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!

All I’m Asking for is a Little Respect

Just when I thought all of my trips to the vet were over, I found out I was scheduled to visit my Cape doctor over Christmas. My summer on the Cape was filled with quite a few medical emergencies, and while my vet there is an okay guy, quite frankly I’ve had my fill of his “invasive” procedures in my dude area. Without getting into graphic details, let me just say that the emergency operation I underwent this summer involved some rearranging of certain conduits in that area.  I’m fine and enjoying myself but Mom felt there was some swelling that needed a little lookie. Now, I knew from Grandma that the staff at the hospital had a very big Christmas cookie saved for me so I was psyched. I couldn’t imagine that the good doctor was going to go through all of the probing, poking, and exposing of last summer so I was fighting mad, to say the least, when he started up that business again.  Then I was informed my toenails had to be clipped! As any pug knows, toenail clipping is up there with neutering on the pain chart. I let them know that my cookie better be as big as a gingerbread house and it needed to come fast! Because I’m a dude I put up a brave front,  but when I heard Dr. M. refer to my recent medical debacle as “Tales of Ragged Dick” I knew I had to get out of there. There is only so much indignity a dude can endure! 

At any rate, dear reader, I am showing you the feast Lizzard and I enjoyed on Christmas night…not too shabby, right? And yes, ladies, I am fine!

 

Respectfully submitted,

 

Mason

Aren't we polite?