A Christmas Miracle, or One For All and All For One

I know many of you readers have expressed interest in or concern for me during this chaotic holiday visit on Cape Cod.  You have rightfully recognized that the addition of two more dogs, one of which is a mere infant, into the already fragile balance may have proved too great a challenge for such a benign governor as yours truly. I appreciate the concern but rest assured that all is well, except for the minor flourishes of domination over the uninitiated newcomers. It is never too early for training acolytes to respect the intellectual and physical prowess of their superior.

Having said that, it may surprise you to learn that yesterday was the first day we four canines were left alone in the house for the entire afternoon. Four of the five adults wanted to see a matinee and the other adult was leaving to join friends, which left us at home without human supervision. Lizzie and I were quite comfortable since we are left to our own devices every day of our lives. Cecily, however, is a novice at this since she has rarely been left alone since her arrival. The baby, Daphne, was tucked snugly into her crate for a long afternoon nap. All was well, it would seem. But because Cecily has assumed the maternal role with this active toddler, she expressed great concern for her charge, arguing that it didn’t seem quite fair that the three of us were free-ranging pugs while Daphne, an innocent baby Frenchie, was incarcerated for the afternoon. She explained  we were pack animals and as such should function as a pack. I felt no such response though and figured Daphne’s “lock up” would give us some much-needed peace and quiet. Lizzie being the weak willed, simple minded femaie that she is, of course sided with her “sister in crime” and prevailed upon me to help in the springing of the baby. What followed is nothing short of a miracle.

Grandma arrived home at about 4:30, the others having remained at the mall for book shopping. When she came to the back door, four wildly enthusiastic wagging and barking dogs greeted her. Grandma turned a ghastly shade of pale and entered with eyes wildly darting about, searching for evidence of blood, destruction, and excrement. She kept a running monologue going about how she knew she would find proof of our wanton orgy and unchecked pillaging. She kept asking how this had happened. She seemed genuinely shocked and amazed to find nothing amiss and all of us intact.

I cannot ever reveal how Daphne’s escape was arranged so I choose to call this our own little Christmas miracle.

Respectfully submitted,

Mason

My parents and grandparents tried to capture the Christmas spirit by posing us in a basket. The following results need no explanation. As usual Lizzie is off in her own world, Cecily and I are eyeing the prize, and Daphne is trying to escape.

Can you believe that Lizzie! What an idiot...

Ah...a man needing some assistance after such a day.The bitches really got to me.

Cecily's first Christmas with us!

And then there is that idiot Lizzie who doesn't even know what day it is. She is the last pug who should ever have a cocktail!

Pugs Trodding Through Snow in Colorful Boots, or I Hate Winter

Today’s blog, dear reader, is a small film featuring Lizzie and me in our vivid winter boots, navigating the streets of the Lower East Side. Dad filmed us in our humiliating attire, thinking our faithful readers would enjoy seeing us in our winter accoutrements. Lizzie, being the idiotic little twit that she is, loves wearing this paraphernalia. Watch her mad dartings and frantic shakings as she revels in her outerwear. Well, clearly you will see this for yourself and then can draw your own conclusions. Grandma says I must give credit to the boot company since some of you will want them for your pugs  (my apologies to  all of you pugs for sharing this information). Pawz makes them and they are available in a wide variety of colors (making the humiliation even more complete)…www.pawzdogboots.com.

So, after this lengthy preamble, here is our little film for your viewing pleasure and my disgrace. Dad will not be leaving his job for a career in cinematography, I am happy to report.

Respectfully submitted,

Mason

When Good Pugs Go Bad, or Dear Santa, Please Forgive Us

Perhaps it was the building excitement of the holidays, maybe it was having extended time alone in our wee apartment, or maybe it was mercury in retrograde…whatever the reasons, Lizzie and I behaved poorly on Friday and since Christmas is so close I felt some atonement for our sins was in order.

I understand the first step in this process is the acknowledgment or ownership of the wrongful action, and so I am saying now that Lizzie and I were despicable in our behavior. Describing our crimes requires the delicacy for which I am most known, but even so my description may offend you, oh gentle reader. Please understand that I must have my say or else all is lost.

When Mom arrived home from work on Friday she greeted us in her usual effusive and loving manner while we wiggled and squirmed in her warmth. The spell was abruptly broken when Mom began sniffing the air, which, I must admit, was redolent with the sharp scent of pug waste. Mom spied Lizzie’s foul offering, piled atop her favorite Etro accent pillow on the couch. Now, you may wonder, how can I honestly say it was Lizzie’s and not mine? Simply put, it could only be Lizzie’s since my hind legs prevent me from making the leap onto the couch anymore. The tale does end here.

When Mom took us out for our evening walk, the elevator was not running efficiently so she carried me down the stairs and Lizzie walked. Again, the limitations of my hind legs prevent my successfully navigating such steep stairs.  This weakening has also affected control of my, hmmm, entire hindquarters, and so, I tend to leave little reminders of this condition whenever I’m being carried to my toileting. This occurs only when the need for relieving myself is imminent. Mom, however, was ignorant of my droppings, so to speak.

Later that evening, she and Dad left for dinner with friends, and again were forced to use the stairs. Mom, in her Louboutins, squished on each step of her descent, looked down in horror and had to return to the apartment for a cleanup. In their haste to make their reservation they committed the cardinal sin…failure to elevate the garbage can. That’s right, when they returned later that evening, tipsy and tired, they were greeted by one of Lizzie’s most thorough trash tosses.

I do not believe pugs are either good or bad, and I do think that all of us, given the opportunity, will behave in a way that is highly objectionable to humans. We are sorry, Mom and Dad. Please try to remember that for most of the year we are well-behaved and people-pleasing pugs.

Respectfully submitted,

Mason

Look at this, Mom and Dad, and think of happier times...

A Pug’s Wish List, or “Please Sir, I Want Some More.” (Charles Dickens)

Well, dear reader, it is the time of year when all pugs, whether they be Christian, Jewish, Muslim, or atheist, turn their thoughts to what gifts they would most like to receive. And to that end, I’ve spent my leisure time (read, alone in my apartment) compiling what I believe is a very thoughtful and thorough list of what most pugs honestly desire as gifts.

I’ve consulted with Lizzie briefly because, quite frankly, her wishes are so nauseating that I’ve had to edit out most of them. Here, then, is our ultimate wish list:

1. A steady supply of meaty, moist marrowbones without any imposed restrictions on frequency or location of their consumption. I will growl, snarl, and run away when approached while I am consuming.

2. One night, for just me and my mom…no Lizzie, no Dad…just me, enjoying some snacks and QT (quiet time) with her on the couch, watching TV or napping together.

3. Unlimited time in Grandma’s kitchen, while she prepares a huge feast, tossing me bits of whatever she prepares. Without any interlopers. Just me.

4. A leisurely stroll through Eagle Pond Preserve, where I can take as much time to sniff out interesting odors, wander off the trails, and lift my leg as often as I please without being urged to move forward.

5. An entire day riding around with Grandpa while he does errands that involve treats being doled out at every stop.

6. An excellent bully stick of extraordinary length and width…something a man pug can really sink his teeth into.

7. No salt on the sidewalks so that I am not forced into wearing the dreaded “paw condoms.”

8. Pizza night every night of the week, with the lion’s share going to yours truly.

9. No more toenail trims. Enough said.

10. Receiving treats I’ve never tasted before but will love immediately.

And there you have it…a thoughtful, respectable, and inexpensive wish list for this holiday season from a pug named Mason (and minimally Lizzie).

Respectfully submitted,

Mason

Pleading Pug. How could you not make his holiday wishes come true?

Look at that fool, Lizzie. She has the classic "lights on, nobody's home" look, with all her legs in the air. If you knew her Christmas wishes, you'd shudder.

Bah Humbug! This Pug Has Had Enough

Well, dear reader, my absence from the blog world indicates nothing more than the arrival of my usual low period preceding the holidays, and this year is worse than usual. Above and beyond my usual despondency is the overwhelming influx of negative energy. And by that I mean, the arrival last Friday of Grandma and Grandpa’s “little bundle of joy” (aka Cecily), or in my view, their “sack of coal.” She arrived wound tighter than a spring, black as pitch, panting wildly and breathing stentoriously…not what I’d call an auspicious beginning. Going out for a walk with her was nearly as challenging as it was with Lizzie on her first night in the city. And then there is the added difficulty of her invisibility at night. I’m afraid that  black pugs just don’t work for yours truly. They seem a breed apart from fawns, the real pugs.

To compound my growing resentment, this female upstart had the unmitigated nerve to attack me in MY HOME during meal preparation! Can you believe that? She was fierce too! You would think that Lizzard would have risen to my defense, but no, in true Lizzard fashion she booked it into the living room, begging not to be involved, and waited out the melee. It is of no concern to me that this Cecily has never been in a city before or that she was uprooted from her kennel and kennel mates just three weeks ago.

I was not sorry to see her leave on Saturday morning. I did, however, require much more than the usual quality time with Mom. She was at work part of the day Saturday but we cuddled a good deal that afternoon.  What she doesn’t understand though, is that I need a lot more from her than ever before. Monday mornings send me into a crashing depression and cause me to behave abysmally. I know she must leave for work and yet knowing that, I still demand more of her. Due to her new job she has even less time than before, which means again, I am receiving the short end of the stick. Further complicating this scenario of misery is my knowing that Grandma and Grandpa now have the new Frenchie (Daphne), in addition to crazy Cecily.

And so, for those of you who have reason to be of good cheer this holiday season, I say “bully for you!” I, for one, only can anticipate a wildly chaotic visit to Grandma and Grandpa’s while a teething Frenchie tears through the house and a black pug who wiggles and snorts, become the center of everyone’s attention.

I finally understand the Grinch.

Respectfully submitted,

Mason

Just look at how comfortable those two females are with MY SPACE!

You can easily guess my mood by my body language. Sign me "down and out in Manhattan."

Alright, here it is…the photo of baby Daphne. Grandma said she wouldn’t post my blog today if I didn’t give her space too. Whatever! (to borrow from lame Lizzie).