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Pugs are NOT clowns

Humes can be cruel, misinformed or sometimes just easily swayed by others. Particularly I am referring to commentary about us being “clowns,” “natural clowns” etc. This point of view is often reiterated in books about pugs or other venues and I would hope it will die the timely death it deserves. The weird part is it is often repeated while at the same time the truism is touted that we are a regal breed with innate dignity and so forth. The latter is certainly true.

I know of no pug who relishes being dressed as some cartoon character or holiday imp, elf or other grotesquerie. We only allow it because we are an ancient and wise species that understands the small pittance of frivolity such action provides our humes. They have hard lives, full of worry and woe, so it behooves us as the royal beings we are to allow them some small measure of distraction.

There is no doubt we are playful and do like to tease our humes. But clowns? No indeed. I should appreciate it if such remarks are no longer repeated anywhere. Holla holla! Just kidding…..



While lazing the day away, waiting for my current hume, master, mistress, whatever, to return from the place she calls a four-letter word, I listen to quite a lot of public radio. Very entertaining. The radio folks’ feigned sincerity and breathy attempts at gravitas quite amuse me. I won’t name names, however, because these radions seem to relish small controversies and would likely read my blog as a “letter to the editor” to prove how objective, fair-minded and open to criticism they are…. NOT! LOL!

Anyway, they blather a lot about education and now “higher” education. I presume by higher education they mean the institutions where much of the student body is higher on alcohol, narcotics, hallucinogens or stimulants than they were in middle school. …

I never quite understood the concept of higher education: Students pay exorbitant amounts of dollars to attend institutions (appropriately also what humes call the places where inmates and nutjobs are housed) and then these poor dupes are subject to the whims of pompous eggheads, AKA professors, teachers or instructors or some such. Humes are being hoodwinked! They pay professors to “teach” students, who in turn are graded and judged by the very same persons hired to do the job in the first place.

Forsooth, if logic prevailed, the payers would judge the purveyors of education and only pay if they do what they are hired to do! Yikes! Why don’t the so-called investigative journalists of public radio sink their tiny claws into that story??? It’s because all radions hold their own “degrees” and alma maters so dear they don’t want to admit to their public that they too have been hornswaggled…

Just call me “Scoop.”


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…

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!


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!


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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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