For Whom the Bell Tolls, or Pavlovian Pug

You may wonder, those of you who happen to read my Facebook page, what my somewhat cryptic but philosophic thoughts referenced yesterday. They were not the aberrant wanderings of an addled brain, let me assure you. Our weekday mornings have a comforting sameness and when that routine is broken by the unexpected or unusual, I am literally thrown out of my comfort zone.

As Lizzie and I waited patiently for our humble ¼ cup of kibbles to be doled out by Dad, our doorbell rang. Shock and then instant mobilization! I was at the door in a trice, ready to greet the pizza boy at 6:45 am. My brain works in a very linear fashion and there is little to no reasoning in its function…A + B = C…the bell rings, it is pizza being delivered, and it is my job to wait for it. There cannot be any other possibility. When the pizza didn’t arrive within the anticipated time frame, I began a furious and unearthly barking, somewhat akin to a death keen. I looked frantically around at Mom and Dad, and then at Lizzie who had curled up for her morning nap. Why weren’t they crazed with excitement and concern? My eyes shot wildly about as I kept up my cries. Finally, my parents approached me, telling me in a somewhat patronizing way that it was a mistake. There was no pizza coming, which is worse than a child being told there is no Santa Claus. They said someone had hit our buzzer by mistake. At this point I lost my cool and began to howl even louder. There was no consolation for me, and the bitterness of my reality slowly sunk in.

And so you understand, dear reader, the true meaning of yesterday’s Facebook update. I am a pug that functions within the parameters of my limited world and when those parameters are breached, then I lose my mental compass. Yesterday was a very trying day for yours truly, but since tonight is Friday my hope springs anew!

Respectfully submitted,

Mason

Waiting

Waiting

Always waiting

A Nip in The Air, A Bone in The Grass…Pug’s Delight

Were I a skilled artist, I would paint a canvas using vivid oranges, reds, yellows, and rich greens, browns, and purples. I cannot begin to understand why I wax poetic once September makes an appearance, but suddenly the nights become cool so that Grandma must close the windows and doors, the mornings require sweatshirts, the sun’s rays reach the earth in a way that pleases both humans and animals, a dry, crisp breeze blows steadily, redolent with the scent of smoke and dying leaves.

For a pug it is the time of most intense and exquisite pleasure. I awaken with a new vigor, greet the day with wild abandon, enjoy my breakfast of squash and kibbles with a long missed passion, and am ready to embrace the ground upon which I walk with gratitude and joy. To take a large marrowbone outside at this time of year is to lose oneself completely in the simple task of emptying its treasures.

On one such day I lost time and myself. Grandma, for the first time ever, had to come and carry me in for supper. After dinner I demanded to be let back out so I could again pursue my soothing activity. I suspect Grandma forgot about me because she didn’t come for me until bedtime. A beautiful new moon had risen, the owls had started hooting, the grass was wet with dew, and yet I remained stretched out on the grass savoring the juices of my effort.

While I was reluctant to leave my spot, the night air was making me unusually sleepy. These nights bring the deepest most satisfying sleep and some mornings  I now must be awakened for breakfast. Some of you will ask yourselves why an old curmudgeon of a pug would write such a sensitive blog today, and I must confess that I don’t really have a clue. Maybe I feel sentimental because my time on Cape Cod is drawing to a close, the weather is changing, or I know winter cannot be far behind. Any one of or all of these reasons will suffice. I am a multi-faceted pug who likes to savor the bounties of Mother Nature.

Tonight my mom and dad arrive for the long weekend and we’ve so much planned for their visit. Happy Labor Day, dear reader!

Respectfully submitted,

Mason

P.S. In case you think I’ve lost my edge, Lizzie is still a fool.

Here I am with the mother bone, warning Grandma to keep away.

I like this view because you can see how skilled I am with managing large objects.

Here I am in the full September sun enjoying myself and wishing Grandma would just leave me alone!

Look at that fool Lizzie. This is what she does in September sun...what a waste.

Pug Pleasing Pumpkin Puree, or Good For You and Tastes Good Too

After a brief hiatus I am back, dear reader, ready to regale you with tales from the pug vault. Today’s entry may be of interest to both you and your human keepers. I realize that it would be a very rare pug indeed that needs his or her appetite stimulated so that what I am about to reveal may sound like “bringing coals to Newcastle.” My grandma is always looking for ways to enhance the quality of my life (Lizzie’s too, unfortunately) and so when her sister suggested adding pumpkin to our meals, Grandma moved on it immediately.

I have never questioned the taste of my kibble meals, nor have I ever complained about their repetitive quality, but after having pumpkin introduced into the mix my dining experience will never be the same.

There is a quintessential earthy bouquet and organic texture to pumpkin…a certain “je ne sais quoi” that makes this dietary addition irresistible. Grandma’s sister is a dog trainer and general fount of information about all things dog, so that when she says something is good, Grandma always listens. Pumpkin is supposedly rich in nutrients, loaded with fiber, very filling, and virtually without calories. Do I care about any of this? Of course not! I just know that having pumpkin added to my kibbles is the most exciting thing to come along since marrowbones.

If you recall, our little Miss Reluctant Diner was always mincing around her bowl, waiting to be coerced into taking a bite, stood over and monitored whenever food was presented…but not any more! You should see the snarling, aggressive, demanding beast she has become since pumpkin came into our lives.

This entry is a personal thank you to Debby in Maryland for giving Grandma the best advice ever. Pugs, demand that you too get to savor this little taste of heaven. A tablespoon, mixed with your grim gray kibbles, will change your dining experience. When it comes to food, you can always trust Mason!

Respectfully submitted,

Mason

The only downside to pumpkin is the unattractive residue it always leaves on a pug's face.

But, oh my, is it ever worth it!