Thursday, August 31, 2006
Monday, August 28, 2006
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.
Wednesday, August 23, 2006
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
Tuesday, August 22, 2006
Thursday, August 17, 2006
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:
Anonymous Midwest Girl and her puppy
JMG and her furry children
Tuesday, August 15, 2006
Sunday, August 13, 2006
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.
Saturday, August 12, 2006
Tuesday, August 08, 2006
Unfortunately, my mother foiled my plot with her plastic grocery bag.
Sunday, August 06, 2006
Friday, August 04, 2006
Thursday, August 03, 2006
In happier news, I have rediscovered my tennis ball. How did I go so long without you, Wilson?