Tag Archives: sin

Food, Glorious Food

Proverbs 23:2 proclaims, “Put a knife to your throat if you are given to gluttony,” but that directive seems a bit harsh to this venerable old pug. So the question in my mind is, “Is gluttony really a sin sin?”  I mean, if one reads the Old Testament closely, there are such heinous crimes being put forth as sins that gluttony seems small potatoes when compared to carving up babies, sleeping with or coveting your brother’s wife, or even murdering your brother.

All of which leads me to my most recent brush with the grim reaper. I find Monday mornings particularly rich in one regard…they tend to yield the mother lode of culinary street treats, leftovers, if you will, from the weekend’s bacchanalia. For a low rider, such as yours truly, these treats are easily obtained and always worth the small effort. On such a morning with Dad, Lizzie and I performed our ritual sniff, circle, and squat. Lizzie, of course, has no interest in the treasure trove the Lower East Side provides a true gourmand, such as I, but rather performs her tasks robotically with a mind always on the return to her bed. I, however, faced an unusually large, intact pizza crust in the middle of the sidewalk I was traversing. With no thought, acting only on pure instinct, I scooped it up and attempted to inhale it. Before I could even move this monster crust into my gullet, it lodged in my throat, blocking my air passage. I flopped onto the ground like a fish out of water, in full seizure mode. My eyes rolled back and my little legs stiffened and twitched madly. I remember hearing Dad say something about how he’d be damned if this was how I was going to exit this world, or maybe it was more like “not on my watch, mister!” In any case he reached into my gaping mouth, pulled out the offending crust, and threw it away. Recovering immediately, I hopped up and resumed trotting along, watchful for new orts.

My relating of this little tale brings us back to the question of gluttony and its sinful connotations. I realize gluttony is deemed a venial rather than mortal sin, but even that seems extreme. Was I, perhaps, lustful or greedy, rather than gluttonous? Or was my sin a combination of all three?  A pug is unique in this world in that once fed, he/she is ready to feed again immediately. It is in our DNA, our hardwiring if you will, but does that make us sinners? I don’t have biblical or even metaphysical answers to all of life’s imponderables, but I know I saw food, grabbed it, and Dad saved my life so that I could live to eat again.

Respectfully submitted,

Mason

Mom wresting my bone from me…

Doing what I love most…

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Revenge is a Dish Best Served Cold, or What Goes Around Comes Around

As you recall, dear reader, when last I wrote, Lizzie had committed the unthinkable, the unimaginable, the most egregious of crimes against another pug — the taking of a prized possession and then defiling it. I did vow to seek revenge, even if it involved patience and planning. Never did I dream that said revenge would actually fall into my lap due to the carelessness of my dad.

On a typical workday morning, Dad assumes the role of pug caregiver, unless, of course, he is out of town. This Monday morning was no exception to our normal routine: we get up, are taken downstairs, fed our breakfast, suited up, walked, cleaned up after, and returned to our apartment. This morning, however, one of the steps was neglected, which worked to my advantage, as you will learn.

Upon gaining entrance to our apartment, Dad always goes to his bathroom, which is downstairs, and performs his morning ritual. I rest on the living room rug, which affords me a 360-degree view of our dwelling. Resting comfortably I became aware of a pleasant sensation…the absence of one offensive female pug. Yes, dear reader, Lizzie had been left behind. At that same instant, a frantic scratching sound began, coming from the direction of the apartment door. I chose to ignore it because suddenly my life was filled with hope, joy, and contentment; however, the noise became louder causing Dad to shout out, “Annie, do you hear that noise?” Mom was upstairs in her bathroom blowing out her hair and heard nothing. Dad again yelled out for her to listen. I, of course, remained mum, knowing that fate, God, or divine justice had bestowed upon me this miracle. Dad, in frustration, finally walked into the living room and listened, looked around, and shouted, “Lizzie!” He opened the door and there she stood…a pathetic little groundhog of a pug. She trotted wildly into the room, wagging and wiggling idiotically, and then sought out my company for solace and reassurance. It wasn’t as if she had been left outdoors in the rain or snow, but to see her pathos you would have believed otherwise.

There you have it, dear reader…a small piece of my greater plan, but one that will keep evolving until I am satisfied that she has been sufficiently punished for her sin. And no, I did not offer her any comfort at all.

Respectfully submitted,

Mason

The Idiot and I

Little Bear and I, in happier times

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Hang My Portrait on The Wall of Shame

Oh my, dear reader, my soul is in turmoil and I am tormented by the demons of my transgressions. It is to this forum that I must turn in confession, lest I find myself spiraling downward into Dante’s ninth circle of Hell.

How to begin? This may be the one blog entry you wish to skip over, and then hope that better days lie ahead for yours truly. I am an addict. There, I’ve said it. I have a vile predilection, a taste for the highly unsavory (by human standards), a penchant for the forbidden. Many of you pugs reading this will know immediately to what I refer, so don’t pretend you don’t.

I thought I was managing this addiction fairly well this summer, but with two highly productive cats and two litter boxes in the house, I am surrounded by temptation on a daily basis. I also have noted that Grandma and Grandpa have become much more lax about maintenance of said boxes. I was weak yesterday, weak with hunger I should say, but the results were disastrous. Apparently this foray was my undoing, my overdose, if you will. The evidence lay all over my bed and when Grandpa discovered it, he ran downstairs to confer with Grandma. It was inconceivable to them that I would soil my own bed, but the evidence was irrefutable. Only today Grandma realized the vile product, that she assumed was “an accident,” was in fact the result of my stomach discharging its rich and toxic contents.

There will be no intervention, but I am guessing there will be greater vigilance for the rest of my stay here. You see the depth of my despair and shame, but at least I won’t be wearing the dreaded diapers that Grandma threatened before she knew the truth.

As the Pet Shop Boys sang, “So I look back upon my life, Forever with a sense of shame, I’ve always been the one to blame, For everything I long to do, No matter where or when or who, Has one thing in common too, It’s a Sin.”

I am a monster.

Respectfully submitted,

Mason

P.S. I cannot show my face on this entry.

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