Scent of a Pug, or Missing the Obvious

Sometimes, dear reader, it is possible to be so involved with the minutiae of living, or at least what passes for living, that we miss what is literally right under our nose. I like to think of myself as a fairly observant and perceptive pug – one who does take some time to smell the roses, and do bear with me on this smell metaphor, but it seems I have overlooked something rather obvious. Let me explain.

Yesterday, while Mom was performing her usual morning ritual of bathing and grooming (why she does this, I have no idea since, to me, she looks and smells divine all of the time). Lizzie was seated in her frog-like position, propped against the bathroom door and as I walked past her I was assaulted by her perfume. It literally smacked me in the face…high notes of kibble, dried saliva, ear oil and low notes of city streets and pug butt. How can I even begin to describe such a heady, intoxicating aroma? Was there ever a pug to smell so desirable? I was lost, dear reader, lost. My senses were on overload and my head spinning. There was nothing for it but to explore every nook and cranny of this delectable creature. She, the once scorned and much maligned Lizzie, was compliant and accommodating for my request, offering up her spindly little legs and maneuvering her bullet-shaped body into positions of acquiescence. I was wild with desire and she innocent of my yearning. Throwing myself against her in complete surrender,  I cuddled as I’d never cuddled before, hoping to absorb her essence into my skin. When Mom left the bathroom and found us huddled together in such fashion, she could only stare in amazement and confusion.

I can offer no explanation. This foolish little creature has lived with me for nearly three years and I’ve never felt compelled to seek her out. How have I been so blind? What if she, a seemingly guileless simpleton has cast a spell on me? What if she is really a sorceress and I her willing victim?

I have no satisfactory answers, dear reader, but perhaps you will. Lizzie –enigmatic or malevolent?

Respectfully submitted,

Mason

Frog Lizzie

Lost in her scent

They say couples resemble one another as they age

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)!

Let Him Have Time a Beggar’s Orts to Crave — Shakespeare

I apologize to William Shakespeare for use of his line as my title, but I love that he wrote “orts.” I’m not sure that the passage is germane to this entry since it has such a negative connotation, but I’m using it anyway. You’ve heard the expression, “One man’s trash is another’s treasure.” That pretty much sums up the pug life. We adore whatever food you discard, with the exception of coffee grounds and tea bags (Lizzie, however, might explore them but not consume them). What is it that makes us such connoisseurs of your ort? An aficionado of your refuse?

 We are dogs, first and foremost, and our noses are much keener than yours. We smell top notes, low notes, and all of the notes in between. We are so much more tolerant than humans in our olfactory center. What disgusts and repulses you, stimulates and entices us because we are able to experience the entire range of smell potential. We haven’t learned that offal is bad and steamed lobster is good. They are one and the same to us.

 Cleaning our nether regions falls into the same category of experience. Have you ever noticed a beautifully groomed and coiffed lady kissing her little Muffin on the lips, just after Muffin has dutifully cleaned himself? Why doesn’t the lady recoil in horror for what she has just done? Humans are so strange in that they rarely see the connection between what they love and hate.

 Pugs are so basic, dear reader, in that we will smell anything and everything, without any preconceived notions, while you will refuse to smell something you’ve already deemed unacceptable. I say don’t knock it until you’ve tried it. We are much more open-minded, aren’t we?

 More deep thoughts from a ruminating pug…

 

Respectfully submitted,

 Mason

 

Here I am indulging in one of my favorite pastimes...eating old pizza out of its box.