Good day to you, beloved zealots of Pug Life. I hope that Allah has been smiling upon you. He was surely smiling upon me a few days ago when he blessed me with a new brother, if only for a few hours. Let me now tell you the story. I had just emerged from my monthly bath, so naturally I wanted nothing more than to run wild circles in the back yard and rub my newly clean fur in the leaves. I was doing just that, working off my pent-up bathtime energy, when I heard a faint yap. Across the street stood a tiny white dog, his fur matted and slightly dirty. I halted my whirling-dervish routine and went with my parents to check on this little fellow. It only took a biscuit to lure him to us, and we soon found that he was wearing no collar, no tag.
My mother took this poor street dog inside the ayatollah compound while my father and I looked around for a human caretaker. We saw only a band of roving street urchins, who promptly ran when they spotted us. Using my highly trained sniffing skills, I tracked them to their back yard, just up the creek from our house. We interrogated the urchins and found that they had no knowledge of the canine's home, although they did say they had seen him out wandering the day before. After warning the little scamps not to disturb my neighborhood markings or seek to outdo them, I brought my father back to the house to check on the young fellow. Upon closer inspection, we determined that he was, in fact, a he. And a maltese, as well, we suspected. He was eager to eat and drink, and so being a charitable ministry, we obliged him.
My mother went out to see if she could find any signs posted related to this maltese, while I began to speak to him to try to find some answers. At first, he appeared a bit scared. Although I am no large dog, I positively dwarfed him. And he was no doubt intimidated by my commanding presence. But he soon warmed to me, and we took turns chasing each other in the back yard. Afterward, we went back inside to study the Quran.
My mother's search for the rightful caretaker bore no fruit, and we began to think that this charming pup might need a new home. I contemplated this -- was I ready to have a brother? Was I willing to share my rawhide? I believe the answer was yes on both counts. "You will need a name," I told my new brother, whose language skills were not as developed as mine. "I think we will call you Caligula -- Cal, for short."
Well, to make a long story no longer than it needs to be, Cal did not become my permanent roommate. My parents found his caretakers later that evening, in a house not far from my own. But Cal, if you are reading this, know that you will always be my brother.