Absence Makes the Heart Grow Fonder, or Did You Miss Me?

I know I know…my silence speaks volumes but, dear reader, my voice is stilled only by Grandma’s preoccupation with other matters (none of which could possibly be as important as my words). At any rate, I am pushing her to complete what I don’t consider an odious task, but rather a creative and informative pleasure.

My fourth of July was all a pug of my advanced years could hope for: a car trip cuddled next to Mom, green grass dotted with marrowbones, clam shells thrown casually about, lobster outdoors, fireworks viewed from the comfort of Grandpa’s Jeep, Four Seas ice cream, and a visit to my favorite animal hospital. No, there was no injury or illness…just a once-over by my sardonic, I’ve-seen-it-all vet, Dr. Munson. Mom was concerned since I am less able to navigate freely with the gradual wasting of my hindquarters, particularly the left hind leg. With his usual shrug and caustic tone, he assured her that I still “had game” and was in for the long haul. Reassured, she hugged me and professed her undying love. Frankly, I have no idea why she worries so. So what if I’m held together by duct tape? I have more enthusiasm and lust for life than most puppies I’ve seen. And of course, Lizzie performed her little “Oh Mason, I’m glad you’re back and so glad you are okay” dance when we returned. She is so disingenuous and I know this because the minute I left she was cuddling with Cecily, like I never existed.

The good part of this growing infirmity is that I am free to be me, and  dear reader, as any elderly human knows, one of these freedoms is to poop when and where I wish, without any warning. I apologize if I’m offending any of you,  but this is my reality. Yes, I do don the nightly diaper but it can manage only so much payload (forgive me again) and there are oftentimes escapees. And often, some errant stool, like rain from heaven, falls to the ground, as I either am  being carried or strolling through the house. Grandma and Dad are not fans of this occurrence. Of course that presents a secondary problem since Grandma’s domineering, alpha Frenchie, Daphne has a predilection for my sweet offerings. As I’ve often said, old age is not for sissies, nor the faint of heart.

Everyone was on high alert that weekend, always trying to  stay one step ahead of the inevitable. And  into the fray came Otis, the English bulldog, who vomits when he is frightened, but he spent his days at the beach swimming and body boarding.

I’m not sure how sad Grandma was seeing us leave but I know the weekend was magic for this old pug.

Respectfully submitted,

Mason

Ridiculous two females...Cecily and Lizzie just wallow in their girlish love for one another.

Daphne, the terrorist, on our boat outing over Memorial Day...

Otis at the beach, on a beach chair...His nose got sunburned because he spent every day in the water without sunscreen.

And now, the best is saved for last. Who could resist this pug mug?

Not too bad for an old guy. I'm in it to win it!

The Case of the Purloined Pug

Apologies to Edgar Allan Poe for the adaptation of his famous title, but it is so fitting for today’s revelation. I know that many of you fear I have too jaundiced a view of life, and more specifically, of love. In order to dispel that notion, dear reader, I have decided to reveal the most intimate and guarded emotional experience of my life.

If you recall, I made reference in my earliest writing to my mom being the alpha and omega, next to food, of my life. For most of you, this probably went flying past your cognitive processing center, and so I am refreshing your memory. It is important to the context of what I am about to reveal: that pugs do feel love —  intensely and passionately. There, I’ve said it and I’m not ashamed! I haven’t felt that emotion for another pug (as you humans tend to fantasize) but I surely did the first time I laid eyes on my mom.

I mentioned that she is a knockout, but that had nothing to do with the kismet like quality of our introduction. When she came to meet me at the breeder’s, our initial contact was cataclysmic…the earth literally moved for me. The electrical connection between us was instantaneous, and nothing could have kept me from bounding into her outstretched arms. Yes, she stole my heart and my soul, dear reader.

For those of you who doubt that such depth of emotion can exist for a pug, well then, just look deeply into your own pug’s eyes and see what he or she is trying to tell you every day.What my mom and I share “let no man tear asunder.” Happy Valentine’s Day, Mom. You had me at “Hello, Mason.”

 

Respectfully submitted,

 

Mason

 

While this isn't a great shot of yours truly, it does show a romantic wedding and my loving devotion to the bride.