Now is the Winter of Our Discontent, or A Pug’s Countdown to Spring

When the apartment door closed behind Mom and Dad this morning, it rang as our vacation’s death knell. That click of the lock resounded loudly and with the finality of a tomb sealing. As you know, dear reader, I am a pug that likes to know that his creature comforts are always close at hand and not a struggle to obtain. This frigid and unrelenting cold has soured my usual sunny disposition, turning me into a needy, whiny, and short-tempered beast. Going outdoors for our toileting requires the outfitting of an artic expedition. First the blasted paw condoms must be fitted over eight resistant paws, then the dreaded sweaters and hoodies pulled and stretched over our heads and bodies, and finally the harnesses and leashes attached on top of the sweaters. By the time Dad gets into his gear, we are exhausted and struggling to hold our water and waste. This is not, I repeat, not the most wonderful time of the year for those of us living in the northeast.

Lizzie and I must find new ways to amuse ourselves and pass these miserable days. We’ve fully explored trash tossing and my penchant for chewing underwear and socks is only a memory of my youth. I’ve told Lizzie all of my embellished tales of glory and horror. Besides, she is hardly a worthy recipient of my intellectual prowess since all she wants to do is cuddle and sleep. So then the question remains, “What is a pug to do?” I am a bit concerned about the upcoming summer on Cape Cod, due to the addition of Grandma and Grandpa’s two dogs. The black pug is a formidable opponent. Like Lizzie she appears docile and meek, but if she senses any affront or attack upon her baby (the Frenchie) then she quickly becomes a snarling, howling killing machine. She caught me off guard several times when I went after Daphne for encroaching upon my food zone. That worries me a bit. The baby is a full blown, spoiled, active and willful toddler. She needs to be taught respect, manners, and boundaries before I can enjoy my idyllic existence there. I guess I need to give some considerable thought to this summer while I am ensconced in my overheated and quiet apartment.

The dog walker is due any minute so I must gird my loins for the donning of apparel, none of which is gay.

Respectfully submitted,

Mason

Lizzie and I doing what we love doing most...keeping warm on Mom's lap

The fiendish Cecily...looks sweet, doesn't she? But, at the slightest provocation, she becomes a tiger protecting her cub.

And the toddler, gnawing away on a marrowbone that should have been mine. She is an underaged lethal weapon.

Lizzie...the most indolent of all creatures living on the planet. What a ridiculous canine experiment she is. I am surrounded by too many bitches!

Food, Glorious Food or How A Pug Works the Room

Just when I thought my life was at a standstill, I win the lottery! Well, not literally, but for a highly motivated pug that is fully committed to the acquisition of food, there is nothing more momentous or thrilling than learning that Mom and Dad are hosting a dinner party. It is the Holy Grail, the brass ring, and the penultimate of events for such a pug. Now, the down side of this news is the acute realization that in order to achieve that goal, a pug must be willing to work hard at his craft.  A lukewarm approach will garner no reward. A clever pug knows that he must expend an inordinate amount of energy wagging his curled up stump of a tail, cocking his head coquettishly, standing posed and poised, and sending out the subliminal message of “Aren’t I adorable, don’t you want to feed me something from your plate, you know you can’t resist me, and just look at how grateful I am.” This is exhausting and time-consuming, folks, but yours truly is a veteran of this campaign.

Guests arrived at 4:30 and there I was, at the door giving out the best pug vibe I could muster. I did not go off duty until about 11:00, and then only because I couldn’t stand up any longer. I am both embarrassed and gladdened by the fact that goofy old Lizzie has no interest in this opportunity…embarrassed since she calls herself a pug and gladdened because it gave me such a huge field in which to work my game.

The best parties involve a serious amount of liquor, so that with any luck the event should take on a bacchanalian quality. Guests who imbibe are, as the evening progresses, usually loose and generous with bits of foods. Also, they become sloppy, dropping food carelessly. That is when I become a superstar in this production. Since this was a terrace party, I was able to move freely and swiftly, so that no crumb was ever left untouched for more than two seconds.

What a wonderful welcome to spring. I am still recuperating, dear reader, but basking in my memories of the first of many warm weather food events.

 Respectfully submitted,

 Mason

 

Here I am, lying on the terrace floor, waiting for the magic. Note my focus

Another rather nice shot of yours truly, waiting eagerly on the chaise for the first guests.

 

 

Pugs Gone Wild or Down and Dirty in Manhattan

It is has a very dry spell for me, dear reader, since Grandma was called to San Diego on an emergency for two weeks. She is my transcriber and without her, I have no voice. So, no worries…I am back with words unwritten and thoughts unspoken.

 In the spring a young (or more mature) pug’s fancy lightly turns to digging in the earth.  I do apologize for the brutal paraphrasing of Tennyson’s “Locksley Hall” but spring is finally in the air for us poor northeastern beasts. Mom took Lizzie and me to the park on the East River this Saturday and we certainly took time to smell the flowers…not only to smell them but also to dig them up! Lizzie and I could not stop digging and flinging dirt with wild abandon. What a glorious time for us. I know Mom was beside herself since she has no idea what would cause a normally decorous and dignified adult male pug to give in to the most primal animal urge. Digging releases all kinds of pent up winter emotions, allowing us pugs to connect with our inner dog. No, we aren’t looking for bones, garbage, or dead rodents…just inhaling Mother Nature’s bounty. We love dirt, we love its smell as it awakens in the spring, we love throwing it about, and we, literally, just dig it. There is no deep, meaningful purpose associated with this activity. We are just pugs experiencing our version of spring fever.

 So, with the coming of spring I know that moving to the Cape for the summer cannot be far behind. Oh happy day!

 More later….

 Respectfully submitted,

 Mason 

 

Look at us last summer on an island, scanning the beach for clams.

 

Here's another from the archives...I can hardly wait!

Pugpourri – Random Thoughts From A Thoughtful Pug

Since I don’t feel cranky, curmudgeonly, or cantankerous, I really can’t rant about anything today. On the other hand, I don’t feel especially happy, upbeat, or warm and fuzzy. So, that begs the question…what is a pug to do? I came up with the idea of just “twittering” some random thoughts and observations.

 It’s nice having Lizzie. I can blame her for most everything that goes wrong in my life and still enjoy her company when I choose to.

 I stopped punishing Mom today and let her love me the way she used to, by lying in her lap, on my back, legs akimbo, and wallowing in her loving ministrations.

 Even though I’ve had frosty paws this week, I can feel and smell spring. I know it will explode without warning any day.

 I am not a fan of play dates. They are for the parents, not the dogs.

 I am comforted by attacking my stuffed bear. He serves as a pacifier when I am frustrated or a passive victim when I need to prove my virility.

 Why do we need baths? We’re pugs and as such should be allowed to smell gamey and oily.  I like the post bath treat though.

 What good does it serve to bathe a pug, then put his filthy harness back on, and let him return to his stinky bed?

 Walks are special for pugs…a time for bonding with Mom or Dad…so then why do they talk on their cell phones during our outing?

 Why do we have to wait to be fed? Why can’t we eat whenever we feel hungry?

 I like to fantasize about joining up with a pack of wild pugs…ones that are ferocious and predatory, roaming the streets of lower Manhattan.

 People always ask, “What do pugs want?” The answer is simple, folks, FOOD!

 

I apologize for my lack of focus today but sometimes a twitter is better than a squawk.

 

Respectfully submitted,

 

Mason

 

A typical day...Lizzie is acting like a fool and I'm thinking deep thoughts.