A Loaf of Bread, A Lot of Time, and Moi

The old saying, “no fool like an old fool” is certainly applicable to yours truly, and were I able to undo the events of the past 48 hours I would. I am, if nothing else, an extreme gourmand (not to be confused in any way with gourmet) and I have lived a long life in a daily quest for errant pieces of food, ort, and garbage. It is my “raison d’etre,” my passion, and my undoing.

Grandma arrived Friday afternoon bearing treats and toys, which I enjoyed to no end. We then decided since the weather was so fine, to walk to Epsteins for an outdoor adult beverage. Mom fed me a fair amount of French fries, which I inhaled, while Lizzie sat on Grandma’s lap just waiting to be petted by passersby. That outing and indulgence set the stage for what unfolded Saturday night.

With my bowels already quite roiled by the ingestion of foods not normally a part of my daily diet, I should have realized how important it was for them to rest. And after the “accidents” of Saturday morning and afternoon, I knew the wise choice would have been to relax and not pursue my food quest, but of course I could not obey that instinct.

Mom and Grandma left the apartment at 7 pm since they had theater tickets, which left Lizzard and me to our own devices for an entire evening. I remembered seeing Grandma carry into the apartment a large bag from Eataly, a remarkable food store on lower 5^th Avenue. I was positive there would be something of interest within that bag but unfortunately Grandma had stowed it in the guest room, up on the sofa, out of my reach. Since I have little to no use of my hindquarters, I had to involve the village idiot in my plan. I will say this for Lizzard, being of a lower mental order she is always willing to forgive and forget previous wrongdoings. In a Machiavellian manner, I explained how important it was for me to acquire said bag because I felt certain Grandma had left a treat in it for us which she had forgotten to hand out earlier. Spry as a roly-poly little hedgehog, Lizzard sprung up onto the couch, snagged the bag, and hopped down. Pushing her aside roughly I inspected its contents, discovering a handsome 9-grain loaf of bread. This was the perfect choice so I searched no further. I must admit it was a bit too hearty for my palette, but I was a pug on a mission. It took five hours of serious chewing and swallowing but I managed to finish all but a small chunk of it. Finally I knew what it felt like to be full…so full I couldn’t drag my body across the room when I heard the key in the door after midnight.

Mom and Grandma inspected the living room quickly, ascertaining there was no evidence of accidents, while chatting about their wonderful evening. It was then that Mom noticed my bloated and distended belly. At that same moment Grandma discovered a little piece of bread on the rug and asked what it was. The rest is a bit of a blur…the discovery of the bag on the floor in the guest room, the small, uneaten hunk of bread, my hardened belly and inability to navigate the room. I was tossed into my carrying bag and off we rushed into the night.

Trying to hail a cab at 1 am in Manhattan is nearly impossible but my wild and crazy mom was successful. By the time we were heading uptown I began to pant, always a signal that something bad is happening in my lower intestinal area. Gas redolent of released yeast and stool filled the cab and Mom alternated between laughter and tears while Grandma tried to keep her calm until we reached the hospital.

An x-ray revealed an abdomen four times its normal size and I spent the night and next morning receiving copious amounts of fluids in order to move its contents along. It was not pleasant since the amount of diarrhea I produced required the shaving of my rear end, giving me a definite baboon butt.

The care and attention I received at the Fifth Avenue Veterinary Specialists Hospital, however, was phenomenal, but I was definitely jonesing for a treat by the time the acute phase was over. Sunday afternoon I spent releasing foul and noxious gas into the apartment but today I am right as rain, ready to eat my weight in kibbles.

And there you have it, dear readers, my weekend with Grandma. Mom said this little escapade of mine was more costly than a stay at a four star hotel and spa, and without any of the perks.  And no, I did not share with Lizzie.

Respectfully submitted,

Mason

P.S. Dad was out of town so he missed all of the excitement.

Here we are this morning, Lizzie sleeping in Dad's golf bag and yours truly very comfortable on the floor.

What Goes Up Must Come Down, or How Dumb Can One Pug Be?

Just when I think Lizzie has reached maximum capacity for stupidity, she trumps herself! And once again I am reminded of the earth’s incredible and powerful karmic flow; otherwise how could such a life-affirming event occur, bringing yours truly such deep satisfaction?

This weekend brought beautiful weather to Manhattan and afforded us long walks, great naps, and much needed cuddles. On Sunday, Mom decided it would be lovely to mix up some cocktails, grab a couple of succulent marrowbones and go to the roof of our apartment building, just to soak up the warmth of the spring sun. I was certainly game, with my tail twitching madly and my eyes darting about wildly, until Dad uttered the familiar question, “Where is Lizzie?” As I looked about, I quickly realized that Lizzie indeed had gone missing. What joy! What bliss! What unadulterated pleasure! My weekend went from an eight to a ten in seconds flat. The harsh reality, however, quickly reared its ugly head. My parents were frantic with worry and could not possibly ignore the situation. I communicated with passion, abandon, and fervor that they should not worry, that we should head to the roof, and enjoy ourselves as a perfect threesome…a holy trinity… without Lizzie.

But to no avail were my desperate efforts…a search ensued for the village idiot. We hunted high and low; she was not in the apartment, and not in the hall. At this point Mom was quickly losing what little composure she had, screaming, “Where is my baby girl? Where is my Lizzie?” I was sickened by such a display and could not understand her concern. Finally she pressed the elevator door, waiting for its stop on our floor. The doors slammed open and there stood the most brain-addled pug in existence. Did she hop off and throw herself into Mom’s open arms? No…she just stood there, frozen, as the doors closed, taking her on another journey. Mom and Dad both pounded the elevator button in order to bring Lame Lizzie back home, knowing they would have to snatch her quickly before the doors closed again. We couldn’t even calculate how long she had been traveling up and down since we weren’t aware of her absence.

Dear reader, as you can easily understand, this is not a gifted pug, and like the mentally challenged turkey who drowns in the rain from keeping its mouth open, Lizzie lacks all common sense. While I feel pleased to witness her sufferings for her transgression against Little Bear, it is almost a hollow victory.

Respectfully submitted,

Mason

Refresher: Mason + Little Bear = Love Affair

Again, another refresher...one dull and vacant looking pug and one highly alert and curious pug. The latter would not ride endlessly in an elevator.