Tag Archives: Pugs
Letters From Camp
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Gluttony…My Favorite of the Seven Deadly Sins
The old expression, “He’s a glutton for punishment” has no bearing on today’s blog. I have no desire to ever receive punishment and yet my life seems filled with it. And then there are days when quiet, wholly selfish little prayers are answered for no explicable reason, after days and months of wishing and waiting for divine intervention. Such a day occurred recently, and while I feel certain the odds of it recurring are slim to non-existent, I will continue to pray for assistance.
On a typical work evening Dad came home before Mom, walked and fed us, before leaving for a business dinner. He left a note informing her of this and admonished us to be good until Mom came home. What else would we be, I always wonder when given this rhetorical directive? So, when Mom walked in the door, we did our usual dog and pony show of enchanting wiggling, wagging, and whining. Because she likes to feed us before taking us out, she proceeded to ask if we were hungry. What would any self-respecting pug do when faced with that query? We assured her we were starved and waiting patiently to be fed. Dinner number two was exquisite. I could savor leisurely each and every morsel since the edge had been removed from the first sitting. This felt right. I knew at that moment I had ingested the amount of food necessary for a man-pug like me and that all of the previous meals had been merely the appetizer course. I understood finally why I was always feeling such hunger. I had not been given man-pug portions!
It was only after we finished supping that mom discovered her error. Nothing could be done for it and she took us out with a heavy and concerned heart. After she returned from her Yoga class, she found a tick-like Lizzie, fully engorged with her four little legs held aloft, lying in obvious discomfort on her bed. I, however, was ready for another round. And so, dear reader, what is gluttony for one, is hardly so for another. The pleasure I derived from seeing that stuffed little Porky Pig in distress almost equaled the pleasure of consuming a second meal.
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Town and Country Pugs
Alas, dear reader, my absence has not been intentional but rather circumstantial. I hope to resume my usual philosophical banter, canine rants, and insightful observations now that we are back in NYC. My CT grandparents have many photos of our visit, which I plan to share with you.
It is interesting how vacations work…oftentimes we are not even aware that one is needed until we reach our destination. I don’t feel as if I live a particularly stressful life (and I can certainly state that Lizzie has never had a moment’s stress in her pathetic existence), but once we arrived in the land of Harriet Beecher Stowe (famous for UNCLE TOM’S CABIN) I felt a freedom and ease unlike my usual state of Red Alert in Manhattan. My grandparents have about three acres of beautiful land…land made for the wanderings and explorations of two city pugs. Our grandparents were engaged in the timeless pursuit of growing one’s own food and so their days were filled with the turning of soil, sowing of seeds, and watering of their efforts. Lizzie and I were only too eager to assist and support these endeavors.
Our days were long, our labors intense, but the rewards were generous. Because our visits here are shorter and less frequent than at our Cape Cod grandparents’ house, we were treated more deferentially, making it easier for us to behave in a less than praiseworthy manner, I must confess. Nonetheless, I think Art and Mary enjoyed us, even if they found us a bit challenging at times. Struggling with my nighttime diaper was somewhat difficult for them and learning to differentiate between my actual needs and begging wants always confused them. They were good sports and catered to us in a loving manner.
We were exhausted after our stay and spent the first two days in NYC, in a virtual coma. I did, however, come alive by the third day and felt my old primal urges kick in, causing me to convince Lizzy that Dad’s careless neglect of the garbage can deserved a good toss. She, in true form even after a lengthy absence from this wonderful sport, did a magnificent job, thus providing me a veritable smorgasbord of delicacies from which to sample. I, in turn, did my own toss…not just once, but throughout the apartment.
Welcome home, Mom and Dad, welcome home!
Taking time to smell the flowers
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Beauty is in the Eye of the Beholder
My Facebook contest for the most captivating pug photo has led me to a more contemplative area of thinking than usual this past week. I have thoroughly indulged myself in viewing the pugs in these photos, some of whom are whimsical, some in costume, some enchantingly posed, and some just as themselves. I find myself thinking about the very concept of beauty and what it means. Shakespeare says it best, I believe…
“To me, fair friend, you never can be old
For as you were when first your eye I eyed,
Such seems your beauty still.”
Our standards of beauty vary dramatically from one viewer to the next, hence the old adage I adopted for my title today. My great grandmother was fond of this expression and also employed “Pretty is as pretty does” when chastising my grandma as a young self-absorbed girl. So then, what is beauty? Is there a universal standard? And why are there so many hundreds of thousands of pug owners who find their own pug children so appealingly beautiful? Is beauty really only skin deep? I don’t think so. The longer I live the more I believe that, and I know you will all reel in shock when reading this, beauty does lie within the eye of the beholder. We see what we wish to see. Time and age cannot tarnish what one first perceives as beauty in another.
When I look upon my fellow pugs, dear reader, I see all of the flaws, blemishes, signs of age and decay, but I also see evidence of love, hope, devotion, spirit, and beauty. I cannot believe I am uttering these words (living with Lizzie has definitely weakened my mind and spirit), but there you have it…deep thoughts from a pug named Mason.
Thank you one and all for sharing your photos and captions. Again, not to sound maudlin and overly sentimental like a pug we know well, I am proud to count all of you as my fans.
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Now It’s My Turn
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,
Pugs Trodding Through Snow in Colorful Boots, or I Hate Winter
Today’s blog, dear reader, is a small film featuring Lizzie and me in our vivid winter boots, navigating the streets of the Lower East Side. Dad filmed us in our humiliating attire, thinking our faithful readers would enjoy seeing us in our winter accoutrements. Lizzie, being the idiotic little twit that she is, loves wearing this paraphernalia. Watch her mad dartings and frantic shakings as she revels in her outerwear. Well, clearly you will see this for yourself and then can draw your own conclusions. Grandma says I must give credit to the boot company since some of you will want them for your pugs (my apologies to all of you pugs for sharing this information). Pawz makes them and they are available in a wide variety of colors (making the humiliation even more complete)…www.pawzdogboots.com.
So, after this lengthy preamble, here is our little film for your viewing pleasure and my disgrace. Dad will not be leaving his job for a career in cinematography, I am happy to report.
When Good Pugs Go Bad, or Dear Santa, Please Forgive Us
Perhaps it was the building excitement of the holidays, maybe it was having extended time alone in our wee apartment, or maybe it was mercury in retrograde…whatever the reasons, Lizzie and I behaved poorly on Friday and since Christmas is so close I felt some atonement for our sins was in order.
I understand the first step in this process is the acknowledgment or ownership of the wrongful action, and so I am saying now that Lizzie and I were despicable in our behavior. Describing our crimes requires the delicacy for which I am most known, but even so my description may offend you, oh gentle reader. Please understand that I must have my say or else all is lost.
When Mom arrived home from work on Friday she greeted us in her usual effusive and loving manner while we wiggled and squirmed in her warmth. The spell was abruptly broken when Mom began sniffing the air, which, I must admit, was redolent with the sharp scent of pug waste. Mom spied Lizzie’s foul offering, piled atop her favorite Etro accent pillow on the couch. Now, you may wonder, how can I honestly say it was Lizzie’s and not mine? Simply put, it could only be Lizzie’s since my hind legs prevent me from making the leap onto the couch anymore. The tale does end here.
When Mom took us out for our evening walk, the elevator was not running efficiently so she carried me down the stairs and Lizzie walked. Again, the limitations of my hind legs prevent my successfully navigating such steep stairs. This weakening has also affected control of my, hmmm, entire hindquarters, and so, I tend to leave little reminders of this condition whenever I’m being carried to my toileting. This occurs only when the need for relieving myself is imminent. Mom, however, was ignorant of my droppings, so to speak.
Later that evening, she and Dad left for dinner with friends, and again were forced to use the stairs. Mom, in her Louboutins, squished on each step of her descent, looked down in horror and had to return to the apartment for a cleanup. In their haste to make their reservation they committed the cardinal sin…failure to elevate the garbage can. That’s right, when they returned later that evening, tipsy and tired, they were greeted by one of Lizzie’s most thorough trash tosses.
I do not believe pugs are either good or bad, and I do think that all of us, given the opportunity, will behave in a way that is highly objectionable to humans. We are sorry, Mom and Dad. Please try to remember that for most of the year we are well-behaved and people-pleasing pugs.
What’s Good for the Goose is Good for the Gander, or You’ve Taught Me Well, Mason
Oh my, it is so weird being back in NY and living our NY life, but change is not so difficult for me. I think Mason has a harder time adjusting to a new schedule, rules, and environment. As long as I have a cozy spot on the couch or bed, tasty food, walkies, and cuddling time with Mom or Dad, I am fine. I think because Mom feels so bad about taking us away from the Cape she may have overdone the treats. What I mean is she gave us too many marrowbones and pizzles. Mason will kill me when he reads this!
Mom supplied us with the juiciest marrowbones and biggest pizzles ever last week, and Mason did what he always does…steal and hoard. I mean really, Mason, there were enough treats for an entire kennel of dogs! Because I am becoming smarter and stronger, I decided to take what I’ve learned from him and then apply it to the situation. So, when he wasn’t looking I took every marrowbone and pizzle, hauled them into my bed, and then crawled in with them. Mason came back into the room, looking all over for the treats, and then saw me chewing on one in my bed, surrounded by the entire lot of them. He came toward me as if to grab one and I let loose with the most threatening barking and growling I could muster up. Mom came running in to scold Mason and then froze in her tracks when she saw I was the one holding Mason at bay. I watched Mason look at her for help and then I felt bad, like I always do. He really is clueless…he just doesn’t get that a girl like me can be so fierce and aggressive. But guess what, he did back off and leave me alone.
The story doesn’t end here though. Yesterday, after Grandma left, Mom hauled out the most beautiful marrowbones ever, giving one to me and one to Mason. Because I really wasn’t interested in chewing at that time, I stayed curled up on the couch where I had a pretty good view of everything going on the room. Mason, thinking I was asleep and that Mom and Dad were busy doing something else, took his bone over to his bed and buried it under the pad. He even patted it down so it didn’t show so much and then, without a moment’s hesitation, he hopped into my bed and began chewing on my bone. Isn’t he the trickiest pug you’ve ever known? I giggled to myself because he thinks he is the master of his domain, but I saw the whole thing.
I guess you could say our days, even though we’re alone a lot, are never dull.
Pug: $2,000, Vet Bills: $10,000, Pug Food: $5,000, Cost of Living in NYC: Astronomical, Mom and Dad’s Love: Priceless.
After a week’s hiatus I am ready to resume my musings for you, dear reader. Re-entry into the hustle and bustle of Manhattan takes some adjustment for yours truly. Getting back my city streets mojo is a far cry from living our pastoral type of existence on Cape Cod, but I’m feeling my old self again and ready to rant, rave, and whine.
Of course the real bonus in this is being wrapped nightly in my Mom’s arms and then knowing that when I awaken in the morning she will still be pressed against me, no matter how many moves I make during the night. That feeling of security is beyond compare…well, maybe a nice juicy marrowbone comes close, but no, not really. I am able to survive our long days alone in the apartment because I know my mom will be home in the evening, ready to reclaim our emotional connection.
This weekend was spectacular because we had long outings to Tompkins Square Park, cuddles on the couch, and a primo bull pizzle, which Lizzie and I consumed on our terrace. Life is good for us, I must confess. The only issue I currently have is the lack of comestibles in our NY home. At Grandma’s there was always a steady, flavorful, and diverse supply of treats. Grandma was mindful of fulfilling our palate’s constant jonesing for an amuse-bouche. I do miss those daily samplings and the heavenly aromas emanating from Granny’s big kitchen.
In the grander scheme, I am quite content and have been reminded this week of the old Simon and Garfunkel song lyrics:
Home where my thought’s escaping,
Home where my music’s playing,
Home where my love lies waiting
Silently for me.
Mom, your little man is happy to be home again.
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