Pizza, Chicken Soup for a Pug’s Soul, or I Never Smelled a Pizza I Didn’t Love

Some days, dear reader, the cold is so bone crushing and pervasive that every step taken is excruciating. Going out to relieve oneself is a cruel exercise in torture. Today was such a day and I fear my old pug bones were challenged at a new level of intensity. I know I presented a pathetic sight with my roach spine and halting gait. I could see passersby stare and “tsk tsk” with empathy as they viewed my poor ambulation. When I realized the emotional outpouring I was receiving, I upped my performance a notch, hoping Mom would join in the pity party and just pick me up.

But just when I was sure my act was about to garner a cozy reward, I smelled it. That’s right… the smell that no red-blooded, all-American, food obsessed, wildly possessed pug can resist…PIZZA! The holy grail of all human food. I mean pizza is my raison d’etre, it is what compels me to tick off the days until the next pizza delivery, and it is what compels me to accomplish seemingly impossible feats of pug daring.  I am ashamed to say that if the pizza delivery boy offered me a home with him, I daresay I would have my bags packed and out the door before Mom could croak, “Mason!”

I digress. It was in the midst of this pitiful charade that I smelled it. My little pug feet took wing and in a trice I had tracked down the source…a Domino’s delivery bicycle parked outside an apartment building. There, clinging to the bike’s cold and brittle metal framework, were pizza molecules, bearing the heady, aromatic, and intoxicating aroma of its last delivery. Dear God, no right-minded pug can resist that smell. Energy returned and vigor was restored; all of my senses became electrified in that one defining moment. Mom looked at me with such disbelief that even I felt some embarrassment. It was as if she had seen Christ cure a leper, or restore a blind man’s sight, or give a cripple the use of his legs again.

I raced home, convinced the Domino’s man would be upstairs waiting for me. How could he not be?  This is where the story takes a decided downward turn. There, of course, was no Domino’s delivery, or any other pizza delivery for that matter; however, I did hear Mom say that tonight will probably have to be a pizza night after my transforming encounter.

All’s well that end’s well, dear reader.

Respectfully submitted,

Mason

From the archives...here I am thoroughly enjoying my pizza

I am dominating that box ( a little play on words)!