“The smallest worm will turn, being trodden on” (Henry VI, part III), or This Pug Has Teeth

I don’t know why I am always shocked and amazed when certain events in this life don’t go the way I expected. Just because a pug behaves in a highly consistent and predictable way each and every day of her life, doesn’t mean that she will continue to do so forever. I know this sounds a bit cryptic and obtuse but bear with me on this.

I believe most of you readers know me well enough now to appreciate my mastery of life skills. My ability to procure and consume vast quantities of food/snacks/treats is legend in dogdom. My overwhelming supremacy in the art of control and self-defense needs no explanation. My talent for eluding detection of unaccomplished toileting remains unchallenged by any pug. So then, dear reader, how did one timid, reluctant, passive, spineless, stuffed partridge of a female pug grow such massive, forgive me, cahones, while under my tutelage?

Grandma was preparing a butternut squash soup yesterday and there were many cooking utensils needing our attention after their use. I was given the food processor and Lizzie the large skillet.  In record time I completed my assigned task and then ambled over to Lizzard’s cleaning area to assist her, in what I assumed was far too great a job for one pug. Lo and behold, I was greeted with the most ferocious vocal and physical attack ever! WAHHHHAAAAHHHH, as she lunged for me. I don’t know who was more shocked, Grandma, Grandpa, or me. Lizzie was unaffected, hopped back into her skillet, and resumed her licking. My immediate reaction was to go flying across the the kitchen, as far away from this fiend from Hell as I could get.  Then I became angry and resentful, and finally awed and somewhat proud. This insignificant, wimpy, and lowly pug had given me back what I’d been giving her for over a year. She now feeds like a greedy pug, begs for treats from Aaron, the UPS driver, and defends her food like a pug-beast should. It is with mixed emotions that I dedicate today’s blog to Lizzie.

And yet again, Mr. Shakespeare says it best.

Respectfully submitted,

Mason

Here is a good perspective of the scene prior to Lizzie's outburst.

Here is "The Terminator" standing in the skillet cleaning it thoroughly.

And yours truly, staring in disbelief and wondering why he didn't receive the lion's share of this treat.

Put Your Money Where Your Mouth Is, or Just Give Me a Treat

What a splendid farewell to summer we enjoyed the past week. Boating, clamming, feasting, walking, sleeping, and cuddling with Mom and Dad topped off our summer on Cape Cod. While Lizzie and I will remain here for another month since Mom and Dad are busy with market and travel, we are very aware that fall is in the air. Grandma and Grandpa will return us to Manhattan the first part of October, and then our winter lives will begin.

I am mindful of all the attention and care we’ve received throughout the course of our lives and it started me wondering why praise is such an integral part of the dog experience. I noticed that cats rarely, if ever, receive praise for going to their litter box or eating their dinner, while dogs are showered abundantly with praise for every little task they perform. Are we slower, more susceptible to such basic a reward? Or, are we more intelligent and therefore recognize and require verbal signals?

The thing is, I am almost nine years old and I really don’t need someone hovering over me when I’m relieving myself, saying “Mason, what a good boy,” or “Fine job, Mason!” I’m sorry but truthfully all I require is a nice carrot or biscuit after completion of my outdoor business. And honestly, dear reader, if I didn’t receive a treat afterwards it wouldn’t cause me to stop performing these functions. I would be angry, whiny, and obnoxious, but I would still need to do what I’m put outdoors to do.

People praise their children when they are toilet training them just as they do their dogs, but at least they stop the praise once they are trained. Why not with their dogs? Maybe I am dwelling too much on something of no consequence but it has struck me lately that we dogs receive praise long after our training is complete. I, for one, believe that a food treat is ample reward, requiring no verbal assistance. Cats are just so weird that I think people figured out, early on, that anything said to a cat is wasted. They pretty much do as they please and when they please.

And there you have it…more deep thoughts from a pug named Mason.

Respectfully submitted,

Mason

The essence of summer...Mom, Dad, Lizzie, and I all napping in Grandma's tv room. Pure bliss for this pug!

The Reluctant Diner, or I’m Just Not That Into Food

Mason asked me to write this blog because he is so embarrassed by what he calls my “aberrational behavior, “ whatever that means. He calls me a disgrace to my breed, a pug with no “raison d’etre,” another term I don’t know, and says I am someone he is ashamed to share space with.

See, this is the problem and honestly, I don’t understand why it upsets him so, but when I am wakened in the morning, taken out to do my business, and then given my food, I have no appetite yet. I am not a morning pug at all. If I were given a choice, I would sleep the entire day! I love my pug nest and I am just not ready to leave it as early as Mason is his. Mason wakes up with guns cocked, ready to get outside, then rush into the kitchen and gobble down his breakfast. By the time I wander downstairs, Mason has done everything and is already sitting posed near the table, begging for scraps. I love to say a leisurely good morning to everyone, kiss Mason, and cuddle in Grandpa’s lap before going outside. Mason has no patience for me and tries to push me away so his concentration isn’t broken.

After I come inside, my breakfast is put before me, and since I really have no appetite yet and don’t want to disappoint Grandma and Grandpa, I just stand in front of my bowl, staring at it. Mason hovers behind me, hoping someone will tell him it is okay to eat my food. Sometimes the cats come too and watch me. All of this makes me very nervous.

I want to please Grandma and Grandpa but I’m just not hungry, so some mornings I stand there for 15 minutes before I am able to even take a bite and some mornings I can’t eat at all.

So, you can only imagine how angry Mason is with me, particularly those of you who read him regularly. Mason believes that life is about getting and eating food. Everything he does is about those two goals. He is patient, impatient, tricky, sweet, funny, angry, and probably other things I can’t even think of, but all of these things are about getting food (he would say “the acquisition of victuals”).

Well, thanks for listening everyone, and I wish I could write about wonderful things like Mason does, but I’m just not that clever or interested.

Have a great day!

Lizzie

P.S. Guess what??? My mom and dad come today for a visit. I am so excited!

You can see I have a big audience which gives me stage fright.I'm looking at Grandpa, hoping he'll say I may be excused.

I sniff at it...

but I just don't want it.

Summer Time And The Livin’ Is Easy (For a Pug on Cape Cod)

I apologize, dear reader, for the large gap between writings. It is not my granny’s fault but strictly mine. I have settled in to a routine of such indulgence, lethargy, and pleasure that I haven’t felt as compelled to pursue my particular avocation. Part of the problem is that I don’t have to be so actively engaged in seeking out food and treats on the Cape. That is not to say that one mustn’t remain vigilant, but there is certainly less desperation in the pursuit here. There is always a bountiful supply of edibles in and around the kitchen. I know I wrote about eating steamers on the deck last week, but it happened again yesterday. For some bizarre reason Grandpa doesn’t care for the feet and so Lizzie and I have only to sit there as he discards those delicacies onto the deck.

Saturday night, my grandparents had friends over for a cookout and of course Lizzie and I were included. It was a veritable food orgy and by the end of the evening we were exhausted and sated, since their guests found us so delightful.

Lizzie and I seem to be sleeping later each day, with Grandma having to waken us at 8 AM some mornings. It is quite a life for pugs that have been living in the fast lane for the past nine months. Our daily schedule is never the same and always includes some errand running with Grandpa. We also love riding with Grandma in her little sports car when the top is down. These are all things which probably seem commonplace to dogs living here year round, but for us each activity is exciting and filled with promise.

Mom is in Italy on business right now but I know she is thinking about us. We are fine, happy, well fed, and enjoying every day. The only thing missing in the picture is her.

 Respectfully submitted,

 Mason

 P.S. I just reread this and I am ashamed by how weak and soft I sound. I hope I’m not losing my game! 

 

Look at Lizzie's dull vacant expression as she is being held.

 

And here is yours truly, doing what he does best at a dinner party!

 

I had to include this since Lizzie looks so ridiculous.

Here we are, at the end of the evening, sleepy and sated.

Food, Glorious Food or How A Pug Works the Room

Just when I thought my life was at a standstill, I win the lottery! Well, not literally, but for a highly motivated pug that is fully committed to the acquisition of food, there is nothing more momentous or thrilling than learning that Mom and Dad are hosting a dinner party. It is the Holy Grail, the brass ring, and the penultimate of events for such a pug. Now, the down side of this news is the acute realization that in order to achieve that goal, a pug must be willing to work hard at his craft.  A lukewarm approach will garner no reward. A clever pug knows that he must expend an inordinate amount of energy wagging his curled up stump of a tail, cocking his head coquettishly, standing posed and poised, and sending out the subliminal message of “Aren’t I adorable, don’t you want to feed me something from your plate, you know you can’t resist me, and just look at how grateful I am.” This is exhausting and time-consuming, folks, but yours truly is a veteran of this campaign.

Guests arrived at 4:30 and there I was, at the door giving out the best pug vibe I could muster. I did not go off duty until about 11:00, and then only because I couldn’t stand up any longer. I am both embarrassed and gladdened by the fact that goofy old Lizzie has no interest in this opportunity…embarrassed since she calls herself a pug and gladdened because it gave me such a huge field in which to work my game.

The best parties involve a serious amount of liquor, so that with any luck the event should take on a bacchanalian quality. Guests who imbibe are, as the evening progresses, usually loose and generous with bits of foods. Also, they become sloppy, dropping food carelessly. That is when I become a superstar in this production. Since this was a terrace party, I was able to move freely and swiftly, so that no crumb was ever left untouched for more than two seconds.

What a wonderful welcome to spring. I am still recuperating, dear reader, but basking in my memories of the first of many warm weather food events.

 Respectfully submitted,

 Mason

 

Here I am, lying on the terrace floor, waiting for the magic. Note my focus

Another rather nice shot of yours truly, waiting eagerly on the chaise for the first guests.

 

 

Just Keepin’ It Real, or What Price Fame

Since I am a pug who eschews idolatry or any form of cult-like devotion, I find myself now standing at the brink of this seductive abyss. I must be very clear about my position, dear reader, that I am not, nor ever will be, drawn like a moth to the flame of fame.

I am a very basic pug who enjoys food, sleep, food, walks, food, family, and food. Those who choose to elevate me to iconic status do so for their own personal reasons. I am still Mason from the ‘hood (to paraphrase J Lo’s tune).

 Pugs, by their very nature, are compelled to interact with humans. Helloooo, that is how we get food, right? Our hunting and gathering days are long over. That instinct has been bred out of us so that we are simply your companions and little more. Because we are dependent upon you, we know how to charm and entice. Our goal…the acquisition of food. When you see a successful pug in a film, you must understand that he or she is working for food and nothing else. Don’t assume that we are naturally “stars” or have star quality. We are just driven to unimaginable feats for the reward of a treat.

 Fame means nothing to us. We are unaffected by its siren-like lure. So, while I have a certain degree of notoriety and recognition these days, I am still the same unspoiled, unaffected, butt-sniffing, food-seeking pug you’ve known and loved. I am, however, not saying that I don’t enjoy the flattery from admiring females as well as the fan mail I’ve received, but rather that they have not affected my core persona.

 At the end of the day, as my mom is so wont to say, I am just a pug who enjoys doing pug things.

 Respectfully submitted,

 Mason

P.S. You should buy our book.

 

Here Lizzie and I are "keepin' it real" in bed Saturday morning.

 

Lizzie and I at Thompkins Sq. Park Saturday morning...just like normal everyday pugs.

 

 

 

Pugpourri – Random Thoughts From A Thoughtful Pug

Since I don’t feel cranky, curmudgeonly, or cantankerous, I really can’t rant about anything today. On the other hand, I don’t feel especially happy, upbeat, or warm and fuzzy. So, that begs the question…what is a pug to do? I came up with the idea of just “twittering” some random thoughts and observations.

 It’s nice having Lizzie. I can blame her for most everything that goes wrong in my life and still enjoy her company when I choose to.

 I stopped punishing Mom today and let her love me the way she used to, by lying in her lap, on my back, legs akimbo, and wallowing in her loving ministrations.

 Even though I’ve had frosty paws this week, I can feel and smell spring. I know it will explode without warning any day.

 I am not a fan of play dates. They are for the parents, not the dogs.

 I am comforted by attacking my stuffed bear. He serves as a pacifier when I am frustrated or a passive victim when I need to prove my virility.

 Why do we need baths? We’re pugs and as such should be allowed to smell gamey and oily.  I like the post bath treat though.

 What good does it serve to bathe a pug, then put his filthy harness back on, and let him return to his stinky bed?

 Walks are special for pugs…a time for bonding with Mom or Dad…so then why do they talk on their cell phones during our outing?

 Why do we have to wait to be fed? Why can’t we eat whenever we feel hungry?

 I like to fantasize about joining up with a pack of wild pugs…ones that are ferocious and predatory, roaming the streets of lower Manhattan.

 People always ask, “What do pugs want?” The answer is simple, folks, FOOD!

 

I apologize for my lack of focus today but sometimes a twitter is better than a squawk.

 

Respectfully submitted,

 

Mason

 

A typical day...Lizzie is acting like a fool and I'm thinking deep thoughts.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

For a Pug, Enough is Never Enough, or Take it to The Limit One More Time

How many of you pug owners/managers/companions have made a startling discovery about your pug, regarding his/her seemingly infinite capacity for the consumption of food? We are, by our very nature, voracious and compulsive eaters of anything that resembles food or food byproducts. I know that many of you, and you know to whom I speak, would like to believe that your  adorable little puggly wuggly will know when to apply the proverbial food brakes to an eating frenzy. I am here to dispel that notion forever! FACT: We will eat until we explode. This is true, dear reader.

 Which brings me to the difficult piece of this warning, difficult because it goes against all that I hold near and dear to myself. I feel as if I am betraying my breed by issuing this warning, but “Cutums Sweetums” needs Mom or Dad (or both) to be the voice of reason when it comes to meting out food and treats. And be prepared because your little bugged-eyed angel will fix you with the most intense, pleading, laser-like stare, after devouring an entire bag of baby carrots.  You will be tempted to say to yourself “just one more won’t hurt.” That one more can be the straw that breaks the pug’s back!

 We are so endearing, so convincing, and so relentless in our pursuit of even a crumb of food, that you parents must remain strong in the face of our puggy wiles. I  personally have witnessed a trained medical professional fold like a two-dollar suitcase, just from feeding me a liver treat after a particularly invasive medical procedure. This veterinarian then got down on the floor and tossed one treat after another down my gaping maw, saying how much fun it was watching me catch treats midair.(I have to give Grandma credit for teaching me this highly effective trick.)

 So yes, we are adorable and we know how much you love us…just don’t love us to death. You must offer us tough love, but understand we will not thank you.

 

Respectfully submitted,

Mason

 

Not a particularly interesting shot, but you can see I am eating from a proper feeding station.

Here is Lizzard tucking into her chow. Note too her feeding station is correctly elevated.

 

Beware of Pugs Bearing Rings

I fear these long, cold winter days are turning me into a pug in his dotage, one who spends much time dwelling on past events and memories. A particular memory is of my mom’s wedding, two and a half years ago. She was married at the home of my grandparents on Cape Cod. It was a beautiful August night and the ceremony was at the beach with a reception outdoors at their home. Now I wouldn’t want any of you readers to think I am a sentimental fool, because I am not. My memories naturally go to the food that was served and the catering prep going on in the kitchen. It was truly a golden opportunity for a clever pug. With all the comings and goings of people, flowers being arranged, tables laid, and caterers preparing and setting up food, it was extremely easy for me to assist in the kitchen. I was very helpful and made sure to stay close to the chef (read glued). While everyone else was fussing over Mom, I was busily employed in the best way I knew.

 What I didn’t realize, and this is where the story takes a decidedly less desirable turn, was that I had a particular role in the ceremony. Grandma drove me to the beach, since Mom and Grandpa came later, and then she attached this ridiculous little lace pillow-like contraption to the top of my halter. Tied to it were the two wedding rings. That’s right, dear reader, I was the ring bearer. At this point I was of two minds: I wanted to be a part of Mom’s day, to stand by her side loyally but I certainly did not like wearing this froufrou nonsense. What to do? Well, I just pretended it wasn’t there and stuck close to my mom’s ankles, reciting like a mantra that there would good snacks back at the house if I behaved.

 And yes, my mom was beautiful and my dad very handsome. I know people thought I rocked the rings but believe me, I will never do that again! The food was extraordinary and since it was served outdoors at various stations, I sampled as much as I could as a free-ranging pug.

 I’ve included some photos so you can see how faithfully I performed my duties.

 Respectfully submitted,

Mason

 

Here I am with one of the caterers, alert and eager to assist.

You can see how ridiculous I look.

Check out who Mom is kissing!