Tag Archives: love

Love Walked Into My Life, or Ode to Miss Brooke

As you know, dear reader, no greater love hath a pug than for his mistress, but I’m not going to lie, my love for Miss Brooke exceeds what passes for normal infatuation. When Mom and Dad realized their travel schedules were going to overlap for their away time, panic ensued. Who could they possibly find to care for their dearest treasures (Lizzie being a more tarnished treasure)? This was not something they approached lightly, but rather with a heavy heart and much dread. But imagine their joy and excitement when they reconnected with Mom’s sister’s oldest and best friend who also lives in New York. Miss Brooke not only loves pugs with every fiber of her being, but also has an aged family pug living on Cape Cod with her parents.

It was kismet, destiny, fate, call it whatever you wish, but from the moment Miss Brooke came to care for us I was lost. Her voice is like melted butter, warm caramel, sweet honey…all of those luscious tempting tasty treats rolled into one mellifluous sound. When she speaks to us we feel her love and adoration. And her smile….ahhhh. Her entire face becomes illuminated every time she smiles, which is a constant with her. I would wiggle and dance until I collapsed just to gaze upon her countenance. Her body is soft and warm, and to cuddle with her at night is one of my life’s sweetest memories.

She is never cross and always ready to love and hug us. Even when I bark incessantly (for which I have no explanation), she just smiles and asks if I am hungry! Fellow pugs, I have found nirvana right here in the Lower East Side of New York City! And guess what? She returns to us this coming week! Oh thank you patron saint of pugs for what you have so graciously put into our lives! And you know those embarrassing moments I am so prone to? She just says, “Oh Mason, you poor little love, let me clean you up, honey, and you’ll be good as new.” And then she kisses me. Maybe I’ve already crossed on over the rainbow bridge, folks, and this is heaven. If not, then it is heaven on earth.

Respectfully submitted,

Mason

I have included a short film that Miss Brooke took having a conversation with me. Listen to the sweetness of her voice.

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Ask Mason #2, or What is Love?

Readers often ask me questions of both a personal and spiritual nature, so that from time to time, I feel compelled to address them in this format. One that recurs, in one form or another, is “You really love Lizzie, don’t you?”  That, dear reader, is a loaded question – one fraught with many ramifications and consequences.

Much like Professor Henry Higgins, in Lerner and Loewe’s My Fair Lady, as he sings about Eliza Doolittle, I can say of Lizzie “I’ve grown accustomed to her face.” Hmmm, I just realized the strong connection between Eliza and Lizzie. How did I not note that before? I digress. Lizzie has become a part of my daily scenery, and more accurately, quoting the lyrics from said song,

“I’ve grown accustomed to her face.
She almost makes the day begin.”

The question still remains, “Do you really love Lizzie?” and to that I must honestly answer that I don’t know.  How is it possible to love such a non-entity of a pug? She contributes nothing to my day. She fusses needlessly over me when I’m ill. She stares at me with these pathetic mooneyes. She always waits for me to have the first treat. She is incapable of having an intelligent conversation and she simpers like an empty-headed twit. She protects me from any imagined danger on the street. She knows I’m not interested in cuddling but sometimes ignores that caveat and curls up close to me anyway if she “senses” I might need her little body near me. She is cloying and annoying. She has lost more teeth than she currently has, and her body resembles a cross between a hedgehog and a woodchuck. So how could I possibly love this foolish pug?

Think of me as a pug Rex Harrison and sing these words:

Damn! Damn! Damn! Damn!
I’ve grown accustomed to her face.
She almost makes the day begin.
I’ve grown accustomed to the tune that
She whistles night and noon.
Her smiles, her frowns,
Her ups, her downs
Are second nature to me now;
Like breathing out and breathing in.
I was serenely independent and content before we met;
Surely I could always be that way again-
And yet
I’ve grown accustomed to her look;
Accustomed to her voice;
Accustomed to her face.

What is love anyway? I’m sure I haven’t a clue so I leave that answer to you, dear reader.

Respectfully submitted,

Mason

I offer this photo of Lizzie as evidence.

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Ask Mason

Yours truly...a day in the park with a bone in my mouth...extreme quality of life

It is interesting to note, dear reader, how often people turn to me for advice or even just to share a concern or complaint. Now I don’t pretend to have any sort of expertise or training in this field but I do have a body of life experience, albeit from a dog’s perspective. In that vein, today I will respond to a query I often receive from readers, which is the age old question of “How will I know if and when it is time to end my dog’s suffering?” It is a valid question and one that I am honored to tackle.
First, there is no hard and fast rule for this, but as humans you must know that you have given yourselves an incredible license…choosing your pet’s ultimate fate is certainly a great privilege and not something to take lightly. You hold the power to end your beloved pet’s suffering when there is no hope for a future and no quality of life remaining. But with all power comes a grave responsibility (pardon my choice of adjective), and that responsibility weighs heavily on every pet owner’s mind. On this you must trust me…we will tell you when it is time. We will tell you because we know of your concern and we are grateful that you can do this last act of extreme love for us. There will be no doubt about the time, and even if you cling to us for an hour or a day past that time, we know you will ultimately do the right thing, which brings us peace of mind.
So, while our lives are brief in comparison to yours, we know with absolute faith that you will see us through our journey with love and compassion. If we could, we would do the same for you. Remember, it is not the length of the life lived, but rather its quality. You give us the ultimate gift of love by ending our suffering when it is time.
I apologize for the rather grim subject, dear reader, but it is one that every pet owner must face from the moment we enter your life to the day we leave it. Shakespeare said it best in The Merchant of Venice…
“The quality of mercy is not strained, it droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven upon the place beneath. It blesseth him that gives and him that takes.”

Respectfully submitted,

Mason

Nothing to do with my blog but thought you'd enjoy seeing that fool Lizzie with a pizzle in the park

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Now It’s My Turn

Hi Everybody!

It’s Lizzie. Mason decided to take a little vay-cay from writing today (he said his brain needed a rest and that he wasn’t feeling inspired). I don’t know about that but it really has been a long time since I last wrote a blog, hasn’t it?

For a pug, my life is wonderful, filled with much happiness and love, even though Mason would argue about that. Mason doesn’t seem to understand that I really do wish him well and that my world is topsy-turvy when he is away or unwell. That E-collar business was awful! I know he accused me of being false, but that is untrue. I was so worried when he went to the doctor that when he returned, I tried to cover him with kisses, nuzzling, and love. He would have nothing to do with me as I sniffed his doctor office scent and tried to comfort him. He is always acting the tough guy but I know he really loves the attention. As far as my stealing his marrowbones, that is not true either. I was merely putting them in a safe place until his recovery. Since he couldn’t chew with that huge collar on his neck, I put them in my bed so he wouldn’t feel frustrated every time he saw them.

And when he had to visit the surgeon on Cape Cod, I was really worried and anxious…so much so that on the trip back to NYC, I jumped up on the new rolled up carpet in the car to be near Mom and Dad. I needed comfort and Mason just assumed I was trying take them away from him. Mason says I can make truth out of fiction, if it suits my purposes. I think that is mean and untrue. Mason is always seeing the worst in people and pets.

Oh well, the thing is Mason has recovered and doesn’t need surgery, which makes me very happy. I know he thinks I am an idiot and a silly goose, but so what? I do love our pug contest on Facebook, and I think all of you who have sent in photos are wonderful and beautiful and brave! I think you all are winners, despite Mason’s sour view of life. He means well but he can’t help being a grouch sometimes. I think it is a guy kind of thing. He says, “Lizzie, you need to go to the mailbox and get your reality check. It must be here today!” I have no idea what he means so I just keep a low profile and take a nap.

Thanks for listening…until next time

Pugs and kisses,

Lizzie

This was taken right before Mason's appointment with the surgeon. You can see my worried expression.

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You Can Teach Old Tricks to a New Pug, or I Am Still King of My Castle

For those of you rookie pugs who are just cutting your teeth on the tricks of the pug trade, I am about to offer up a bit of valuable modeling. As a pug who has seen many winters, springs, summers, and falls, and who now finds himself chronologically in the least coveted of those seasons, I offer an interesting exercise in getting what you want while leaving your human speechless.

Let me explain. The other night Dad took Lizzie and me out for our pre-dinner walk, and yes, it was cold, dark, and unwelcoming. I wasn’t my usual jovial, bonhomous self, and I refused to produce anything other than a poor attitude. I really wasn’t quite sure what it was that I wanted, but it certainly wasn’t what was being offered at that particular time. I dragged my unwilling feet, exaggerated my roach spine, and stubbornly resisted any of Dad’s encouragement. A clever pug knows at this crucial point he must take his act up a notch, and a highly effective way of doing this is by suddenly freezing in his tracks, thus causing the walker to be thrown off balance. This should be repeated several times during the journey.  It was not a pleasant return walk for any of us, except that fool Lizzie. She is oblivious, ignorant, and disgustingly cheerful at all times. By the time we reached our apartment Mom was home. Suddenly, I knew what I wanted and needed. All of my pent up frustration and unidentified yearning came together when I saw her face and heard her voice. I needed QT…quality time alone with my mom. When she learned I had done nothing outside, she quickly bustled me out the door again. She had concerns because I had been quite gassy the previous evening from my pizza orgy. Just hearing her inane chatter as we walked along together, without Lizzie, put a spring in my step and a song in my heart. There we were, as in olden times, sharing a cold, crisp night as I located the perfect spot for my deposit. I am both proud and ashamed to say that I produced one of my most manly and pungent specimens in the middle of the sidewalk. The lightening I felt at that point was both literal and metaphorical. I took off running down Clinton Street, ears pulled back, mouth grinning madly, like a crazed young adolescent, leaving my mom gasping in disbelief.

This, young pugs, is how you keep the interest alive in your human relationship, while also getting what you want most…his or her undivided attention and unqualified love.

Respectfully submitted from a wise old pug,

Mason

This is my happiest place in the world. Look at my expression and learn, young pups.

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Every Pug Has Its Day, or Lizzie Has Her Say

Dear Diary,

I’m writing because Mason isn’t “feeling it” today and also because I need to vent some of my frustrations. Sometimes Mason can be so sweet, well maybe not sweet but at least not mean, and other times he can be so cruel. I just don’t understand. This morning, diary, we were out in the yard and Mason was chewing on a marrowbone (he has them scattered all over the yard) and I just happened to walk past him to the deck when he jumped up and ran growling and snapping at me! What did he think? That I was going to take his nasty old, dirt encrusted, slobbered up bone? I just don’t get him sometimes.

And this weekend, we went out on the boat and of course Grandma and Grandpa invited their friends who have Chloe (I’m sure you remember HER!). It was her first trip ever on a boat and Mason starts acting all weird, like being on a boat is where he is most at home and then trying to pretend he didn’t even see her (how could you miss her since she’s about six feet long?). I don’t get him at all. And then, diary, out at the island, he went out of his way to be near her. I swear she didn’t even look at him the entire day. What am I, chopped liver?

But when we ride in Grandma’s little sports car, with the top down, then he is all cuddly with me. We sit together in the passenger seat and he drapes his body over or against mine. He couldn’t do that with Chloe, that is for sure.

He seems very moody lately and I’m not sure why. Our food is really good here, we are outdoors a lot, we take beach and trail hikes, we get to do errands with Grandpa and we’re never lonely. So why does he have to be such a pill?

I love Mason so much. He is my everything guy but I wish I understood him better. I guess he has his reasons but he sure makes it hard for me sometimes. Thanks for listening, dear diary.

Until next time,

Lizzie

Here is Chloe. I don't think she's all that, do you?

Here is Chloe. I don't think she's all that, do you?

Look at how he pretends to be sleeping when actually he's watching her.

Look at how he pretends to be sleeping when actually he's watching her.

They don't even look good together, do they? I mean she is nice enough, but not for Mason.

They don't even look good together, do they? I mean she is nice enough, but not for Mason.

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“Like The Measles, Love is Most Dangerous When It Comes Late in Life” Lord Byron

My great grandmother used to say, “There is no fool like an old fool,” and that adage certainly pertains to yours truly. I can’t even make sense of the emotions gripping and tormenting me. I am in a constant state of agita and feel compelled to eat myself into a stupor (nothing unusual about that, I admit). What is this thing that afflicts me? I only know that when we visit my grandparent’s friends, or they us, and their magnificent mixed breed dog, Chloe, appears, my legs turn to rubber.

Her eyes are two bottomless orbs of amber, seductive and intelligent at the same time. Her legs go on forever, with incredible muscle tone and development. Her coat glistens with health and snaps with electric energy. She moves like a gazelle and she barely knows I exist. I must crane my neck and head back dangerously in order to even look at her face. Have I mentioned her manners? She is elegant, polite, considerate, unobtrusive, and wholly unattainable. I’m a gonner.

I have no one to whom I can turn for advice. Lizzie is such a loser and is always mooning about, looking at me with calf eyes. Grandma and Grandpa would laugh, I am sure, at the obvious disparity between us. The thought of being separated from the object of my desire is making me wild with anxiety. There is no pain like the pain of unrequited love. In my frustration, I’ve turned to abusing my little bear again. Mom says he is my comfort object, which is partially true, but he is also my punching bag.

In her presence I become tongue-tied and insecure. I strut like a puffed up Banty rooster. I am pathetic, I know, but I seem unable to move away from this adolescent posturing around her. Just one look from her sends me into a swoon. Did I mention how kind she is?  I need help and I need it soon. Dearest Chloe….

Respectfully submitted,

Mason

Look at my goddess

Look at my goddess

Ahhh, her form is perfection

Ahhh, her form is perfection

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