Mmmmmm ...

I sampled my first Swedish meatball from IKEA today. Who knew that food from a furniture store could be so tasty?

Driving Miss Doofus

As you know, I am an ardent proponent of expanded rights for canines. But that does not mean I would suggest letting the family dog drive the car.

The Exorcism of Bella Rose: Part II

The first part of this true story is in the post directly below this one.

After her violent outburst, Bella collapsed on the bed. It seemed the demon had granted her a momentary reprieve. I put my ear on Pope Pius Pug's chest to check for vital signs, but I heard no pulse. The leader of the world's 1 billion Catholic canines was teetering on the brink -- or perhaps he had already passed the point of no return. "Noooooooo!" I cried. The pontiff was too beloved, too brilliant, too incredibly good-looking to pass away now. I knew that there was only one hope to bring him back. Though I had never performed the laying on of tongues ritual on a dog, it was the pope's only chance for survival.

I pulled up his papal garb and began to vigorously lick his belly button, forever putting to rest the myth that canines have no navel. I paused to check for signs of life, but his tail remained eerily uncurled. "Come on, pope," I exclaimed. "Fight!" I went back to licking, while at the same time praying for the pontiff's recovery. Just then, a glass mosaic went whizzing by my head and crashed into the dresser, exploding in a cloud of tiny shards. I glanced up to see Bella standing on two legs atop the bed's headboard. The lights began to flicker as Bella seemingly gave off some sort of electromagnetic field. She grabbed another mosaic and flung it at me. I twirled around the pope's motionless body, my tongue never breaking stride. This dangerous dance continued for what seemed like an eternity. I channeled my healing power toward the pope while dodging Bella's barrage of lamps, mosaics and other knick-knacks. In one instant, I had to pull the pope aside to keep one of Bella's glassy projectiles from striking him. As I shoved the pope under the bed for safety, I took a deep breath and delivered one giant lick. I felt a shudder, then a heave. The pope began to wheeze. I pressed on, narrowly dodging a picture frame that ricocheted off the wall. The pope began to snort with renewed strength. "Mugsy ....," he said. I put my paw over his mouth. "Save your energy, my friend," I barked, motioning for the humans to take the pope out of the danger zone. "Get this pug a biscuit, stat!" I commanded. "He needs his strength." As the door closed, I knew that the final showdown was at hand.

I leaped onto the bed and caught Bella by surprise, knocking her down. She turned, putting her rear in my face in the famed Chihuahua fighting technique before wheeling and snapping at me with her razor-sharp fangs. I bobbed and weaved like a boxer, the pugilistic skills honed in my puppyhood taking over. As she spun and lashed out at me again, I saw an opening. My paws came crashing down on Bella's back, pinning her to the bed. I held her down with one paw while holding up my sacred bone-shaped amulet with the other. I began to recite a prayer, causing Bella to squeal in agony. Though it pained me to see a canine suffer so, I did not let up. For hour upon hour, I barked the word of Allah. At times she would slip free from my grasp, but never for long. I grabbed her by the tail and flung her back to the center of the bed, where I continued the ancient exorcism ritual. Finally, her mouth opened wide. And what I saw next would forever be etched upon my mind.

It began as a lump in her throat, as if her Adam's apple had become an Adam's melon. With tremendous force, the demon erupted from her mouth. This agent of the devil was a luminescent green, with wide eyes and an incessant, taunting squeak. It lunged at me, and I batted it out of the sky and onto the floor. With reckless abandon, I sent my body hurtling after the demon. I rolled it toward the corner with my spare snout, trapping the demon against the wall. Then my teeth clamped down, puncturing the demon's squeaker in one mighty blow. With a hiss of rushing air, the demon cried out in pain and went hurtling from my mouth. It hovered for a split-second before rocketing through the ceiling, leaving a small hole in the sheetrock. A hint of daylight poured in and illuminated Bella's sleeping body. The poor dog was exhausted. I put my paw on her forehead. "At last, Bella, you have found peace," I barked. And I curled up by her side for a much-needed nap.

The exorcism of Bella Rose was not an easy thing. It was neither quick nor pleasant. What I have witnessed over the last 104 hours will no doubt be etched into my memory for the rest of my days. But as I have explained before, it had to be done. This is the story of the fight for Bella's soul.

All else had failed: The jail time. The counseling sessions. The puppy classes at PetSmart. It became apparent to me that this Chihuahua's actions were not her own. They were, instead, the work of a powerful demon that had burrowed its way into her soul. This former nun -- once known for her piety -- had become evil incarnate. I began to study the Quran and the ancient Hadiths, seeking guidance. Exorcisms, though rare, have long been a part of the Islamic faith. But I would not go it alone. As I alluded to in an earlier post, my good friend Pope Pius Pug left his gold-encrusted Dogloo at the Vatican and jetted to Dallas to lead this most important ritual. Upon his arrival, we locked ourselves in my study to prepare. We melded the best Muslim and Catholic demon-fighting techniques. We discussed strategy. We prayed for hours upon end. And, given the inherent danger of our mission, we made out our wills.

Finally, the day of the exorcism had arrived. We sat in silence during our long trip up Interstate 35, not even barking at passing motorcyclists. We arrived at Bella's holding cell in the dead of night and went immediately to work. I instructed the humans to take 10 bowls of holy water into her bedroom. The pope and I entered and locked the door. There was no turning back.

"Well, well," she barked, her head rotating slowly. "Look who's here."

Bella then let loose a string of vile expletives unfit for publication in a family blog such as this. Even worse, she unleashed her ear-shatteringly high-pitched bark. I was able to overcome the initial shock of this aural assault, and I ordered the humans to pin Bella to the bed. Though sliced by her razor-sharp claws, they complied. The pope then took his position at the foot of the bed and began to recite an incantation. I splashed holy water from my drinking bowl onto Bella's flesh, which sizzled upon contact. The stench was overwhelming. Then, without warning, she threw off her human handlers and lunged at the pope. Her venomous teeth flashed as she growled in an ancient, long-dead tongue. The pope bore the full brunt of her savage attack and stumbled backward. He slumped to the floor, his tail coming completely uncurled.

I shoved Bella back toward the bed and rushed to the pontiff's side. Pope Pius Pug was no longer breathing.

To be continued

Pug in a rug

Some senior citizens let dementia get them down. But not this woman. She's spending her golden years outfitting dogs in hairpieces. Ruth Regina is out to start a new fashion trend while simultaneously improving the self-confidence of canines everywhere. As she says, "Dogs are just little people in fur coats." Click here to read her story (and to see a bulldog blond bombshell).

Tag -- I'm it

My faithful congregation, I have been tagged. Tara Roswitha, Pippin, Bam-Bam and Thomas Peterson have all bestowed upon me the tag of duty. And I will honor this duty to share five "weird" things about myself. But let us instead call them "quirky," for there is nothing weird about a pug ayatollah.

1. Whenever I spot an exposed belly button, I lick it. Vigorously. For hours, if the humans would let me. My parents have even used this trait against me. When I mischievously run outside and refuse to come back in, my mother has been known to drop to the floor and expose her bare midriff to lure me back to the house. I cannot resist. Why do I do this? Because it is the best way to impart my mystical healing powers upon the humans.

2. I am a reformed ex-convict. I was incarcerated for my role in The Great Panty Raid, and it was in the pound that I found Allah. For further details, please see my biography in the right-hand rail.

3. I do not like to ride roller coasters. This is OK, however, because I am not tall enough to ride.

4. I have my own online store, where I attempt to sell Ayatollah Mugsy and Got Rawhide? products, among others. I pray that I will sell enough to cover my $5-a-month investment.

5. I introduced my parents to the majestic breed known as the pug. Before they adopted me, they did thorough research to try to find the right kind of dog to keep in the cramped apartment they shared at the time. When they saw an ad in the classifieds, they decided they would go take a look at this funny-looking breed of dog in Wylie, Texas. They had no intention of taking a puppy home that day. But that was before they met me, a tiny bundle of snorts and nonstop licking. Guess who called shotgun on the ride home.

Now, it is time for me to dole out tags. In no particular order, I choose:

Tyler
Anonymous Midwest Girl and her puppy
JMG and her furry children
Francois Fertig
Eagle

Security gone wild

I have just received a call from a fuming Pope Pius Pug. It seems that the security screeners at Fiumicino Airport in Rome won't let my good friend board with his Hartz Groomer's Plus Puppy Shampoo. What a pity. The Catholic masses deserve to see their leader with his coat at its shiniest.

Pint-sized powder keg

Some of you may have heard about a little "incident" that occurred last night. Rather than let the innuendo swirl, I would like to set the record straight. Yes, Bella the Chihuahua escaped from her holding cell briefly. And yes, there was a rather grisly attack. She savagely assaulted a neighbor, who required a medium-sized Band-aid on his ankle. Thank Allah, he is a supporter of Pug Life Ministries and agreed not to press charges.

It has become apparent that Bella cannot be rehabilitated through conventional means. But something must be done. This cannot continue. Her violent acts besmirch the reputation of all canines -- except in the instances in which she is mistaken for a rodent. In any case, I am formulating a plan. God willing, I will purge these violent tendencies from Bella -- or die trying.

My genius prevails

My mother tried to stump me tonight with a scavenger hunt. She hid dog biscuits around the living room for me to find. She thought she was being really sneaky, too. She must have been rather disappointed when I made quick work of her little mental exercise. Come on, mother. I memorized the Quran in a single sitting. I can certainly sniff out a few biscuits. But don't let that dissuade you from trying again.

Not so neighborly

I went for a walk last night, as I often do after the sun's tyranny has faded for the day. At the end of the block, I encountered a familiar bark. It was a rival cleric. And this was no friendly bark. No, this was a verbal assault. He pounded frantically on his wooden fence. "Go away!" he barked. "Go away!" I snorted back, trying to calm him down, and sniffed at the fence. Again, his vicious bark rang out. "Begone, heretic pug! You and your followers are not welcome here!" Though I am known for my easygoing ways, I do not take kindly to being called a heretic. So I quickly hatched a plan. Just then, I felt the light tug of the leash on my collar. "Wait," I implored my parents. "I have a present for this infidel." Smiling mischievously, I slowly circled and sidled right up to the fence. "This will teach him," I thought.

Unfortunately, my mother foiled my plot with her plastic grocery bag.

Activist ayatollah

To be an effective ayatollah, one must know when to take a stand. On Saturday, I protested an injustice.

Not to be left out ...

Let it be noted that I have seen Suri Cruise. She is the single most beautiful child to ever crawl this Earth. Allah must have spent weeks sculpting her stunning features and perfectly shaped head. At only 3 months old, she possesses the most enchanting, alluring eyes known to man or pug. Wherever she goes, the storm clouds part, and an aura of pure white glows above her silky hair. She needs no diaper, for she was born fully potty-trained. And she never cries; instead, she sings. Her angelic voice is like no other, and it is always accompanied by an unseen harp. Yes, friends, I have seen little Suri, with a fringe on top.

Bad news, good news

That unmistakable sound is back. Only three weeks after our last national tragedy, my refrigerator is dying -- again. It starts with a click, then a grating hum, worse than claws on a chalkboard. And now the packages in the freezer are beginning to go soft. I pray that the warranty on the previous $215 repair will cover the costs.

In happier news, I have rediscovered my tennis ball. How did I go so long without you, Wilson?

Unwelcome visitor

I have recently noticed a cat snooping around my house. I often spot him walking along the perimeter of the yard, trying to get a look inside the ayatollah compound. When I approach this feline interloper, he runs away, sometimes vanishing into the series of catacombs that run beneath the street. Naturally, I am not going to risk my safety and sully my turban to pursue him in his subterranean lair. Is he a foreign agent? A saboteur? An overzealous telemarketer? I do not yet know. But he is clearly up to no good. At my direction, the Pug Life staff has created this sketch. Memorize his features, and be on the lookout. The security of the ministry depends on your eternal vigilance.