Video Treat

It's 1:30 a.m. and I'm sitting on the sofa in the livingroom with Alfie panting beside me. It's just plain too hot and I'm too tired to post much tonight, so I thought I'd share this video from the past with you. The fawn puppy is my Alfie, now 2, and one of the many blacks (the tiniest one) is Waffles, the puppy I am presently considering adopting.  She and Alfie were born a month apart and are from different breeders.

At the time, I considered adopting Waffles, too, though she wasn't my favorite in the litter, but decided that Alfie was enough for me to handle. My favorite in the litter was the big, black Truffles, but Waffles would have none of that. Every time I would try to pick up Truffles, Waffles would come sit in my lap and stare into my face. She also befriended Alfie, curling up with her every time they got together to play. It became more and more difficult to pass her by.

She has lived with my friend, Joan, for the past two years. I think Joan secretly kept her in hopes that I one day might claim her, although she maintains she reminds her of an old favorite of hers, Samantha Ah-Fa-Don (as in I Fall Down). Whatever the reason for keeping her, I'm glad she did. When Vader died, Waffles seemed the perfect candidate to now join our family. Alfie loves her, Joan wants me to have her. Problem is, as I have mentioned, she is a wee bit of a devil dog and while I have almost resigned myself to the fact that she will be joining my family in August, I am a little terrified at the prospect. Alfie has finally reached an age where she is settling down somewhat, but from what I hear about Waffles there is no off switch. The general consensus from those who comment on this blog is that there is indeed a force in nature at work to convince me to adopt this pug and I cannot ignore it. All fine and good I think, and in the bright light of day I agree, but it is plain hot right now and I am too tired and I have a feeling it's going to be a lot harder to sit on the couch and relax once the Devil Dog makes an appearance.

Mermaid-Collage Draft

Hi, I've been getting a lot of new subscribers to the blog, for which I am very thankful, but I realized that many of you do not know much about me. In addition to being a certified "Pug Slut" -- it seems it's agreed upon now -- I am also a writer/teacher and a photographer/artist. I've been having a lot of success lately in showing and selling my collages, which along with my photographs I post here from time to time. Don't worry, pug lovers among you, just as they do in my life, pugs have a way of showing up in my work as well (as you can see in this picture here).

I thought I might share with you all a little bit about my process. This is an unfinished draft of a collage I have been working on for some time. It is a difficult piece because in order to capture the ethereal nature of the water and the mermaid the figures need to be intentionally blurry, but I still want something for viewers eyes to grab on to. I work from "recycled photos" -- digital images that may not quite work as stand-alone images, but when manipulated in Photoshop can really tell a story. I then print out these images and draw, embroider and whatever else I think will provide a more three-dimensional aspect to the piece, before scanning them back into Photoshop and manipulating some more. This is my sixth version of this collage and I have yet to print it out to work on it. The first version featured the girl alone. I wanted to add a companion and put in the pug on the righthand size of the image, but where I originally placed it, it looked as though he and the girl were engaged in some unsavory business (I'm not that much of a "slut") so I moved him around and added another and have been playing with the piece ever since. There still needs to be something going on in the left hand side and I have some ideas, but I thought I'd share it with you now as a work-in-progress. And, don't worry, there's still another pug post to follow later today!

The Test-PG 13

No sooner had I pressed publish on today's post than I heard from one of the "Pug Sluts" clarifying the true meaning behind the name. It seems that while the group says things that can make a trucker blush (I heard this from an actual trucker) the meaning behind the name refers to the group's willingness to do anything for their pugs.

 

Time to reevaluate. Do I fit this definition? I mean have I ever been tested, really tested? True, when Buffy and Vader wandered from my fenced-in yard, I went after them and brought them home. When Mira digested my nephew's Lego construction workers and policemen, I stayed up with her all night until her stomach could be x-rayed in the morning. When Alfie first met me and was too scared to move for hours, I simply sat with her and tried not to worry that my new puppy might be paralyzed.
Perhaps greater opportunities have presented themselves when it comes to defending Joan's pugs. After all, when Melinda Mugwump went missing, I created and distributed posters and roamed the roads daily shouting her name. When Tonka, Egg, Lumpi and Miska were in lockdown in a hotel for a Pug National Specialty Show in Pennsylvania in fear of a highly contagious virus (to humans not to pugs), I was willing to climb the hill and charge security with the other enraged pug handlers. And, en route to another specialty show in San Antonio, Texas, it was I, who braved the torrential rain and winds of Hurricane Rita to carry Beau Diddley and his crate from the van to the motel. It seems when it comes to going the distance for my pugs I know a thing or two.

Come to think of it, when it comes to the steamier side of things I may have paid my dues as well. I recall the time I traveled with Joan and her stud dog, Zig, to meet her friend, Leslie, and her pug, Stella, to perform an unsuccessful mating in the back of her Honda Elemental. It was a long hour of watching these two, disinterested, black pugs chase and sniff each other to no avail in the cramped confines of the car. On a cold November evening, we dined with friends in their cozy pub over wine and cheese as their pug, Dudley, and Joan's pug, Tar Baby, tried to perform the same deed; this time with success. I have to admit this was a much more upscale date. Once I drove 60 miles to Burlington with Joan to hold her pug Dempi in place during an artificial insemination. Yes, when it comes to being a "slut" it seems I might just pass the test.

A Whole New World

First, for those of you who do not know me well, I should say that I am not new to the pug world. I inherited my first pug, Buffy, from my brother 16 years ago and went out seeking a first pug of my very own, Vader, two years later. It was then, I met Vader's breeder, Joan, who at the time had 22 or more pugs in her home and now has anywhere between 14 to 18 depending on the day.
With her I have seen pug puppies born and oldsters die, I have traveled to AKC-sanctioned pug shows and learned how to handle pugs in the ring. I have attended pug socials sponsored by local rescue organizations and participated in costume contests, races and more. In other words, I am no virgin to the world of pugs.

A few weeks ago, however,  when I joined the Hubbard Hall Writers Project led by our Esteemed Leader writer/photographer Jon Katz, I found myself apologizing for being "Pug Crazy," which resulted in his conclusion that I feared the label. Not exactly true, I thought to myself. I pretty much know I'm pug crazy.

Jon in turn asked me, "Why pugs?" and I still haven't come up with a good answer. Honestly, isn't it evident, I thought? They're adorable, funny, clownish creatures whose sole/soul purpose seems to be affection. He concluded that all the pug people he knows are friendly and outgoing, enthusiastic even.

Yes, that fits, I thought.

Our conversation progressed and I soon found myself explaining the ins and outs of pug socials to him and subsequently the other writers in our group. They all seemed equally astonished at the notion of a pug kissing contest, which my pug had won, not because of the win, mind you, just at the idea that people would hold a contest designed to have their pugs repeatedly kiss them on their mouths.
Once I conquered this hurdle and explained I wanted to write a story of my friend, Joan, and her many pugs, I faced a new challenge. Joan, you see, does not live the most traditional lifestyle, which is exactly why I want to write about her. I had typical anxieties about writing about someone I know, but what I didn't bargain on is how strange people find the sheer number of pugs she owns.

I have been slowly digesting the concept that while I joked about being "Pug Crazy" the fact is people might actually see me that way, at least a little bit, you know in the same affectionate and tolerant way that you might view your doddering Aunt Betty?

Well, so be it, I thought. In for a penny, in for a pound and when it came to my love of pugs, I was already all in. I began posting more about pugs on my blog to good response when suddenly, the stakes were raised a notch. I learned about a group on Facebook that I was told I just had to join if I wanted to connect with pug people. The group is called Pug Sluts.

                                                         ************************
Pug: any of a breed of small sturdy compact dogs of Asian origin with a smooth, short coat, tightly curled tail, short muzzle, and broad wrinkled face
Slut: 1. chiefly British : a slovenly woman 2. a : a promiscuous woman... b : a saucy girl ..'
                                                       **************************

Wow, I thought. Yes, I love my pug. Yes, we won a pug kissing contest together. Yes,  I cavort with many pugs on a regular basis, but do I really qualify as a slut? I went and joined the Facebook page in the hopes that I will learn the answer to this question and what it might mean if I do. I'll keep you posted.

Poolside

See the full gallery on Posterous

I am in the water. Alfie stares at me from the edge of the pool. She doesn't quite trust me enough to get close, but at the same time looks like she is searching for a way to join me. Maybe she is concerned, maybe not. I can't exactly tell what she is thinking. She comes closer to the water and licks my face, but when I reach for her she backs away. She sports her red, doggie life preserver, which pushes her fur up, making her ruff look even furrier. She moves toward me again and when she goes in for the kiss, I grab the back of her preserver and pull her toward me. She looks abashed at being caught and disappointed in me for doing the catching.
"Hey, I trusted you," I think she might say.
She clings to me, her tiny, sharp nails pricking my skin. I hold her tight and wade back and forth in the pool, feeling her rapid heart beat against my chest. Slowly I lower her into the water and her legs start to paddle. She moves rapidly to the steps, jumps up to the edge, turns to look at me then shakes herself off. The dance begins again...she stares at me from the edge of the pool and comes in close to lick my face. I reach for her. She backs away. She moves closer and I grab her. Once again she looks surprised. We repeat this many times and I wonder will she trust me? Is this a game? What is this dance between people and animals and does she find my behavior as peculiar as I do hers?
                            ************************************************************************
She is in the water. When she moves in for the kiss, I come closer. When it looks like she might grab me, I move away. I do not want to swim! She looks sad, so I move closer. She grabs me! Not fair!
"Hey, I trusted you," I want to say.
She holds me tight and I grab on. She moves back and forth in the water and I wait nervously until I feel the cold lap me. Then I get moving for all I'm worth, pumping my legs, searching for shore. I find the steps and I leap, shaking the water off me. I turn and look at her. She seems to want a kiss, I move closer. Oh no, she's going to grab me, I back away. Too late, the dance starts again. Is this a game? Will she tire? I wonder, will she want to eat soon? I hope so. I can only guess at what she's thinking. What a strange game we play.

Leader of the Pack

It's my birthday and I'm off to swim so not much to post today. My friend Joan took this picture of me yesterday when I visited her house. Whenever you stop by and flop on the bed, the black pugs will jump up and flock around you. That's Sweet Pea with her tongue hanging out, and the one in front of me is Waffles, the pug I may adopt. The other two are Releve, Waffles' mom and Tarbaby. Joan's house is full of these funny little creatures and I spend time with them often in this magical kingdom. In this picture with them all gathered around me I feel like Leader of the Pack but don't let it fool you, they are definitely the ones in charge.

Another Sign?

I went to visit my friend Joan today. I am thinking of perhaps adopting one of her pugs. Joan calls the two-year-old black girl named Waffles her Devil Dog as she seems to get into everything -- eating buttons off shirts, hiding underwear. If there is mischief to be had, Waffles is in the fray. My pug, Alfie, a wild child herself, loves her! So, I am thinking of making her mine.

With this on my mind I returned home tonight to see a comment on my blog from Roxy, the Devil Dog, a black pug with her own blog http://thedevildog.blogspot.com/. What are the chances of encountering two black devil dog pugs in the same day? I'm not entirely sure, but it seems like signs are all around me lately and this just might be one.

A Sign from Heaven

See the full gallery on Posterous

They say God works in mysterious ways and that is why I know the free margarita glasses I saw by the roadside yesterday were heaven sent. You see, a couple of years ago my friend/counselor/mentor died, but one of the last pieces of advice he left me was "Make sure I took time out to have a Margarita." He meant this literally and figuratively. He realized my uptight nature, the desire to be a perfectionist, a workaholic, the need to play by the rules.

All these aspects of my personality have been in high gear lately. Exhausted though ehilarated by the successful Pig Barn Show, challenged by the new writing workshop, stressed by pressing deadlines and student papers to correct, I found myself near tears as I worried over everything. How would I keep my students interested in a full day of class on a holiday weekend? When would I find the time to write my articles? What if I can't write the story I want to for the workshop? What if my point is misconstrued?

I was driving home from the post office with Mom when she mentioned the free stuff by the side of the road. The flash of green caught my eye and I made her turn around so I could get a good look. We pulled up at the curb and immediately they came into focus -- lime green margarita glasses, and my favorite color, too. I know there will be naysayers who say this is just a coincidence, but I'm pretty sure there was someone looking down on me from heaven, saying take it easy, have fun, go have a margarita!

Filling the Empty Spaces

I've been thinking a lot about Nancy's letter to Joan, the one she sent along with her pug, Sweet Pea. Every time I read it yesterday it would make me cry -- something about her apology and her hope. Her sorrow at allowing Sweet Pea to get kicked by the horse, her hope that Joan is happy to see her again. There is something in those words that speak of stewardship, a bond between the women, each entrusted for a time with the care of this sweet animal. Sweet Pea looked for Nancy as she drove away and was asleep in Joan's bed before the end of the night. My friend, Jon Katz, does not think animals grieve and at the very least, that we cannot know what goes on in their heads. People grieve though and they falter and they try to do their best. Nancy bought Sweet Pea an antique collar and a monkey crate when she was in her care, she let her break her wine goblets, she let her sleep beside her. She made a decision to give her up when she felt her own travels caused her dog distress. She hoped that Joan would welcome this little girl back with as much love as she was given, perhaps more because it is easy to love a puppy, perhaps not as easy to love an old girl with a broken jaw. I feel Nancy's heart in those words -- in the white spaces where nothing is said -- her emptiness, her guilt, her need to do the right thing -- I sense her love for a little animal whom she chose to dub with the same endearments that were bestowed upon her. We do what we know how. We hope that it is right. We let love fill the empty spaces.

See the full gallery on Posterous

Woes of Shooting RAW

My apologies to anyone who follows my blog posts, but here's a problem with being a photographer. Once you start shooting RAW your internal hard drive fills up quickly. My 500 GB hard drive on my Macbook Pro is full. Completley full, I can barely type this post as my computer is shouting out messages every full minutes "Your startup disk is full! Your startup disk is full!"

"Gotcha'," I wanna yell back. And, I do. I understand and yes, I have done all the right things. I have mutiple external hard drives sitting on my desk and multiple backups. I have tiny external hard drives that are supposedly mobile that I can bring with me everywhere and still I cannot keep more than the immediate pics I am working on on my computer, which seems highly unfair. In working on my collages I view my desktop as a palette and it only works well to have all these images on hand, but my computer does not want me to do that. I called Systems Plus, the local computer shop, today to see about putting in a 1 TB hard drive in my Macbook Pro, which I can do and I can also pay to have them move everything over, but they seemed incredulous that I could possibly have that many photos on my computer.

"But, I do!" I cried.

"You better let us check it out," they said.

The conclusion is inevitable so I have started the all day process of moving my current photos onto the external drive. I'll probably still add the terabyte hard drive down the line but I need to use my computer today. There is really no point or happy ending to this piece other than to share the woes of a photohound and how the path of addiction in any form leads to heartache.

P.S.-Will be posting pics of Sweet Pea's monkey crate when I am once again able to access them (off the external drive, of course!)