Monthly Archives: February 2012

WHACKED

Just read in The Week that the number of euthanized pets in this land has declined since 1970 from 20 million (what massive genocide) to 3 million today, even though our numbers (we who wear collars and are fussed over) have more than doubled since the Days of Carnage. Sounds good, unless you’re one of the three million.

I myself have undergone the procedure and truly it has not “altered” my character a whit. I’m still the pugnacious, feisty, ready-to-rumble canine I was before. My lineage is what it is. You know what they call us… multi in parvo. A lot of dog in a little space. So true. I miss my testicles a tad, however. I liked the way they swung when I walked, gently caressing my inner thighs. But the overall experience was for the good of the breed: We don’t think of our own particular offspring–what humes call “their” children–as paramount. It is our breed that matters in the long term. We esteemed ones (pugs to you) have been around 3,500 years give or take, so we tend to focus like Warren Buffett on long-term gains.

But is spaying/neutering contraception? Would the Church approve? What does Rick Sanitarium think? Will he speak for us and stop the mutilation that ultimately thwarts the act of procreation? I guess he believes we have no souls so we don’t count…. Little does he know…

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Lovin’ the lizard life in Florida

Lizards are lazy. They don’t work–as far as I can see–and they don’t exert themselves to mingle socially. They don’t even volunteer for worthwhile charities like the Crippled Chickens Overseas or Planned Pundithood. The loathesome things mostly lie on sidewalks, curbs, porches, rocks, piles of mulch, basking in the sun, eating God knows what (bugs, they say), waiting for me to pounce and end their miserable homeless existences.

I’m sure they get entitlements from their liberal lizard government to enable them to lead such useless, lonely lives, whipping their coily tales about when disturbed from their slumber. But they wouldn’t work in a pie factory, I’m told: It’s so easy for them to exist within their scurrilous underground economy. I’ve heard that their ability to re-grow lost tails is somehow financed by law-abiding taxpayers unaware of the extent of the lizard dole.

More importantly, there are too many lizards. Their population must be managed. Like deer, for instance, or the prolific caper poopers (rabbits they call them). Unfortunately, we can’t build fences with small enough openings to halt lizards with a wanderlust… But I am on it.

I’ve caught three of the little skulkers so far. The first I chomped and chewed but then nearly gagged as it squirmed in my mouth, secreting some foul substance… The next two I merely dispatched with a quick chomp, and I didn’t swallow. They don’t taste like chicken either. But they do provide me with sport. There’s nothing finer than a stroll with my hume on a sluggish sunny afternoon, with lizards scurrying across the sidewalk at the sight of my magnificence on the prowl. Glory days! Oh wondrous life!

HOLLA HOLLA

Oh, you didn’t think pugs were hip and cool unless they’ve been in a movie with Will Smith and Tommy Lee Jones and are named Frank? The resemblance is there. I get that so much…. obviously because I’m every bit as handsome as Frank, the alien. But I am not quite the blowhard he is. I do like the Dorito pug–there’s a real man for you.

I had a good laze today. My current hume left me to my deep thoughts while she sallied forth on a quest for gainful employment. We all know what a hassle that is! Especially if you have grey in your muzzle and some teeth that have been removed for lack of sturdiness. Ah the hardship! Ah the tedium!

I hear her complain a lot about the current state of joblessness in this land where we live. At least she’s not in Tibet or worse yet, China. I dream in my genes about those places where our true honor was worshiped and we knew where we stood… right next to the emperor… or even in his lap! Ah, the feel of rough brocade and slippery silk. Those were the days. Now I get an IKEA futon and a raggedy Pashmina shawl.

Well, if this hume gets her act together, happy days could be on the horizon. Ding a meditation gong on that!

Boeuf!

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Pugging away

It’s a little-known fact, but pugs can talk…. and read…. and now, with the advent of voice to text, we can write. Of course, we rarely speak when around humans–or humes as we call them–though sometimes we slip–making sounds guttural but somewhat intelligible. And sometimes humes THINK we are talking to them because they have some rudimentary psychosocialintuitive abilities. There are always the self-aggrandizing pugs, too, like that grizzled old thingpug who purportedly says “I love you” and appears on various talk shows, etc. I find that tawdry and a bit self-serving, but perhaps he is contributing to the household income of his humes. If you listen closely, he is really lisping “I wuv you,” and therefore cannot be a serious pug.

At any rate, it was only a matter of time before pugblogging began. Perhaps other pugs are blogging, too, but I can’t be bothered to check, because I am only interested in what I have to say.

As you may have surmised, my name is Jack. Not Jacques, or Jac, or Ga-ayk, or any other contrived spelling that appears to be quite popular nowadays. My main hume called me Jack, as in Jack be nimble, or pirate Jack, or Jack ‘n’ Jill or the Jack of Hearts. Quite simple, but elegant. I shall always treasure her for that.

And now I must nap. A quick paw lick and a yawn. Ta-ta!

 

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