I am a pug…” If you prick us, do we not bleed?
if you tickle us, do we not laugh? if you poison
us, do we not die? and if you wrong us, shall we not
revenge?” William Shakespeare
I know some of you may find it difficult or painful to accept, but we pugs have an internal calendar and whenever Sunday rolls around, I find myself experiencing a yearning otherwise absent during the week. I apologize to the most revered Mr. Shakespeare for my lighthearted tampering with his The Merchant of Venice, and let me reassure you, dear reader, that I am not seeking revenge for anything, but you need to understand that pugs do feel pain and emotional anguish as do you humans.
Sundays were the day Mom devoted to me, her number one little man. We took long walks in the park, spent lazy afternoons napping on the couch or watching a favorite movie together. It was our day, our time, and it sustained me for the workweek ahead. I allowed her liberties I would never, under any other circumstances, consider acceptable by anyone else. We cuddled, snuggled, and frolicked together. She was mine and I was hers.
I don’t mean to be such a sissy, but Mom, I really miss you on Sundays. I can’t let Grandma and Grandpa know because they would feel bad and not know what to do. So, I did what any self-respecting pug would under these circumstances…went into the back woods, found an old bone, and let it comfort me for the afternoon.
Mom, I can hardly wait until Friday when you arrive for two weeks.