Buffalo Pizzle, A Gentle Breeze, and Good Company

Something about the weather, the angle of the sun, the relaxed atmosphere that led Grandma to the cupboard for our stash of buffalo pizzles…They are stinky, foul smelling items but to us the greatest treat in the world. Daphne, of course, as our leader, would never dream of joining us on the grass for these delicacies. She always separates herself from the pack…something about maintaining a certain discipline and distance I think. She will inhale hers while we are still sucking and chewing away. Poor old Cecily though…because she is both blind and deaf, she loses hers easily and then she wanders around trying to find it. Grandma always keeps one eye on her though so she doesn’t harm herself.

What a summer this has been for us Fresh Air Fund dogs…the most fun of all is playing Treibball with Daphne. Actually, it is Daphne who herds the ball and we just chase her, barking crazily. it is exhausting because she is so fast, chasing that ball through the woods, around trees, up and down little hills, all the while howling and screaming at it like a foxhound on the scent. When Grandma and Grandpa say we’ve had enough, we collapse with our little sides heaving and our tongues going in and out so fast from panting…but it is the greatest thing ever!

I know some great big dogs are coming tonight and that worries me a bit…two Bernese Mountain dogs, and one huge Labrador…Grandma says she will make sure we are safe though. It is going to be really quiet in NY when we return, but at least Maisie and I have each other during the days.

Last night Grandma had a few leftover scraps of salmon to add to our dinner. The smell was driving us mad and the taste was out of this world…wouldn’t mind having that every night!.

I’ve included some photos of our pizzle party and a video of us playing Treibball…

Until next time,

Phillip

 

“I Have Only One Eye,–I Have a Right to be Blind Sometimes . . . I Really Do Not See the Signal!” – Lord Horatio Nelson, Viscount Nelson

These eyes, tho’ clear
To outward view of blemish or of spot,
Bereft of light, their seeing have forgot,
Nor to their idle orbs doth sight appear
Of sun, or moon, or star, throughout the year,
Or man, or woman. Yet I argue not
Against Heaven’s hand or will, not bate a jot
Of heart or hope; but still bear up and steer
Right onward.
– John Milton, Sonnet XXII (l. 1)

Dear reader, weep not for me today (even though your every instinct would compel you) because I am bearing up nobly. I write only to reassure you that even though I suffer from a corneal ulcer and must wear this cruelest of medieval contrivances…the Elizabethan Collar…I am on the road to wellville (paraphrasing T.C. Boyle’s wonderful book’s title).  This is a mere speed bump, a minor snag in my already challenging life.

We have no idea what caused this but presumably I walked into something and scratched my exposed cornea. I liked the rakish look it lent, before treatment, sealed shut and offering only one window into the world.  I felt like a swashbuckling pirate pug, except that it didn’t elicit fear from viewers…only pity and concern.

I must receive eye drops three times daily and wear the collar until the doctor feels I am beyond self-harm. Being the rather clever and inventive pug that I am, I managed to devise a way of having my marrowbone and eating it too. If I wedge it carefully within the inside of the cone, and then press my head against a wall or some other stationary object, it is possible to enjoy, in a limited fashion, a small bit of comfort.

The really disappointing component of my malady is the discovery of that conniving and false Lizzie’s true nature. She who greeted me with wild abandon after my visit to the vet’s, she who sniffed me from stem to stern, assuring herself that I was okay, she who pretended to care for my suffering, is the one who immediately began to squirrel away all of my bones into her nest, knowing I would have an impossible time finding and reclaiming them. I am done with that self-serving, dishonest little strumpet of a pug. Remember, Lizzie, I may not see well, but I know and remember what you’ve done. Revenge will be mine.

Respectfully submitted,

Mason

P.S. I cannot include a photo…it is far too humiliating for yours truly. Please respect my need for privacy.