Tag Archives: treats
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.
I have included a short film that Miss Brooke took having a conversation with me. Listen to the sweetness of her voice.
The weekend with my Cape Cod family passed by in a blur. After the greetings, the sniffings, pettings, exclaiming, and passing out of treats, it felt as if I were on a roller coaster ride at warp speed. This visit included, for the first time, Daphne and Cecily whose presence definitely had a great impact on the tone of our weekend. Remembering how I suffered so under Daphne’s reign of terror on the Cape, I let her have it immediately so that there could be no confusion. “This is MY house, bitch” (forgive me but that is the correct form of address for a female dog). After which, I attacked her. I felt so much better but unfortunately it did not deter her from aggressive behavior. She, within a few hours, had established herself as the alpha dog and ruled like a crazed despot.
Cecily resumed her nauseating relationship with Lizzie and they spent their house time cuddling and hiding out together. Whenever there was an altercation with Daphne they would climb into Lizzie’s bed and stare with wide innocent eyes. It sickened me.
On our walks, Daphne always drew attention…probably because she was the non-pug and people, for some strange reason, are drawn to Frenchies. And of course Cecily garnered many pats because she is the only black pug in our posse, which left Lizzard and me virtually invisible…like chopped liver!
While Grandma and Grandpa still lavished treats and attention upon me, I can see how the natural order has been disturbed. Physically, I am not the pug I once was and I am also much crankier and more demanding than ever. I tend to bark incessantly whenever I feel like it and I’m not the playful young pup of yore. I don’t feel jealous of the newcomers, just mindful of the shift. I guess it is part of the aging process.
When they left Monday, I was surprisingly flat. The apartment was too quiet and we were too dull. But as long as I remain Mom and Dad’s number one pug, then I am content.
I don’t know why I am always shocked and amazed when certain events in this life don’t go the way I expected. Just because a pug behaves in a highly consistent and predictable way each and every day of her life, doesn’t mean that she will continue to do so forever. I know this sounds a bit cryptic and obtuse but bear with me on this.
I believe most of you readers know me well enough now to appreciate my mastery of life skills. My ability to procure and consume vast quantities of food/snacks/treats is legend in dogdom. My overwhelming supremacy in the art of control and self-defense needs no explanation. My talent for eluding detection of unaccomplished toileting remains unchallenged by any pug. So then, dear reader, how did one timid, reluctant, passive, spineless, stuffed partridge of a female pug grow such massive, forgive me, cahones, while under my tutelage?
Grandma was preparing a butternut squash soup yesterday and there were many cooking utensils needing our attention after their use. I was given the food processor and Lizzie the large skillet. In record time I completed my assigned task and then ambled over to Lizzard’s cleaning area to assist her, in what I assumed was far too great a job for one pug. Lo and behold, I was greeted with the most ferocious vocal and physical attack ever! WAHHHHAAAAHHHH, as she lunged for me. I don’t know who was more shocked, Grandma, Grandpa, or me. Lizzie was unaffected, hopped back into her skillet, and resumed her licking. My immediate reaction was to go flying across the the kitchen, as far away from this fiend from Hell as I could get. Then I became angry and resentful, and finally awed and somewhat proud. This insignificant, wimpy, and lowly pug had given me back what I’d been giving her for over a year. She now feeds like a greedy pug, begs for treats from Aaron, the UPS driver, and defends her food like a pug-beast should. It is with mixed emotions that I dedicate today’s blog to Lizzie.
And yet again, Mr. Shakespeare says it best.
I apologize, dear reader, for the large gap between writings. It is not my granny’s fault but strictly mine. I have settled in to a routine of such indulgence, lethargy, and pleasure that I haven’t felt as compelled to pursue my particular avocation. Part of the problem is that I don’t have to be so actively engaged in seeking out food and treats on the Cape. That is not to say that one mustn’t remain vigilant, but there is certainly less desperation in the pursuit here. There is always a bountiful supply of edibles in and around the kitchen. I know I wrote about eating steamers on the deck last week, but it happened again yesterday. For some bizarre reason Grandpa doesn’t care for the feet and so Lizzie and I have only to sit there as he discards those delicacies onto the deck.
Saturday night, my grandparents had friends over for a cookout and of course Lizzie and I were included. It was a veritable food orgy and by the end of the evening we were exhausted and sated, since their guests found us so delightful.
Lizzie and I seem to be sleeping later each day, with Grandma having to waken us at 8 AM some mornings. It is quite a life for pugs that have been living in the fast lane for the past nine months. Our daily schedule is never the same and always includes some errand running with Grandpa. We also love riding with Grandma in her little sports car when the top is down. These are all things which probably seem commonplace to dogs living here year round, but for us each activity is exciting and filled with promise.
Mom is in Italy on business right now but I know she is thinking about us. We are fine, happy, well fed, and enjoying every day. The only thing missing in the picture is her.
P.S. I just reread this and I am ashamed by how weak and soft I sound. I hope I’m not losing my game!
Do you remember in Mary Poppins, how the chimney sweep announced the arrival of a new strong wind, blowing from a different direction, which served as a metaphor for Mary Poppins’ appearance at the Banks household? Well, dear reader, the same analogy pertains for the upcoming arrival of my grandma this weekend. She, like Mary Poppins, brings much needed change into our little household and of course, a great traveling bag (see my entry “Pugs and Kisses For Grandma, Jan. 2009).
Because I am a thinking pug, as well as a highly sensitive one, I am aware of the whispered conversations concerning Grandma’s upcoming visit. Lizzie, however, sheltered within her cocoon of oblivion and insensitivity, hasn’t a clue. I have been mentally composing a wish list of Grandma treats for this visit…something with yams, duck, or buffalo…or maybe a yummy knucklebone from the butcher. I know that Grandma will sweep me up in her arms, exclaiming over my beauty, smothering me with hugs and kisses that I will patiently endure, while waiting for the presentation of gifts. This will be further delayed because Lizzie also will have to be fussed over, which will take even longer because that fool dog actually loves this part the most! During this, I will strike a pose with my tight little tail twitching wildly, eyes beseechingly glued to Grandma’s face, while sending subliminal messages for her to put Lizzie down and dig into that bag of treats. Fortunately for me, Grandmas reads and understands signals well. She will look at me and say something like, “Does my little Mason man want his treat now?” And I will begin twirling around and vibrating all over, with eyes bulging dangerously. Just seeing her reach into the treat bag nearly sends me over the edge.
This is how I have lulled myself to sleep each night this week, replaying that most perfect of moments and all of the foreplay leading up to it. Ah, Grandma, please get here safely and quickly Friday.
Have you ever wondered or even fantasized about what your pug(s) does after you leave the house for work each day? I am sure that some of you imagine us doing all kinds of crazy things, while others of you think we merely fall into a coma-like state until your return. Actually, our activities fall somewhere in between these two extremes. The following, dear reader, is a typical day for Lizzie and me, after Mom and Dad leave the apartment.
We usually take a tour of the place, inspecting the floor for any crumbs or long-forgotten tidbits. Sometimes this is a fruitful activity but most often not. After completing our search, we head to our respective beds for a morning nap. This nap can last anywhere from two to three hours, depending on the weather or our moods. Our internal alarm clock always kicks us into an alert state so that we can wait by the door for Billy, our dog walker. As soon as we hear the whine of the elevator, its opening doors, and his footsteps coming down our hall, we are primed and wagging.
After our walk with Billy, he rewards us with some dog treats, which is great cause for celebration. Some further sniffing around often follows Billy’s departure, in case one of us has missed a morsel. On particularly challenging days, I feel the need to attack one of my miserable little stuffed animals…either the squirrel or bear. I beat them, chew on them, shake them violently, and then fall asleep with one of them in my mouth. Lizzie says my snoring is so loud that it wakens her but I say she needs to get over it. Pugs snore and she occasionally contributes to our symphony!
Some days, when I am particularly bored, I will coerce Lizzie into doing some random naughty act…like urging her tip over the garbage (if it has been left out), suggesting that she probably can’t hold her bladder or bowels until Mom or Dad gets home and that it is okay just to do it in the apartment, or sometimes I just tell her scary stories which produces the same results as above. All of these activities help pass the time and keep me entertained. I admit it, I am not proud of myself for setting Lizzie up, but pugs get bored very easily.
And there you have it…a typical day for your pug(s).
As I dictate this entry, my thoughts return to Grandma and her visit this weekend. When she walked through the door Friday afternoon, I was sure that all of my wishes would come true. Seeing the bags she was dragging into the apartment, I knew that at least one item in them would be for Lizzie and me. I could scarcely contain myself, but in true Grandma fashion, she insisted that we go out for a walk before dispensing treats. I wasn’t at all keen on that idea since I knew the danger, pain, and extreme cold facing me. I wanted Grandma to see how well I navigate the streets but the reality of getting salt on my paws, and having to wear the dreaded hooded sweatshirt caused me to break like a little girl. I put away all pretenses of bravery in the face of this pain, and wildly shot out each of my paws while gyrating around on the sidewalk. Grandma, of course, realized the severity of my condition and plucked me up into her arms, cradling me like a baby. During this entire scene, little Miss Perfect Lizzie just kept trotting along without any sign of discomfort. Sometimes she really sickens me!
Home at last! Grandma rooted around in one of her capacious bags and whipped out the mother of all treats…the snack no self-respecting dog of any breed can resist…the smelliest and foulest of goodies…a bully stick, a.k.a., bull pizzle! For those of you, dear readers, who are ignorant of this particular delicacy, look it up on line. Oh boy, oh boy! Lizzie and I retreated to opposite corners, lay down, propped the sticks between our paws and began chewing, shredding, and sucking. What bliss, what joy, what incredible happiness. And then Mom came home…end of fun. She hates these culinary delights and quickly removed them from our jaws.
On Saturday, Grandma and Mom went shopping. Grandma was all buzzed because her sister had told her about a product that protects a dog’s paws from the salt on the sidewalks. I was not eager to try it since I naturally hate my paws being touched for any reason. You don’t mess with Grandma though, and she proceeded to rub on this waxy stuff. Outdoors I refused to budge, digging my feet in, but Grandma kept yanking me along, and surprise, surprise, there was no pain! How could this be? I was able to resume my normal alpha male walk, attracting the usual admiring looks. Now, I am not a pug who is a promoter of products, but this stuff really works. It is called Mushers and it was developed for teams of huskies in Alaska, so it’s got to be good. It is also used to treat raw and cracked paws. Now winter is not so unbearable for me.
Grandma left us Sunday and even though she can be tough, I really miss her. She is always ready with a treat, kind words, and a hug. Hurry back to us, Grandma. Mwah!
First of all, I need to get something off my chest…my parents forgot to get us dog food this week so yesterday for breakfast my dad smashed up dog treats and mixed them with sweet potatoes, which should have made me angry but didn’t because it was really good. For dinner that night, Mom made oatmeal, sweet potatoes, and eggs…SWEET! Today they are getting us our dog kibbles so no more special meals…speaking of which reminds me of a wonderful summer memory…clamming with Mom and Grandpa. We would go out on Grandpa’s boat, anchor off a little spit of land, and then stand in the low tide, digging for these succulent little morsels. Lizzie wasn’t too keen about the whole thing since she was new to it, but I’ve been doing it for years and know the sweet reward. I’ve thrown in a couple of photos so you can see for yourselves…a warm memory for a cold day.