The tales of two pernicious pugs and their doormat.

Tuesday, June 12, 2007

And so begins this woeful tale...

I have a pug. His name is Babar. He's fawn with black sprinkles, and he's the son of Satan.
Technically, his father is a massive rolly-polly mound of fawn-ness called Sherman, but I know, and Babar knows, that evil impregnated his mother that fateful day.

Before Babar entered my life, I was carefree. I enjoyed long naps on my couch (which, at that time, was located in the most logical place - the Living Room). I walked barefoot around my apartment. I left the front door open so my friend, The Breeze, could come in and chat. I ate ice cream and homemade chocolate chip cookies while sitting cross legged on the floor. I played music and danced around naked at 2 AM in the morning.

Then it all changed.

I decided, probably during a sugar high, that I wanted a dog. And not just any dog - a pug. Why did I want a pug? They seemed cute. Had I ever met a pug before? Nope. Did I know how to take care of a pug? Nope. Had I any clue in all frakkin' hell what I was getting myself into? Not a dang clue. But being the sometimes brainless gal that I am, I launched into my search for the perfect pug.

I found him.

Once his big buggy eyes stared at me in confusion, and he attempted to climb up my cleavage, I was gone. I spent the next hour drilling The Boyfriend's ear about how ah-I-can't-speak-because-I-just-wanna-scream cute The Pug's nose was - all 2 indented-into-his-skull millimeters of it.

Since then, I have been living in the Bowels of Hell. To those of you naughty enough to eventually drop by, let me tell you - the Bowels of Hell isn't all that bad. I can live with extremely lethal poo, a makeshift carpet of dead leaves and twigs, and dog toys placed in military strategic positions in order to render the most damage to the enemy (usually me, and sometime The Boyfriend). But I have been cursed. And this week I realized how controlled I have become by this DevilSpawn: I went to visit a breeder to buy myself another pug, so Babar could have a playmate.


Jessie said...

I'm here by way of Crystal Boob's blog, and I had to comment.

Oh, gosh. Your story reminds me of when my godmom bought Wrinkles the pug. She hadn't taken care of a dog for at least thirty years, but her friend convinced her to come see some dogs she found. Godmom's mom had died not too long before and her friend Maggie was scared that Godmom (or Mama, as I'll probably slip up and confuse you with) would tumble into depression and not get out of her house for like six years. Which probably would have happened. Godmom had been taking care of her dying mom for two years, and inevitably it tilted her mind a little to the left. Luckily, she found Wrinkles and her brother. Now the boy was untying her shoe, hopping around, energetic. Wrinkles on the other hand didn't give two toots about Mama. That was the dog for her. Not worries about puppy sliding four flights of steps because it was chasing a fly (she lived in a townhome then). Mom picked her right then and brought her home after going to the vet. The first night Wrinkles paper trained herself, so that was an added bonus in mom's eyes. And she weighed all of like 13 ounces at a little over six-weeks-old.

Now, she's going on 12, half blind and deaf, can't jump anymore cause old age sucks, a biter (she's serious about it, too), loves just to be petted, and is the biggest flirt you've ever seen. That flirt thing? Mama's said that any man that pays her attention gets so much love and kisses, but those of us that are female get a swift butt turn and promptly ignored.

I wouldn't trade her for all the wide world. She's mama dog, but I love her just the same. And it's funny watching her and my cat ignore each other or glance at each other like "...and?" with this half smirk.

Pugs are some of the best companion dogs ever. Just never think you rule them. They rule us all.

Tarina said...

A wonderful start to your tale of animal ownership. Or should I say, human ownership as it sounds like Babar has taken possession of you. I can't wait to read more.

I don't have a dog, but I have a cat and there's been many a time when I've felt that I've labored away at work for a paycheck in order to support her lifestyle.

Amazing how that happens isn't it?

Andrew said...

So if you're the doormat, and Babar is the pug... then where do I fall into this lovable cast of characters?

Pug Mom said...

Thanks for dropping by! One of the reasons why I bought my pug was because I knew an old friend of the family (she's in her sixties) who was so lonely because the kids had left the nest and all that, so she bought a pug. Who turned out to be the sweetest, most devote little thing ever. They adore each other, and can't be out of each other's sight. But as you can see, MY pug is a different story - but I can't help loving the pooch.

Pug Mom said...

I can totally understand feeling like you're working to feed the pet. I can't believe how expensive it's gotten to take care of animals - the proper way, anyway. With getting a new pug, I have to fit into my budget an extra $600 for getting her, about $300 for vet fees (just for the first year), and I don't even know how much for toys and beds and treats. Ugh. But I pay gladly just to have them with me. I'm a total sucker. :)

Pug Mom said...


You know where you fit in. See the list of characters on the side? There's Babs, Me, and you! You're number three! :) Bronze isn't all that bad. Besides, you'll be discussed. When I talk about how to properly teach a pug.

Jessie said...

*laugh* My godmom was in her 60s when she got Wrinkles, too. Wrinkles barks and pouts when Mama leaves her sight, and when possible follows her into whatever room.

We've had people tell us they got a pug because they wanted on just like hours, and yeah, not so much happening. They seem to get the destructive ones.

I meant to say, it's good that you're looking into getting another one. They definitely need the companionship, which we didn't find out about until Wrinkles was several years old and had an aversion to dogs after a severe bite attack. When you're not around, it makes the time pass more quickly. Less separation anxiety.