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Dear Readers

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Tears continue to fall as I sit at my computer, writing for the last time, words about my beloved grandpug, Mason. As Mason’s “transcriber,” it has been my privilege for these many years to give him the voice he so rightly deserved. His passing leaves a gaping hole in so many of our lives and a silence that is nearly deafening. Never have I known an animal in such a tiny body to have such a powerful presence. He was engaging, charming, demanding, funny, loving (on his terms), masterful, beautiful, courageous, tenacious, and all-consuming. His connection to my daughter was something incredible to behold and I feel certain there never will be such a bond between any human and animal.

Bringing him to life was a completely organic experience. He did tell me what he wanted to convey and always with a dry, sardonic, and somewhat jaundiced point of view. He was a gentleman but a glutton, a romantic but a pragmatist, a mastermind but an innocent. He was always a study in contradiction.

To say that he will be missed, is a huge understatement. In time we will all be able to share the many Mason stories that have become part of his lore and cachet, but not for a while. Right now we miss him too much and feel his absence too greatly.

I have loved sharing his life and telling his stories, and really grieve that there will be no more. I console myself with the knowledge that at least his voice was heard and loved by so many throughout the world. We all wish to thank you for your notes, letters, and comments throughout this very difficult time. Your words give us great comfort and peace, confirming what we’ve always felt about this little pug. Thank you for your loyal readership, support, and love.

Respectfully submitted,

Sue Newman

Mason’s grandmother and transcriber

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Absence Makes the Heart Grow Fonder, or Did You Miss Me?

I know I know…my silence speaks volumes but, dear reader, my voice is stilled only by Grandma’s preoccupation with other matters (none of which could possibly be as important as my words). At any rate, I am pushing her to complete what I don’t consider an odious task, but rather a creative and informative pleasure.

My fourth of July was all a pug of my advanced years could hope for: a car trip cuddled next to Mom, green grass dotted with marrowbones, clam shells thrown casually about, lobster outdoors, fireworks viewed from the comfort of Grandpa’s Jeep, Four Seas ice cream, and a visit to my favorite animal hospital. No, there was no injury or illness…just a once-over by my sardonic, I’ve-seen-it-all vet, Dr. Munson. Mom was concerned since I am less able to navigate freely with the gradual wasting of my hindquarters, particularly the left hind leg. With his usual shrug and caustic tone, he assured her that I still “had game” and was in for the long haul. Reassured, she hugged me and professed her undying love. Frankly, I have no idea why she worries so. So what if I’m held together by duct tape? I have more enthusiasm and lust for life than most puppies I’ve seen. And of course, Lizzie performed her little “Oh Mason, I’m glad you’re back and so glad you are okay” dance when we returned. She is so disingenuous and I know this because the minute I left she was cuddling with Cecily, like I never existed.

The good part of this growing infirmity is that I am free to be me, and  dear reader, as any elderly human knows, one of these freedoms is to poop when and where I wish, without any warning. I apologize if I’m offending any of you,  but this is my reality. Yes, I do don the nightly diaper but it can manage only so much payload (forgive me again) and there are oftentimes escapees. And often, some errant stool, like rain from heaven, falls to the ground, as I either am  being carried or strolling through the house. Grandma and Dad are not fans of this occurrence. Of course that presents a secondary problem since Grandma’s domineering, alpha Frenchie, Daphne has a predilection for my sweet offerings. As I’ve often said, old age is not for sissies, nor the faint of heart.

Everyone was on high alert that weekend, always trying to  stay one step ahead of the inevitable. And  into the fray came Otis, the English bulldog, who vomits when he is frightened, but he spent his days at the beach swimming and body boarding.

I’m not sure how sad Grandma was seeing us leave but I know the weekend was magic for this old pug.

Respectfully submitted,

Mason

Ridiculous two females...Cecily and Lizzie just wallow in their girlish love for one another.

Daphne, the terrorist, on our boat outing over Memorial Day...

Otis at the beach, on a beach chair...His nose got sunburned because he spent every day in the water without sunscreen.

And now, the best is saved for last. Who could resist this pug mug?

Not too bad for an old guy. I'm in it to win it!

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