Tag Archives: French bulldog

An Unfortunate Affliction, or Daphne’s Dirty Little Secret

Sitting in the capacity of senior member of this motley little pack, I am in a position to observe and comment about our behaviors and foibles. And so, dear reader, lest I offend any of you more sensitive sorts, let me warn now that what I am about to reveal will definitely be off-putting. I am not exploring this region of dog behavior because I wish to shock or horrify, but rather to inform and educate. While this particular “indulgence” is one with which I have had no familiarity, it is something I now fully recognize but abhor.

Daphne, Grandma and Grandpa’s French bulldog puppy, is an aficionado of coprophagia…the eating of feces. Yes, dear heart, it has a name…a medical name because it is in fact a medical condition. No longer must this repulsive habit be unspoken or, at best, whispered about among only the closest of friends. It must be openly discussed and examined. Vets disagree about the reasons for such a predilection and there are as many “cures” as there are reasons. Grandma has added Adolph’s meat tenderizer to our food, mixed pumpkin in all of our bowls, sprayed all of the stools with Sour Apple but with no success. We are now going to have pineapple added to our diet because supposedly that produces a highly unpalatable taste to our waste. I am not holding my breath on this either. Several theories suggest a vitamin deficiency as the cause, but after our vet thoroughly checked Daphne out, that was quickly eliminated. It is a highly unlikely cause for most dogs today since we are fed such perfectly balanced and nutritious diets. Another theory posited is that it is an acquired or learned behavior. Since neither Daphne’s mother nor littermates have that habit, then we can assume that theory is false.

So, poor beleaguered Grandma and Grandpa rush about frantically, with their state of the art “pooper scooper,” through poison ivy and brambles, trying to capture whatever any of the four of us deposit before Daphne can do “clean up in aisle four.”

When Daphne was in puppy class and one of the puppies decided the middle of the floor was as good a place as any to relieve himself, Grandma made a startling discovery. She, as a joke, told the owner that rather than clean it up she could turn Daphne loose. Almost every owner confessed their puppy liked that particular delicacy too, but they had been too ashamed and embarrassed to share this information. Grandma was dumbfounded learning this. Even the trainer said some of his own dogs enjoyed that activity.

As it stands now, Daphne no longer enjoys what she makes, but certainly seeks out Cecile’s, Lizzie’s, and mine. Grandma is covered in poison ivy, and Grandpa looks like Lucy in the candy factory episode of “I Love Lucy,” trying to capture the poops of three pugs, all squatting in different directions of the yard simultaneously, before Daphne “beats him to the punch,” so to speak.

We would welcome any and all comments on this one, folks, but for now kisses from Daphne are avoided.

Respectfully submitted,


You didn't think I would show anything tasteless, did you? Just yours truly totally at peace on the deck.

Sunday morning, in Grandpa's lap, reading the Times...perfect!


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Sisterhood of the Traveling Pack, or I’ll Never Understand Females

Just when I thought I had a fairly good handle on the various personalities, positions, and alignments of my pack I get blindsided by aberrant female behavior. Now those of you who are long-time readers of my blog, know of my grudging tolerance /respect for Lizzie. You also know that after nearly three years of living with her I have a pretty clear understanding of how she functions, which is with serious limitations! So, it came as a huge shock when the most recent events unfolded.

This weekend on the Cape was unremarkable in that no parties or outings were scheduled, and we were, for the most part, at home relaxing. On one such day, our little hedgehog Lizzie discovered a neglected marrowbone, still filled with much marrow and redolent of its earthy nest in the yard. She, quietly and unobtrusively, proceeded to work on its juicy treasures, seemingly unnoticed by the rest of the pack. Daphne, however, the nine-month old Frenchie and the bane of my existence, caught a glimpse of this activity and moved over swiftly to take control of said bone. Out of nowhere, with the ferocity of a cougar and the roar of a lion, Lizzie sprang for her. I must say that Daphne and I have gone at one another many times since our arrival, with neither of us backing down, but in this instance she retreated, looking confused and bewildered. Not convinced this was a real response from Lizzie, Daphne again approached and received the same warning. Imagine, dear reader, a very small, round, shy and foolish little pug with probably about five teeth in her head, terrifying a fearless French bulldog. I felt certain I was mistaken in what I had witnessed.

But lo, again a very interesting scene unfolded, involving the three females. Each morning the three of them hop up in an overstuffed chair and do a three-way wrestling activity that can go on for fifteen or twenty minutes. It is fascinating to watch…just the three females…in a very intense but loving ballet. This morning, however, Daphne got a little too intense with Cecily, who then took the maternal role of chastising her a bit with stronger bites and some high-pitched howling. Again, surprising this old veteran of dog play/fights, Lizzie jumped on Cecily’s back, wrapping both front paws around her and began to lick her ears and face in an attempt to comfort her. She sensed how upset Cecily was with Daphne’s rough play. I cannot understand, for the life of me, how these three consistently play, fight, comfort, and then repeat it all again! What is it about being a female that allows such an incredible mood change? Females are the final frontier for this old male.

And there you have it… an observation from a venerable vantage point.

Respectfully submitted,


Here is how it begins...

And then it escalates a bit.

And then they are all "lovey dovey." Go figure.


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The Week in Review, or Through A Pug Darkly

I must clarify a few things misspoken by our Miss Lizzie in her latest blog posting, which is to what my tweaked biblical quotation refers. I’m afraid Lizzie’s view of the world and its events is somewhat inaccurate. She has been on some rampant ego trip lately that has me completely flummoxed. So, dear reader, while you may find her sweet, simple expression charming and disarming, she is a pug with a highly inflated sense of self worth.

She does not overpower me, but rather she is sneaky, underhanded, and very manipulative. There is a word for it but I risk the wrath of all of my female readers if I dare utter it.

I’d like to move on to a topic of greater interest to me, and that is my mom’s birthday yesterday. The weeks leading up to this event every year are torture for all of us, and by that I mean Dad, Grandma, Grandpa, Lizzie and me. She does this uniquely human thing that I find wholly self-indulgent. By attaching so much importance to the actual age achieved, rather than the success and happiness attendant upon it, she spirals down into this abyss of depression, tears, and angry outbursts. I have learned, and Lizzie is starting to learn, but her learning curve is so slow, that it is in our best collective interest to keep a low profile and only cuddle when she gives a positive signal. This year was no exception…the crying jags, the snappish temper flare-ups, and the withdrawal into a fetal position all began a good month before the actual date. Now I think most of you know how much we love our mom and how much she means to us so that the approach of this black cloud is just something we must endure. After the birthday, the very next day, the sun starts peeking through again. Mom, we love you so much. You are so beautiful in every way, but we’d like to see you move beyond this emotional train wreck.

I have to update you on the status of Grandma and Grandpa’s acquisition of a dog. This is a bitter pill for yours truly to swallow, but I am a pug who deals only with reality…no sugar coating for me. Her name is Daphne, as I mentioned, and they will be picking her up on December 5th.  This will be a sad day for me, but I’ve lived through other challenges and this is no different. I will face it with equanimity and grace. Lizzie, of course, is doing her “happy girl” dance because she feels there will be a natural connection between her and this baby French bulldog. Lizzie is a fool and always will be. It is a somewhat frightening thought though, but I can’t imagine any dog so stupid as to align herself with Lizzie.

And there you have it, folks: my news from the city that never sleeps. I, however, am ready for a much-deserved nap.

Respectfully submitted,



Here she is, in my mom's arms. I call her Bat Girl. I know Mom was an emotional puddle the day they went to meet her.


This is what a dog should look like. Lizzie and I were trying to be brave in the face of adversity.



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Two’s Company and Three’s a Crowd, or There’s Only So Much a Pug Can Take

Believe it or not, dear reader, I am not a pug who asks much of life.  I also consider myself to be fairly tolerant and accommodating. I alluded to there being too much excitement in my apartment lately and that is the topic to which I turn today.

I know Grandma is coming tomorrow, but not to see Lizzie and me. You are probably asking, “Why not?” and the answer is diabolically simple. She and my mom are traveling to Pennsylvania to “just look at” a French bulldog puppy. I, for one, am feeling a huge range of emotions…shock, confusion, betrayal, and outrage. The puppy is not for us, but for Grandma. I cannot understand why she would want to tamper with what is a fine and somewhat equitable arrangement. I mean, really, what is to be gained by such foolhardy and wanton behavior? Look at how I’ve struggled with the inclusion of one simple-minded, weak-willed, nincompoop of a pug (read “Lizzie”) into our family. And at Grandma’s I’ve had to endure the crack-addict antics of an adolescent female cat (read, Zoe) and her arrogant, dismissive consort (read, Oliver). I’ve dealt with all of these inequities with grace, dignity, and patience…but this is a low blow to yours truly. Forgive me, dear reader, but the last thing Grandma and Grandpa need is a peeing, pooping, puking little puppy!

Mom says that Grandma and Grandpa love us so much that they are having a hard time dealing with the yearly separation…that they need a full-time dog of their own. That they will always love us first and that we will still be there for our summers, and that blah blah blah. Does any of this sound familiar, folks? I make no apologies for my resentment. It is just another nail in my proverbial coffin.

I will keep you updated, rest assured.

Respectfully submitted,


Here she is...I just don't get it...


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