But not only did I make an appearance at Pug-O-Ween, my flock -- I finally won the ribbon that has eluded me lo these many years. Wendell and I placed third in the grueling Ghoulish Groups category! Allahu akbar! The previous two years, we had been denied a prize, despite mother's visionary innovation of the gnome pug beard in 2008 and father's somewhat less visionary but still visually stunning innovation of the yellow highlighter-colored Viking pug beard in 2009. Both years, we thought we had a chance. But both years, we were denied by a panel of Communist bloc judges who, for whatever reason, felt that "bribery" was somehow wrong.
Because of these past defeats, we entered 2010 with limited expectations. We knew we would sniff some friends, old and new, and spread the word of Pug Life Ministries, and this was enough for us. So the ribbon was icing on the cake, as the humans like to say. Or, as I call it, Parmesan on the kibble. We were honored to take home a prize at the biggest Pug-O-Ween ever, which attracted nearly 500 pugs (and several other breeds, including my good schnauzer friend Sarge) for the worthy cause of raising money for DFW Pug Rescue.
"So what were the costumes?" you must be asking, about to pass out from the sheer suspense. We were warriors from ancient Rome!
|"He who is brave is free. And hungry."|
|"Begone from my sidewalk, Thracian scum! |
I will see you die in the arena!"
|"I have led legions of pugs and conquered the whole |
of Europe. And now I demand payment -- in rawhide!"
I won't lie, my flock. The power that I feel when I don this costume is immense and, as you may have noticed from the progression of the photo captions above, intoxicating. Yesterday evening, shortly after this photo shoot, Wendell and I enslaved several of the neighbors and forced them to battle in our makeshift driveway colosseum for sport. It wasn't until the elderly Jim pulled a hamstring that I realized I might be getting a tad overzealous. Of course, that doesn't mean I'll cancel tonight's bout. But I will definitely find some younger combatants. The grade-schoolers down the street seem flexible enough.
|"Ah, the spoils of victory."|