Tag Archives: bread

The Devil Wears A Onesie

What a summer it has been, dear reader, and my silence is due only to Grandma’s endless stream of guests visiting on Cape Cod. We were fortunate enough, however, to manage four visits and enjoy all of the pleasures this beautiful strip of land and sea offer. And while I would gladly regale you with tales of my chivalrous and exemplary conduct, I fear the opposite is more the case.

Returning to New York always puts me in a more– how should I phrase this?–aggressive and machismo state of mind. The mellowing and soporific effects of Cape Cod go by the wayside once we cross the Triboro Bridge and zoom down the FDR Drive to the Lower East Side. The difference is palpable and this old pug knows the route like the back of his paw. Living in Gotham requires a fortitude and quickness of reaction that is like nowhere else on earth…and so I become Devil Pug!

It is not something of which I am proud, but there it is, dear reader, a fact of my life.

I am ashamed to confess that I did the unmentionable, the unthinkable, the most abhorrent of all crimes…I bit the hand that feeds me, my dearest and most loving mother’s. It was on a Saturday morning when we always lie in bed and play – I, on my back with four little legs pedaling the air wildly and mouth agape, exposing the few little tooth like stumps remaining in my head – that I chomped down on her index finger like a Wolverine, never dreaming for a second that my bite had any teeth (so to speak). Well, blood came forth as my mother yelled in great pain. I am a monster, a devil, an evil creature with no means of atonement. And without prolonging the suspense, Mom ended up in the emergency room Sunday morning with a significant infection in her finger for which she received both antibiotics and a tetanus shot.

Another incident proving my satanic qualities is my seizure of the loaf of bread she brought from California for Dad. She, without thinking, thought the bread was secure (you will remember my bread episode of several years ago that sent me to the ER) and of course it wasn’t. It was laden with seeds, nuts, and other delicacies not fit for a pug. I proceeded to gorge until I was discovered. You would think I had learned my lesson but here is the thing about pugs, dear reader, we have no memories of unpleasant experiences…only of pleasant ones. I remember that bread tastes good but not that I was deathly ill from ingesting it.

I will continue on my hellish, bullish way, climbing over Lizzie as if she were merely a bump in the road and something to overcome. I will use her as a pillow or else ignore her completely. And while I am not the vilest of all creatures, I am certainly deserving of my sobriquet in today’s blog title.

Respectfully submitted,

Mason

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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 5th 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.

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