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!

Pilgrim Pugs in PTown, or Where No Pug Is A Stranger

For those of you uninitiated to the pleasures and sheer delight of Provincetown, let me give you a pug’s eye view. This spectacular little town at the very tip of Cape Cod never fails to charm, seduce, and captivate both people and pugs. It is the repository of all things bizarre, wonderful, and indulgent. Here a pug can receive hugs and kisses from women who look like men and men who look like women.  In PTown all the lines are blurred and a pug can truly receive the attention, love, and adulation he so rightfully deserves! It is also the most pet friendly place on the planet.

We drove out Sunday, and while the weather wasn’t terribly encouraging, we all knew fun was about to be had. Lizzie and I napped in the car while Mom, Grandma, and Grandpa had brunch at the Lobster Pot on Commercial Street. For Mom it is her favorite journey. After they were finished we were fetched for the traditional stroll up Commercial Street. The street was thronged with revelers who were undaunted by the steady rain. For a pug, this is a tricky condition. One must navigate carefully or risk getting stepped upon. Of course the air is filled with the scent of seafood, fried bread, fudge, and ice cream…an intoxicating cocktail for yours truly.

Along the way we received the usual attention from every sort of human imaginable. Dogs were everywhere and there was a lot of butt-sniffing and circling. Our first stop was the pet store, where Mom purchased darling iced dog cookies for us, which we ate outside on their little platform. As we moved along, we attracted many admiring looks, responses, and pats. What a glorious day, but I fear not for the reluctant Lizzie. She, as I’ve stated before, has no game and never will. People and other dogs like her because she is so tiny and saccharine, which nauseates me. One woman told my grandmother that she knew immediately that I was “the man” because she had never seen such a swagger or such a “butch” dog. I rest my case, dear reader.

 I will be writing daily, I think, since so much is happening here and Grandma is so accessible. With so much exposure, I hope you don’t lose interest in my ramblings.

Respectfully submitted,

Mason

Here Lizzie and I are wedged in MY bed. She grabbed it when we got in the car for the return trip, so I just climbed in too! The nerve of that fool dog!

 

I know, it's not a shot of me but I thought for those of you unfamiliar with low tide in PTown, it is worth a look.