Here's a pic of Alfie and Waffles on a walk by the Beaver Pond, two years ago when they were wee little pups. It looks like they were destined to be friends.
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.
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.
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.
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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 ..'
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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
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?
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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.
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.
Narnia/Sweet Pea/Little Pig - A Brief Life's Journey
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Yesterday, I drove with my friends Joan and Norma to pick up a pug that Joan had sold years earlier to a woman who could no longer take care of her. This woman's father is infirm and she is spending the majority of her time flying back and forth to Florida to care for him, while her pug, Sweet Pea, remains kenneled. Finding this unfair to Sweet Pea, she asked Joan if she would mind taking her back.
Sweet Pea began her life at "Pugdom," the affectionate name we have for Joan's house back in 2003. I know because I searched my scrapbooks and Christmas letters last night to discover the exact date. She was born in February 2003 on my lap in Joan's livingroom as the Grammy awards played in the background. We dubbed that litter "The Forest Creatures" (each litter gets a name) and called the sole black female, Narnia. A friend, who was losing her old black male, Bison, also one of Joan's pugs wanted another, so Narnia was supposed to go with her. While she grew and we waited for this friend to claim her, Narnia traveled back between Joan's house and Norma's, a loving well-adjusted, sweet-spirited pug. Finally, at a year-old, she went to her new home where unfortunately she did not hit it off with our friend's other pug, Beaudette. Beaudette hated Narnia and no matter what this friend tried she could not get the two to get along. Then stepped in Nancy who said she'd gladly take in Narnia.
We met her at an art exhibit in Bellows Falls. She had purchased Narnia, who she readily renamed Sweet Pea, an antique collar and her own antique "monkey crate" in which to sleep. The crate was a deluxe condo and Narnia/Sweet Pea took quickly to her new home. She demanded to be treated like a diva, sipping wine from Nancy's goblets that sat near her chair in the parlor and breaking several in the attempt, before Nancy realized that if she didn't want an alchoholic pug, she had better move the glasses.
Years later in an attempt to visit, we arrived at Nancy's home and not finding her there, we let ourselves in (okay, we broke in, kinda') and spent sometime with Narnia and her monkey crate, leaving Nancy a note so she wouldn't be concerned about burglars. Never did find out what she thought about these crazy pug people who had no aversion to trespassing.
Sweet Pea had many other adventures. Some not so good. It seems awhile back, being too curious, she had an encounter with a horse that did not go well. Getting too close to the beast, it kicked her in the jaw, breaking it. And, while it did not properly heal back together, the muscles hold it in place. Leaving her with a tongue that hangs out the side of her mouth and some difficulty in withholding slobber when she chews. It did not dull her sweet temperament.
Sweet Pea lived with Nancy until yesterday when we picked her up, complete with antique collar in Woodstock, VT. A mutual friend had contacted me when they heard Vader was dying to see if I might take Sweet Pea in, but after losing my pug Buffy, followed by 1.5 year-old Mira, and then Vader all in a span of a few years, I was hoping to get a younger pug whose chances at a longer life might be better. After meeting Sweet Pea again, I am not sure this was the best decision. Joan, however, willingly stepped in to reclaim one of her own.
Nancy was heartbroken to let Sweet Pea go and she came with a long letter of all her little quirks and idosyncracies which included the fact that Sweet Pea barks when onions or potatoes are boiling on the stove because she doesn't know where the sound is coming from. Nancy apologized for letting her get kicked by the horse, "It was my fault, I didn't know it was there," she wrote. And, "I hope you are glad to see her again." Reading the letter made me sob, so much was said, so much didn't need to be.
"What do you call her?" we asked before we drove off. "Do you ever call her Narnia anymore?" "No," said Nancy. "Sweet Pea, or Little Pig, that's what my grandmother would call me."
As our van sped out of the parking lot, Sweet Pea, whom I am now affectionately calling "Little Pig," looked out the window for Nancy before settling in Norma's lap. Nancy had tucked her dog bed (she long ago gave up the monkey crate) in the seat beside him hoping that Sweet Pea would find it comforting, but Tar Baby, one of Joan's pugs who was with us, greedily requistioned it and was soundly snoring even before we were on our way. We stopped at an icecream stand where Little Pig did her name proud by finishing off a doggie sundae, slobber pouring from the side of her mouth. We stopped at my house where she played with my pug Alfie before returning home to Pugdom where her life began. By midnight, she slept soundly in Joan's bed.