Monthly Archives: February 2010

Now It’s My Turn

Hi Everybody!

It’s Lizzie. Mason decided to take a little vay-cay from writing today (he said his brain needed a rest and that he wasn’t feeling inspired). I don’t know about that but it really has been a long time since I last wrote a blog, hasn’t it?

For a pug, my life is wonderful, filled with much happiness and love, even though Mason would argue about that. Mason doesn’t seem to understand that I really do wish him well and that my world is topsy-turvy when he is away or unwell. That E-collar business was awful! I know he accused me of being false, but that is untrue. I was so worried when he went to the doctor that when he returned, I tried to cover him with kisses, nuzzling, and love. He would have nothing to do with me as I sniffed his doctor office scent and tried to comfort him. He is always acting the tough guy but I know he really loves the attention. As far as my stealing his marrowbones, that is not true either. I was merely putting them in a safe place until his recovery. Since he couldn’t chew with that huge collar on his neck, I put them in my bed so he wouldn’t feel frustrated every time he saw them.

And when he had to visit the surgeon on Cape Cod, I was really worried and anxious…so much so that on the trip back to NYC, I jumped up on the new rolled up carpet in the car to be near Mom and Dad. I needed comfort and Mason just assumed I was trying take them away from him. Mason says I can make truth out of fiction, if it suits my purposes. I think that is mean and untrue. Mason is always seeing the worst in people and pets.

Oh well, the thing is Mason has recovered and doesn’t need surgery, which makes me very happy. I know he thinks I am an idiot and a silly goose, but so what? I do love our pug contest on Facebook, and I think all of you who have sent in photos are wonderful and beautiful and brave! I think you all are winners, despite Mason’s sour view of life. He means well but he can’t help being a grouch sometimes. I think it is a guy kind of thing. He says, “Lizzie, you need to go to the mailbox and get your reality check. It must be here today!” I have no idea what he means so I just keep a low profile and take a nap.

Thanks for listening…until next time

Pugs and kisses,


This was taken right before Mason's appointment with the surgeon. You can see my worried expression.


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You Oughta Be In Pictures, or My Own Fanzine

If you haven’t yet had the opportunity to visit the Mason and Lizzie fan page on Facebook, dear reader, then I suggest you do so at your earliest convenience. Being the clever sort of pug that I am (as well as a pug suffering from the winter doldrums) I conceived of a small contest for my loyal fans. They need only submit a photo of themselves, either in costume or not, to my fan photo site. The pug receiving the most positive comments wins a pawtographed copy of our book, SUMMER PUGS. I invite all readers to at least look at these remarkable photos and make a comment. I have dreams of turning this album into a book because these fellow pugs have a lot of game. I think we’ll keep this going until the end of February and then announce a winner on March 1st. I urge you, one and all, to visit our page and take a look. It is the best free entertainment available right now.

Of course Lizzie is absolutely no help whatsoever in this venture. She just chirps in her sickeningly perky voice, “I could never choose, Mason. They are all so adorable…each and every one of them a winner!” Can you believe her? Just when I thought it was not possible that she could be any more insipid than she already is, she astonishes me. The other thing about Lizzie that really pushes my tolerance buttons, is her falseness. She pretends to care for me, worrying about my health and welfare, and she clings to me as if her very life depended on having close contact with yours truly. Lies, all lies. She is a self-serving, deceptive little wench. I’ve watched her behavior with clear and analytical eyes. She is calculating and manipulative, always carving out a place in the spotlight for herself. Oh dear, I’ve digressed. This topic is so close to my heart that I lose my focus. Forgive me, dear reader, for letting this insignificant little pug disturb my lofty thoughts.

Please stop by my fan page, look at the photos, and lose yourselves in pug rotogravure. I apologize for my Lizzie rant. It was a moment of weakness.

Respectfully submitted,


No photo today, but go to: and search for: Mason and Lizzie.


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Zen and the Art of Pug Maintenance, or You Can’t Keep a Good Pug Down

I apologize, dear reader, for my lengthy silence but Grandma’s schedule has been frantic and full for the past two weeks (I wish I could say the same for mine!). I realize that some of you have been concerned about my silence, so let me say, without any equivocation, that all is well with yours truly.

It was a hectic weekend for me, both from Grandma’s arrival on Friday for the pet writer’s conference, and our journey together to the Cape on Sunday for an early consultation  Monday with a surgeon. The reward for these chaotic few days was delivered upon our arrival at Grandma and Grandpa’s, where Dad built a fire and Grandma handed out beautiful marrowbones. To say I was transported to a place of incredible bliss would be an understatement.

I faced the appointment Monday with my usual equanimity and sangfroid. I was gracious but reserved, tolerant but mindful, and open but cautious as I met this surgeon for the first time. He manipulated my weakening hind feet and legs, moving them back and forth and from side to side. He studied my x-rays closely, peering and squinting in the darkened room. And finally, for the coup de grace, he did the dreaded examination of my maleness. Why doctors seem so fascinated with that particular area of my anatomy, I have no idea. I do know that every single one of them ultimately arrives at that destination, for fondling, pressing, and palpating. I’ve become so inured to this process that I merely stare stoically ahead, imagining a juicy marrowbone or Lizzie’s head caught in a vice grip.

Well, dear reader, the news is not so grim. This learned man of medicine said that were I his dog, he would do nothing surgically, since spinal surgery is so risky and oftentimes has disastrous results. He said I was in no pain (I could have told him that had he asked!), and he certainly could see no diminution of life quality (again, I could have told him that). Outwardly I appear unchanged, except for the occasional cough or bark that can release a stored surprise, an exceedingly embarrassing event for a man-pug.

And so, yours truly once again escapes the dreaded knife. I was floating on air as we left, urging Grandma on to even greater speeds, so that I could finally enjoy a much-deserved breakfast.

Life is good!

Respectfully submitted,


Look at that minx, Lizzie, and you will finally get her true measure. There is no guile or deception on my face, however.


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