Forbidden love

"My Bunny amore, pretty little one that I adore ..."

With the addition of little brother Wendell to our family in 2007, I sharply cut back on my chew-toy play. It wasn't so much that I didn't like my toys anymore; it was more a matter of the younger pug swooping in and grabbing whatever toy I showed an interest in. I like to slowly work my way into a play session, sniffing at my toys, poking at their squeakers and charming them with my sultry tail wag and slow-burn flirtation. Having Wendell around has made this exceedingly difficult. So with the exception of the occasional romantic rendezvous with my stuffed-panda concubine (from whom wild horses couldn't drag me away), I mostly leave the chew toys to Wendell now. 

I don't mind, really. There is no resentment toward the young fellow, no ill will. Allah knows that I've had my share of good times with the chew toys, and I'm content to sit back and watch him play as I receive an ear scratch from the humans or chew some rawhide. 

"Thank you, Allah."

But with my landmark 10th birthday and its accompanying national holiday coming up, father decided to buy me a new chew toy of my very own. He waited until Wendell was outside before removing Bunny from her Target sack and placing her on the floor before me. She squeaked seductively, her clean new fur glistening. "Is she for me?" I asked, my tail wag quickening. "She's quite fetching." Our brief introduction was interrupted by Wendell scratching at the door, and father scooped her up and vowed that she would return. And so it was that when Wendell dashed outside later to bark at some pedestrians, Bunny and I reunited. Feeling more energetic now, I sank my teeth into Bunny and tossed her to and fro, embarking on a clandestine relationship as my brother patrolled the fence line outside. I sometimes wonder what young Wendell would think of my secret chew-mistress. Would he approve? Would he be jealous? Would he try to steal her away? Perhaps someday I will introduce them. But for now, she is all mine. 

NOTE: The preceding photo montage is best viewed while
listening to Herman's Hermits' "I'm Into Something Good."

Party animals

Wilbur (left) and Mugsy await a well-deserved treat.

My business-minded friend Wilbur the Pug, a shopkeeper in Plano, is celebrating his 10th birthday this weekend. I, too, turn 10 this weekend -- on Sunday. As I told Wilbur, Allah was having an exceptionally good week in early April of 2001. 


Wilbur threw a birthday soiree at his Woof store today, so Wendell and I donned our finest bandanna partywear, piled into the ayatollahmobile and went to visit him. As a present, we wrapped a bow around a pristine stick of rawhide, that most precious material known to pug. Don't worry, my flock -- father assured me that there was plenty more in the compound and that we would not run out. 


Upon arriving, we found Wilbur greeting customers, making sales and extracting biscuits from his mother. He is a shrewd one. A table was set up with cake for human and canine alike, and Wendell and I were able to sample our first-ever slice. Wanting to savor this moment, I naturally chose to scoop up the entire piece of cake in my mouth at once. This left little room to actually chew, however, so the ingestion process took longer than anticipated as the humans nervously hovered over me. Wendell opted for smaller bites taken at supersonic speed. My flock, I am pleased to report that both approaches produced satisfying results. 


As we finished off our cake, someone noticed that some crumbs and icing remained on the floor and appeared poised to reach for a mop or paper towels. But mother assured her this would not be necessary. As a woman who has not had to mop our kitchen floor in years, she knew: Though Wendell and I may be messy eaters, we always clean up after ourselves.