A Pug’s Wish List, or What Pugs Really Want for Christmas

Because you humans attach such significance to holidays, it seemed appropriate to address the age-old question of what to get the pug. First of all, I need to dispel the notion that we actually care about receiving a present as we watch you tear madly into your excessive haul. We do, however, enjoy the excitement it engenders, and we really love walking around in the aftermath of strewn papers and ribbons. That having been said, I feel obligated to share with you what we, of the pug breed, most love at this time of the year.

• Cuddling on the sofa, in front of a roaring fire, with one or both of our parents. If a nap ensues, then even better. If you’ve no fireplace, no worries…we are still happy for your undivided time and body.
• If you’re baking Christmas treats, let us stand with you in the kitchen and be your taste-tester. If a few crumbs fall our way, then we are also happy.
• Long, leisurely walks in newly fallen snow (or not), knowing that a nice dog cookie is our reward at home.
• A fresh marrowbone or oversized biscuit is always a welcome gift.

What we really don’t like at all, but you love giving as gifts:

• Hand knit sweaters, fleece jackets, hoodies, booties, and any item of apparel you find adorable on us.
• Christmas costumes of any sort, including reindeer antlers, Santa beard, hat, and coat, elf outfits, jingling bells, Christmas tree lights, and baby Jesus swaddling. We hate all of this and endure the indignity of wearing it because it pleases you enormously and you want that Christmas card photo so desperately.
• A new baby puppy. Enough said.
• Wrapped presents because you think it is great fun watching us struggle with unwrapping  them.

We pugs were put on earth just for your pleasure and we are the consummate people pleasing dogs, and so, if you would like to please us this holiday, consider giving us what we really want.

Happy holidays from a wise old pug, and respectfully submitted,

Mason

Here we are, all suited up and ready to brave the cold for our hike.

We look like extras from a sad circus in our colorful sweaters. I understand we needed some outer garment due to the extreme cold, but why do we have to look so garish?

Master of the Moment and Still Leader of the Pack

I must share a small story with you, dear reader, because it illustrates so well the folly of youth and the wisdom of age, which is not to say that I wouldn’t trade any young whipper-snapper his foolish youth for my venerable old age.

As you loyal readers must remember, Lizzie and I have a long-standing relationship with Aaron, Grandma and Grandpa’s UPS driver: he delivers packages to them and biscuits to us. But now there are two new “young-uns” interfering with what has been a perfectly fine arrangement for these past few years. Aaron said that we have to share two biscuits four ways because the number of dogs on his route has increased wildly and he cannot afford to stock so many treats. While that is perfectly understandable since he covers this expense himself, it does cut into the amount I actually get for myself. I am not a mean-spirited pug, as you know,  but I’ve learned that I must look out for yours truly because no one else has such a vested interest!

My tale is pithy but deep. One recent afternoon, Grandpa took all four of us for a walk (we do present quite a sight) and on our return I needed to relieve myself once more. This occurred on our street, right before we turned into our driveway. Knowing I have the homing instincts of a trained pigeon, Grandpa let me off leash and I promptly trotted up to the front door. As he approached with the three females, he told me the door was locked and to come in back with him. I, however, had already spied the UPS packages on the front stoop and was not going to budge, since I knew there would be two cookies resting on top of them. The silly little girls went obligingly off with Grandpa while I sorted out Aaron’s offering. By the time Grandpa and the girls came into the house and unlocked the front door, I had consumed both cookies and was wagging my tail enthusiastically. The three were none the wiser, not being the seasoned veteran that I am, and just welcomed me in as the long-lost final member of the pack.

I swear to you, biscuits have never tasted quite this good. Lesson: don’t assume that old age equals loss of mental acuity.

Respectfully submitted,

Mason

At the helm again, in control, master of my domain!