Love Walked Into My Life, or Ode to Miss Brooke

As you know, dear reader, no greater love hath a pug than for his mistress, but I’m not going to lie, my love for Miss Brooke exceeds what passes for normal infatuation. When Mom and Dad realized their travel schedules were going to overlap for their away time, panic ensued. Who could they possibly find to care for their dearest treasures (Lizzie being a more tarnished treasure)? This was not something they approached lightly, but rather with a heavy heart and much dread. But imagine their joy and excitement when they reconnected with Mom’s sister’s oldest and best friend who also lives in New York. Miss Brooke not only loves pugs with every fiber of her being, but also has an aged family pug living on Cape Cod with her parents.

It was kismet, destiny, fate, call it whatever you wish, but from the moment Miss Brooke came to care for us I was lost. Her voice is like melted butter, warm caramel, sweet honey…all of those luscious tempting tasty treats rolled into one mellifluous sound. When she speaks to us we feel her love and adoration. And her smile….ahhhh. Her entire face becomes illuminated every time she smiles, which is a constant with her. I would wiggle and dance until I collapsed just to gaze upon her countenance. Her body is soft and warm, and to cuddle with her at night is one of my life’s sweetest memories.

She is never cross and always ready to love and hug us. Even when I bark incessantly (for which I have no explanation), she just smiles and asks if I am hungry! Fellow pugs, I have found nirvana right here in the Lower East Side of New York City! And guess what? She returns to us this coming week! Oh thank you patron saint of pugs for what you have so graciously put into our lives! And you know those embarrassing moments I am so prone to? She just says, “Oh Mason, you poor little love, let me clean you up, honey, and you’ll be good as new.” And then she kisses me. Maybe I’ve already crossed on over the rainbow bridge, folks, and this is heaven. If not, then it is heaven on earth.

Respectfully submitted,

Mason

I have included a short film that Miss Brooke took having a conversation with me. Listen to the sweetness of her voice.

A Marrowbone in the Mouth Is Worth Two in the Bush, or I’ve Got A Bone to Pick

Summer time and the livin’ is easy for pugs with generous grandparents. Grandma purchased wonderful marrowbones for Lizzie and me, and I must say I lost all track of time while chewing on mine. Maybe that activity is analogous to whittling for old timers. All I know is I come away feeling relaxed, refreshed, and at peace with the world. It is a solitary activity and I prefer seeking out a quiet, secluded spot in the yard while I indulge in what I believe to be one of the great pleasures in a pug’s life. It’s not competitive, there is no schedule for completion, and, like a great book,  it can be picked up and put down at any time.

It gives me time for reflection and contemplation. God knows what it does for Lizzie because I suspect she is incapable of either thought process. Now I must admit that I become very combative when someone approaches and tries to remove said bone from my jaws. Because I don’t wish to lose my prize, I am forced to emit rumblings from deep within my massive bull-like chest. Initially this proved a deterrent to intruders, but over time, people figured out that all I could do is rumble.

Like most addictive personalities, I am never ready to end a pleasurable experience. I wish to keep the good feelings coming and so when I do have to relinquish my treasure, I do so with a lot of fuss and nastiness. Lizzie, on the other hand, doesn’t even understand the concept of extreme pleasure, and so when asked to leave her bone, she willingly acquiesces, trotting her round little behind cheerfully back into the house. I, however, demand a replacement treat/reward/pacifier to placate my suffering.

And there you have it, dear reader, the basic difference between a fierce and obsessed hunter (read Ahab) and a compliant and passive homebody (read Goody Two Shoes).

Respectfully submitted,

Mason

I've secured my prize.

Captured in my magnificent mouth

A long shot of yours truly holding the beast bone.

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.