excitement in our pug lives since I must resort to reporting such a morning.

 Respectfully submitted,

 Mason

 

I had to show you this even though it has nothing to do with the incident. Lizzie sleeping on the Sunday New York Times...what an inspiring pug!

I had to show you this even though it has nothing to do with the incident. Lizzie sleeping on the Sunday New York Times...what an inspiring pug!

 

I think the contrast is fairly obvious. You will never catch me sleeping on the NY Times!

I think the contrast is fairly obvious. You will never catch me sleeping on the NY Times!

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Real Men Love Pugs

Before I launch into today’s thoughts, I must first thank all of you loyal readers for casting votes in the Blognet contest. I am happy to report that  “A Pug’s Voice” won First Runner Up for all categories of blogs. Now I am not really sure what happens next but I will keep you posted. I would also like to congratulate my California pug friends, Roxy, Blue, and Bono for placing third in the Valentino contest. I must admit that they look fierce in their photo. Check them out at: http://www.pupstarsonoma.com/

 I want to assure you, dear reader, that Lizzard and I are not going to rest on our proverbial laurels. I will continue to speak freely, intelligently, and frequently about matters of concern to a pug and from a pug’s perspective. This weekend actually proved the above adaptation of the old adage, “Real men don’t eat quiche.” How wrong it is to make assumptions about the appropriateness of certain breeds of dogs for either men or women. Why do people presume that toy poodles are for women and Labradors for men? We pugs have been assigned the female gender for centuries (not that I object to women, mind you), but we are also a man’s breed. I have seen proof of this repeatedly in my lifetime. This weekend was a perfect example. A very large, muscular, no-nonsense, tattooed, man’s man friend of my parents (Matt) visited our apartment on Saturday. To witness this oak of a human dissolve into a pool of emotion over the sight of Lizzard and me was truly revelatory. He scooped me up into muscle-bound arm guns and held me while reading my book, SUMMER PUGS, aloud. I am first and foremost a male pug and I am not interested in gushing, swooning, simpering, baby talk (unless there is a treat involved), but to connect with such a man is a privilege. Lizzard, on the other hand is a silly little girl pug that prefers all that I loathe, and so I won’t digress into her needs or likes.

  It must be  clear that we pugs are not gender specific; we are multi-sexual! If the inner brute in you men needs full expression, then perhaps a pug is a wise choice. We are tough, resilient, companionable, brave, eager, and keen. Don’t ever judge a book by its cover (except for ours) or its size. There you have it, more deep thoughts from a pug named Mason.

 

 Respectfully submitted,

 Mason

 

Here I am hanging with some big guys...standard poodles. You wouldn't call those sissy dogs, now would you?

Here I am hanging with some big guys...standard poodles. You wouldn't call those sissy dogs, now would you?

 

I really would have liked a photo of Matt holding me but I was too embarrassed to ask, so I think this shows my butch stature for you men who are insecure about liking a pug.

I really would have liked a photo of Matt holding me but I was too embarrassed to ask, so I included this photo since I think it shows my butch stature for you men who are insecure about liking a pug.

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