Tag Archives: grandma

Buffalo Pizzle, A Gentle Breeze, and Good Company

Something about the weather, the angle of the sun, the relaxed atmosphere that led Grandma to the cupboard for our stash of buffalo pizzles…They are stinky, foul smelling items but to us the greatest treat in the world. Daphne, of course, as our leader, would never dream of joining us on the grass for these delicacies. She always separates herself from the pack…something about maintaining a certain discipline and distance I think. She will inhale hers while we are still sucking and chewing away. Poor old Cecily though…because she is both blind and deaf, she loses hers easily and then she wanders around trying to find it. Grandma always keeps one eye on her though so she doesn’t harm herself.

What a summer this has been for us Fresh Air Fund dogs…the most fun of all is playing Treibball with Daphne. Actually, it is Daphne who herds the ball and we just chase her, barking crazily. it is exhausting because she is so fast, chasing that ball through the woods, around trees, up and down little hills, all the while howling and screaming at it like a foxhound on the scent. When Grandma and Grandpa say we’ve had enough, we collapse with our little sides heaving and our tongues going in and out so fast from panting…but it is the greatest thing ever!

I know some great big dogs are coming tonight and that worries me a bit…two Bernese Mountain dogs, and one huge Labrador…Grandma says she will make sure we are safe though. It is going to be really quiet in NY when we return, but at least Maisie and I have each other during the days.

Last night Grandma had a few leftover scraps of salmon to add to our dinner. The smell was driving us mad and the taste was out of this world…wouldn’t mind having that every night!.

I’ve included some photos of our pizzle party and a video of us playing Treibball…

Until next time,

Phillip

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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?

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Bah Humbug! This Pug Has Had Enough

Well, dear reader, my absence from the blog world indicates nothing more than the arrival of my usual low period preceding the holidays, and this year is worse than usual. Above and beyond my usual despondency is the overwhelming influx of negative energy. And by that I mean, the arrival last Friday of Grandma and Grandpa’s “little bundle of joy” (aka Cecily), or in my view, their “sack of coal.” She arrived wound tighter than a spring, black as pitch, panting wildly and breathing stentoriously…not what I’d call an auspicious beginning. Going out for a walk with her was nearly as challenging as it was with Lizzie on her first night in the city. And then there is the added difficulty of her invisibility at night. I’m afraid that  black pugs just don’t work for yours truly. They seem a breed apart from fawns, the real pugs.

To compound my growing resentment, this female upstart had the unmitigated nerve to attack me in MY HOME during meal preparation! Can you believe that? She was fierce too! You would think that Lizzard would have risen to my defense, but no, in true Lizzard fashion she booked it into the living room, begging not to be involved, and waited out the melee. It is of no concern to me that this Cecily has never been in a city before or that she was uprooted from her kennel and kennel mates just three weeks ago.

I was not sorry to see her leave on Saturday morning. I did, however, require much more than the usual quality time with Mom. She was at work part of the day Saturday but we cuddled a good deal that afternoon.  What she doesn’t understand though, is that I need a lot more from her than ever before. Monday mornings send me into a crashing depression and cause me to behave abysmally. I know she must leave for work and yet knowing that, I still demand more of her. Due to her new job she has even less time than before, which means again, I am receiving the short end of the stick. Further complicating this scenario of misery is my knowing that Grandma and Grandpa now have the new Frenchie (Daphne), in addition to crazy Cecily.

And so, for those of you who have reason to be of good cheer this holiday season, I say “bully for you!” I, for one, only can anticipate a wildly chaotic visit to Grandma and Grandpa’s while a teething Frenchie tears through the house and a black pug who wiggles and snorts, become the center of everyone’s attention.

I finally understand the Grinch.

Respectfully submitted,

Mason

Just look at how comfortable those two females are with MY SPACE!

You can easily guess my mood by my body language. Sign me "down and out in Manhattan."

Alright...here it is...the photo of Daphne all of you have been waiting to see. Grandma said she wouldn't post my blog if I didn't include her.Alright, here it is…the photo of baby Daphne. Grandma said she wouldn’t post my blog today if I didn’t give her space too. Whatever! (to borrow from lame Lizzie).

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Lord of My Things…The Pug Possessive Case

The day was simply gorgeous. We saw the sun for the first time in many days and I, for one, was ready to snag my quota of Vitamin D. Grandma helped me in that endeavor by supplying me with a “Bully Stick” of handsome proportions.

With no interest in the activities of anyone else or curiosity about the doings of Lizzie, I trotted forth into the back yard, found my spotlight of sun, lowered myself onto the grass, and began the laborious process of consuming this braided beast.

I lost all track of time and it was only when I began the dreaded gagging and choking that Grandma appeared, falsely praising me for my fine efforts. I know from past history that when she takes that tone and utters those words, that I am about to be separated from my prized possession. I replied with threatening gurgles and rumbles through tightly clenched teeth, warning her away from me. She, undaunted, proceeded to pluck me up and wrench it from my jaws. It was beautiful, honed to slimy perfection…one end still hard and intact, and the other a viscera-like Udon noodle of bull pizzle. How could she be so cruel? I was so happy. So what if I choked and gagged a bit? Foiled again by my cruel summer mistress.

Now, here comes the crushing irony in my cautionary tale. The next time I was outside I hid that little piece of heaven back in the woods, so that at a later date I might enjoy its forbidden pleasure. Wouldn’t you know it though, that little ditsy pea brain Lizzie found it, took it onto the deck and proceeded to enjoy it herself. In all of her glorious stupidity, the little twit just assumed it was hers…left for her by the pizzle fairies!

Life can be so unfair at times.

Respectfully submitted,

Mason

Here I am with the prize...the stride of pride. This is an earlier bully stick...not the one of which I write, but you get the idea.

Here I am with the prize...making the stride of pride. This is an earlier bully stick...not the one of which I write, but you get the idea.

I've begun the laborious work shaping and molding

I've begun the laborious work of shaping and molding.

A certain amount of licking is involved. This is not something an amateur should attempt.

A certain amount of licking is involved. This is not something an amateur should attempt.

As you can see, I have much still to do. It is exhausting but worth the time and effort, as are most things in life, until someone snatches it away from you!

As you can see, I still have much to do. It is exhausting but worth the time and effort, as are most things in life, until someone snatches it away from you!

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Don’t Give Up The Ship!

I must go down to the sea again, to the lonely sea and the sky; and all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by. John Masefield

Ah, yes, dear reader, I now wax poetic as I think of that day on the sea with Grandma, Grandpa, and Lizzie. Saturday was such a dazzling day that it seemed to be a trick or an illusion. We kept watching the sky closely, sure that the ubiquitous rain clouds would appear and we’d have to retreat back into our dripping house. But no, the sun shone on and so we packed up for the boat and headed down to the marina. I wasn’t sure we were included until we unloaded our gear at the marina. Usually it was deemed too hot for us to be out in the sun for the day. The air, though, was cool, dry, and breezy and we were keen for the outing!

The ride out to our island is the best part of the journey for me. I sit in Grandpa’s lap and steer the boat, with the wind blowing my ears in a charming, jaunty manner. I am, for that time, the captain of the vessel, but for some unexplained reason, the rules changed and I wasn’t notified. Without any warning, I saw Grandpa hoist that loser Lizzie onto his lap, giving her my seat and power! I was absolutely gobsmacked (to borrow from the Brits)!

I looked back and forth, from Grandma to Grandpa, knowing it was just a cruel mistake and that they would recognize their error immediately. Instead, Grandma just scooped me up into her arms, saying cheerfully, “Well, now, isn’t this fun, Mason Man? Getting to ride with Grandma today?” I couldn’t tell her how angry, hurt, and offended I was, but she is a pretty shrewd old woman and I think she got the message.

The return trip was much different. Grandpa gave the signal as we left the island and began our return journey. Up I went into his lap, and took the wheel. I don’t like to boast but I do cut quite a figure when I am piloting the boat. Our return was uneventful but it did help ease the smarting wounds inflicted on the outbound trip. All in all it was a wonderful day and I think Lizzie and I are quite seaworthy pugs.

Respectfully submitted,

Mason

Look at goofy Lizzie in the captain's seat. She has no idea what she is doing

Look at goofy Lizzie in the captain's seat. She has no idea what she is doing.

This is what a captain looks like, sitting at the helm. I was born for this.

This is what a captain looks like, sitting at the helm....serious and sober. I was born for this.

A closer look at yours truly. I probably should have made Lizzie walk the plank that day!

A closer look at yours truly. I probably should have made Lizzie walk the plank that day!

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TGMGC, or Thank God My Grandma’s Coming

Do you remember in Mary Poppins, how the chimney sweep announced the arrival of a new strong wind, blowing from a different direction, which served as a metaphor for Mary Poppins’ appearance at the Banks household? Well, dear reader, the same analogy pertains for the upcoming arrival of my grandma this weekend. She, like Mary Poppins, brings much needed change into our little household and of course, a great traveling bag (see my entry “Pugs and Kisses For Grandma, Jan. 2009).

 Because I am a thinking pug, as well as a highly sensitive one, I am aware of the whispered conversations concerning Grandma’s upcoming visit. Lizzie, however, sheltered within her cocoon of oblivion and insensitivity, hasn’t a clue. I have been mentally composing a wish list of Grandma treats for this visit…something with yams, duck, or buffalo…or maybe a yummy knucklebone from the butcher. I know that Grandma will sweep me up in her arms, exclaiming over my beauty, smothering me with hugs and kisses that I will patiently endure, while waiting for the presentation of gifts. This will be further delayed because Lizzie also will have to be fussed over, which will take even longer because that fool dog actually loves this part the most! During this, I will strike a pose with my tight little tail twitching wildly, eyes beseechingly glued to Grandma’s face, while sending subliminal messages for her to put Lizzie down and dig into that bag of treats. Fortunately for me, Grandmas reads and understands signals well. She will look at me and say something like, “Does my little Mason man want his treat now?” And I will begin twirling around and vibrating all over, with eyes bulging dangerously. Just seeing her reach into the treat bag nearly sends me over the edge.

 This is how I have lulled myself to sleep each night this week, replaying that most perfect of moments and all of the foreplay leading up to it. Ah, Grandma, please get here safely and quickly Friday.

 

Respectfully submitted,

 Mason

 

Could any grandma resist this face? I think not!

Could any grandma resist this face? I think not!

 

 

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A Pug With A Plan, or Saving Bones For My Future

Two summers ago my grandma purchased marrowbones from the butcher for me to chew on in her back yard. Now, for those of you unfamiliar with these particular hunks of goodness, they are large round beef bones with marrow filled centers. Because of their size, they are quite safe for pugs to chew on, plus they don’t splinter. Grandma knew they would keep me happily occupied outdoors for some time, which meant I wasn’t inside, clinging to her ankles like a land shark, waiting for just a crumb  to come my way. Being a clever pug, as I’ve mentioned before, I quickly figured out that if I seemingly ate them quickly, another would soon arrive. As all pug owners know, we are not, as a breed, blessed with spectacular canine style teeth. Ours are more the gnarly, widely spaced, stumpy type of chompers. We also tend to lose them easily and early in life. So, it should be clear to most anyone that I couldn’t possibly eat these beastie bones in such short order. No, yours truly would chew for only the time it took to suck out the marrow, then slip into the woods, deposit the bone in the leaves and brush, and return to the back door whining pitifully.

 I like to think of myself as a forward thinking pug. I am always looking ahead, planning for my future (unlike many of my shortsighted brethren). Grandma is sharp but she really never figured out this little trick, and so, by the end of that summer my grandparents’  woods was a veritable minefield of marrowbones!

 What incredible pleasure it was returning this past summer and introducing Lizzie to the exquisite taste of aged and decayed bones. It was our treasure hunt every day! On hot days these treats took on a more piquant  taste, even though it was slightly off-putting having to compete with the ants that crawled over them.

 Planning ahead gives this pug a decided advantage over other dogs. Since I couldn’t possibly discover every hidden bone from the previous year, who knows what treasures this summer will yield?

 Respectfully submitted,

 Mason

 

Alright, I know you were hoping for some photo showing me either chewing or burying a bone. Well, get over it! Just look at how beautiful Lizzard and I looked last summer.

Alright, I know you were hoping for some photo showing me either chewing or burying a bone. Well, get over it! Just look at how beautiful Lizzard and I were last summer.

 

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