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

Pizza, Chicken Soup for a Pug’s Soul, or I Never Smelled a Pizza I Didn’t Love

Some days, dear reader, the cold is so bone crushing and pervasive that every step taken is excruciating. Going out to relieve oneself is a cruel exercise in torture. Today was such a day and I fear my old pug bones were challenged at a new level of intensity. I know I presented a pathetic sight with my roach spine and halting gait. I could see passersby stare and “tsk tsk” with empathy as they viewed my poor ambulation. When I realized the emotional outpouring I was receiving, I upped my performance a notch, hoping Mom would join in the pity party and just pick me up.

But just when I was sure my act was about to garner a cozy reward, I smelled it. That’s right… the smell that no red-blooded, all-American, food obsessed, wildly possessed pug can resist…PIZZA! The holy grail of all human food. I mean pizza is my raison d’etre, it is what compels me to tick off the days until the next pizza delivery, and it is what compels me to accomplish seemingly impossible feats of pug daring.  I am ashamed to say that if the pizza delivery boy offered me a home with him, I daresay I would have my bags packed and out the door before Mom could croak, “Mason!”

I digress. It was in the midst of this pitiful charade that I smelled it. My little pug feet took wing and in a trice I had tracked down the source…a Domino’s delivery bicycle parked outside an apartment building. There, clinging to the bike’s cold and brittle metal framework, were pizza molecules, bearing the heady, aromatic, and intoxicating aroma of its last delivery. Dear God, no right-minded pug can resist that smell. Energy returned and vigor was restored; all of my senses became electrified in that one defining moment. Mom looked at me with such disbelief that even I felt some embarrassment. It was as if she had seen Christ cure a leper, or restore a blind man’s sight, or give a cripple the use of his legs again.

I raced home, convinced the Domino’s man would be upstairs waiting for me. How could he not be?  This is where the story takes a decided downward turn. There, of course, was no Domino’s delivery, or any other pizza delivery for that matter; however, I did hear Mom say that tonight will probably have to be a pizza night after my transforming encounter.

All’s well that end’s well, dear reader.

Respectfully submitted,

Mason

From the archives...here I am thoroughly enjoying my pizza

I am dominating that box ( a little play on words)!