This Pug has Nine Lives, or See Puggy Run

Well, dear reader, it appeared that yours truly was down for the count, ready to buy the farm, about to take the big dirt nap on Friday. My hindquarters failed me and I was drinking more water than normal. My mom, rather than wait until Saturday to see the vet, came home from work and took me that day. Blood was drawn, urine sampled, and a grim prognosis given. The vet did give me an injection of Cortisone, hoping there would be some noticeable improvement on Saturday My tearful mom bundled me up in her arms, hailed a cab, and got me home. She phoned Grandma reporting her news and asked her to make an appointment with my Cape Cod surgeon for Monday.

And what an improvement there was Saturday morning! I offer you a brief film as evidence. The blood results came back fine…no anomalies and normal kidney function…BUT, and here is the clincher, I have Lyme disease, which of course caused the dysfunction of my hind legs.

So, once again, I have been snatched from Death’s mighty jaws! My appointment with the surgeon was cancelled and I am now taking powerful antibiotics for a month. Our plans to weekend in Connecticut with my other grandparents were reinstated and off we went on Saturday afternoon. What a glorious weekend it was. Lizzie and I ran with gay abandon over the acres of green grass, basked in the healing sun like frogs on lily pads (Lizzie most resembling that amphibian), and enjoyed the adoration of our family. Like Lazarus, I was restored to life, and like the Phoenix, I arose from the flames. As my Cape Cod grandma said to my mom on Friday, “Don’t give up on the old boy yet; he always comes back.” Yes, Grandma, I do, but not without some drama.

Respectfully and gratefully submitted,

Mason

P.S. When viewing my film think “Born Free” or “Chariots of Fire” themes playing over.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kJD7zKMiKDM”>

Zen and the Art of Pug Maintenance, or You Can’t Keep a Good Pug Down

I apologize, dear reader, for my lengthy silence but Grandma’s schedule has been frantic and full for the past two weeks (I wish I could say the same for mine!). I realize that some of you have been concerned about my silence, so let me say, without any equivocation, that all is well with yours truly.

It was a hectic weekend for me, both from Grandma’s arrival on Friday for the pet writer’s conference, and our journey together to the Cape on Sunday for an early consultation  Monday with a surgeon. The reward for these chaotic few days was delivered upon our arrival at Grandma and Grandpa’s, where Dad built a fire and Grandma handed out beautiful marrowbones. To say I was transported to a place of incredible bliss would be an understatement.

I faced the appointment Monday with my usual equanimity and sangfroid. I was gracious but reserved, tolerant but mindful, and open but cautious as I met this surgeon for the first time. He manipulated my weakening hind feet and legs, moving them back and forth and from side to side. He studied my x-rays closely, peering and squinting in the darkened room. And finally, for the coup de grace, he did the dreaded examination of my maleness. Why doctors seem so fascinated with that particular area of my anatomy, I have no idea. I do know that every single one of them ultimately arrives at that destination, for fondling, pressing, and palpating. I’ve become so inured to this process that I merely stare stoically ahead, imagining a juicy marrowbone or Lizzie’s head caught in a vice grip.

Well, dear reader, the news is not so grim. This learned man of medicine said that were I his dog, he would do nothing surgically, since spinal surgery is so risky and oftentimes has disastrous results. He said I was in no pain (I could have told him that had he asked!), and he certainly could see no diminution of life quality (again, I could have told him that). Outwardly I appear unchanged, except for the occasional cough or bark that can release a stored surprise, an exceedingly embarrassing event for a man-pug.

And so, yours truly once again escapes the dreaded knife. I was floating on air as we left, urging Grandma on to even greater speeds, so that I could finally enjoy a much-deserved breakfast.

Life is good!

Respectfully submitted,

Mason

Look at that minx, Lizzie, and you will finally get her true measure. There is no guile or deception on my face, however.

A Lyin’ (In Bed That Is) In Winter, or a Pug Says Thank You

This isn’t a blog that will amuse, confuse, sadden, horrify, or titillate you, dear reader, but rather it is a long overdue acknowledgment of all the steady influx of letters, comments, and kudos I’ve received during the one year I’ve been writing. You readers are the reason I make the efforts I do and without your feedback, I am afraid I would not have been so diligent. So, even though it runs counter to my very nature, I must thank each and every one of you for your kind and supportive words, throughout the year.

If I weren’t so limited, I would answer all of your letters, but I am dependent upon Grandma for my writing and I cannot, in good conscience,  ask her to do more for me than she already does. But I do thank you, one and all. Please continue to write me because she reads me every letter, note, and comment you send. I cannot emphasize too strongly how much I appreciate your words.

This time of year I do tend to take inventory, try to count my so-called blessings, and then figure out what direction I will take in the upcoming months. Fact: Lizzie is here to stay and all of my best efforts to depose her have failed. Some astute reader observed that she reminded her of the “fool on the hill” and I couldn’t agree more. She is, for the most part, innocuous and so I’ve learned acceptance. Fact: My health is a concern but I am going to see a surgeon for a consultation soon and perhaps see if there is something to be done for my poor spinal condition. I am not, I repeat, not complaining because I still receive two meals daily, plus assorted treats, which keep my interest piqued. Fact: I know my mom and dad love me, and if they could, would spend every free minute with me. That is comforting. Fact: The addition of Cecily and Daphne to this menagerie is troubling, to say the very least, but I am wrapping my mind around the idea that this just challenges me to be an even stronger alpha type of male (if such a thing is possible). I shall think of these bitches as my harem and I suspect that will allow me to assume a greater position of leadership in this pack. Fact: I have no plans for becoming a more tolerant pug, nor do I have any interest in one who does. I like who and what I am, and see no reason to soften my edge or attitude. Too much introspection is for sissies.

There you have it, dear reader…some deep thoughts from a pug named Mason.

Respectfully submitted,

Mason

P.S. My very clever Grandpa suggested this title and I have to admit that I like it a lot. Thanks, Grandpa.