Revenge is a Dish Best Served Cold, or What Goes Around Comes Around

As you recall, dear reader, when last I wrote, Lizzie had committed the unthinkable, the unimaginable, the most egregious of crimes against another pug — the taking of a prized possession and then defiling it. I did vow to seek revenge, even if it involved patience and planning. Never did I dream that said revenge would actually fall into my lap due to the carelessness of my dad.

On a typical workday morning, Dad assumes the role of pug caregiver, unless, of course, he is out of town. This Monday morning was no exception to our normal routine: we get up, are taken downstairs, fed our breakfast, suited up, walked, cleaned up after, and returned to our apartment. This morning, however, one of the steps was neglected, which worked to my advantage, as you will learn.

Upon gaining entrance to our apartment, Dad always goes to his bathroom, which is downstairs, and performs his morning ritual. I rest on the living room rug, which affords me a 360-degree view of our dwelling. Resting comfortably I became aware of a pleasant sensation…the absence of one offensive female pug. Yes, dear reader, Lizzie had been left behind. At that same instant, a frantic scratching sound began, coming from the direction of the apartment door. I chose to ignore it because suddenly my life was filled with hope, joy, and contentment; however, the noise became louder causing Dad to shout out, “Annie, do you hear that noise?” Mom was upstairs in her bathroom blowing out her hair and heard nothing. Dad again yelled out for her to listen. I, of course, remained mum, knowing that fate, God, or divine justice had bestowed upon me this miracle. Dad, in frustration, finally walked into the living room and listened, looked around, and shouted, “Lizzie!” He opened the door and there she stood…a pathetic little groundhog of a pug. She trotted wildly into the room, wagging and wiggling idiotically, and then sought out my company for solace and reassurance. It wasn’t as if she had been left outdoors in the rain or snow, but to see her pathos you would have believed otherwise.

There you have it, dear reader…a small piece of my greater plan, but one that will keep evolving until I am satisfied that she has been sufficiently punished for her sin. And no, I did not offer her any comfort at all.

Respectfully submitted,

Mason

The Idiot and I

Little Bear and I, in happier times

I Get No Respect, or Nobody Knows the Troubles I’ve Seen

This is a tale of two pugs…one good and one extremely bad. Surrounded by treachery, deceit, and disrespect I am forced to dredge up Rodney Dangerfield’s most famous tag line and apply it to my situation. I’ve said it before but it bears repeating…Lizzie is a sly puss, a tricky little minx, and not the innocent everyone believes her to be. She is the enemy, make no mistake about that, and even though I am physically limited (hence my undoing), I have experience, intelligence, and patience.

Let me explain. Last week, on a particularly boring afternoon, one where napping and restless pacing weren’t a viable option for either of us, Lizzie decided she would violate the holy of holies, that she would take the one sacred object of mine which even my parents are loath to touch…my little bear. If you recall, from an ancient blog, I have honed my shaping skills to such a fine art that Little Bear sports an exquisite belly Mohawk of unyielding stiffness. He is a prized source of comfort and release. Lizzie is well aware of his revered and inviolate status, and yet, on this day, she chose to transgress.

In her perversity she made a subversive foray into Little Bear’s safe zone, i.e. my bed. Snatching him up in her foul little mouth she trotted across the living room to the ottoman, where she nimbly sprung up onto its surface. Knowing full well I can no longer perform that maneuver due to the degeneration of my hindquarters, she proceeded to maul it wantonly in my presence. Horror of horrors…I thought my heart would burst with pain and anguish. How could she be so cruel? How could she defile this precious object with such casual abandon? At that moment I wished only to save Little Bear from her vile mouth and then destroy her. Unfortunately I could do neither.

At the appointed time of Mom’s return from work, that little she-devil pranced to the door, wagging and wiggling wildly. Mom, of course, greeted her effusively asking what she was so excited about and, I can scarcely believe it as I retell it, that evil strumpet led Mom to the ottoman where Little Bear lay. Mom wanted to believe, for a split second, that I had regained the use of my hind legs and had been able to make the leap. She was sure Lizzie was excited about my recovery. But, as you and I both know, Lizzie of the black heart and treacherous soul was seeking approval for the coup of her lifetime.

I am down but certainly not done. Vengeance is mine and I need only to wait for the perfect opportunity to rain down a revenge of epic proportions on this false pug. Patience and time.

Respectfully submitted,

Mason

Pure bliss...Little Bear and I sharing a moment