Pug Pack Plus One, or I’m Still the Master of My Domain

Oh, dear reader, you must not construe my long absence as anything more than a much needed transition period and adjustment to our Cape Cod life. Since we are now four, our settling in has taken longer than normal. The irony, however, is that Lizzie and I have not been the ones upsetting the proverbial apple cart. I do believe that we are no longer on trial, as Grandma so cruelly mentioned. I think that Daphne, the nine-month old Frenchie is the (dare I say it?) bone of contention. She is a ferocious alpha bulldog, who is ready to battle at the drop of the first crumb. She has gone for my throat countless times, after which Grandma swiftly carries her into the dark powder room and leaves her for ten seconds as a “time out.”  I don’t know how effective this training method is, but Grandma is fierce in her determination to correct her unacceptable behavior. Wait a minute…this is what I do! At any rate, as long as Daphne (or Daphinator, Daffy, or Doodlebug as she is referred to) and I don’t have food or a bone between us, we co-exist fairly well.

Walks at Eagle Pond are one of our favorite outings and we present quite a picture to fellow dogs and dog walkers, as we troop along the trail at our own pace. I did take a slight detour this weekend, as I was feeling fairly parched from our hike, and left the bridge for the swamp beneath it. While the water was brackish, I drank fully and greedily. When Mom saw me, she shrieked and snatched me up from the muddy quagmire. At home I was immediately bathed and swaddled in a towel. I will never understand why humans are so offended by the sight of muddy paws and their accompanying earthy scent.

Our weekend was absolute perfection…Mom and Dad arrived Friday night, the weather was sublime, food and treats were plentiful, and nights were spent cuddled with the humans we love most.

And yes, my eye continues to heal and the prognosis is good but I will be forced to endure eye drops three times a day for the rest of my life. Oh well, my meals now consist of a bowl of pills and liquids with a few kibbles thrown in for flavor. Such is the fate of a senior pug with many ailments, much like an old human man similarly afflicted.

The good news is that we are becoming a pack, which delights the humans to no end. We mix and match throughout the day but oftentimes we function as one unit. Lizzie, for some reason that I cannot fathom, seems to be the lodestone to which we are all drawn. More on that phenomena later.

Respectfully submitted,

Mason

Yours truly waiting...always waiting...at Grandma and Grandpa's backdoor.

Here is the pack at Eagle Pond..formidable, aren't we?

Real Men Love Pugs

Before I launch into today’s thoughts, I must first thank all of you loyal readers for casting votes in the Blognet contest. I am happy to report that  “A Pug’s Voice” won First Runner Up for all categories of blogs. Now I am not really sure what happens next but I will keep you posted. I would also like to congratulate my California pug friends, Roxy, Blue, and Bono for placing third in the Valentino contest. I must admit that they look fierce in their photo. Check them out at: http://www.pupstarsonoma.com/

 I want to assure you, dear reader, that Lizzard and I are not going to rest on our proverbial laurels. I will continue to speak freely, intelligently, and frequently about matters of concern to a pug and from a pug’s perspective. This weekend actually proved the above adaptation of the old adage, “Real men don’t eat quiche.” How wrong it is to make assumptions about the appropriateness of certain breeds of dogs for either men or women. Why do people presume that toy poodles are for women and Labradors for men? We pugs have been assigned the female gender for centuries (not that I object to women, mind you), but we are also a man’s breed. I have seen proof of this repeatedly in my lifetime. This weekend was a perfect example. A very large, muscular, no-nonsense, tattooed, man’s man friend of my parents (Matt) visited our apartment on Saturday. To witness this oak of a human dissolve into a pool of emotion over the sight of Lizzard and me was truly revelatory. He scooped me up into muscle-bound arm guns and held me while reading my book, SUMMER PUGS, aloud. I am first and foremost a male pug and I am not interested in gushing, swooning, simpering, baby talk (unless there is a treat involved), but to connect with such a man is a privilege. Lizzard, on the other hand is a silly little girl pug that prefers all that I loathe, and so I won’t digress into her needs or likes.

  It must be  clear that we pugs are not gender specific; we are multi-sexual! If the inner brute in you men needs full expression, then perhaps a pug is a wise choice. We are tough, resilient, companionable, brave, eager, and keen. Don’t ever judge a book by its cover (except for ours) or its size. There you have it, more deep thoughts from a pug named Mason.

 

 Respectfully submitted,

 Mason

 

Here I am hanging with some big guys...standard poodles. You wouldn't call those sissy dogs, now would you?

 

I really would have liked a photo of Matt holding me but I was too embarrassed to ask, so I included this photo since I think it shows my butch stature for you men who are insecure about liking a pug.