Black book blues

There has been much speculation about the client list of the alleged "D.C. Madam," which may contain the names of some of this nation's political elite. For the record, I only received belly rubs.

Mugsy's Prague Spring: Part II

Part II: The Sorcerer's Offer

(Click here to read the previous post)

"Ayatollah, I know that you are here to bring Blue Bull to justice," said the long-haired wizard, his Czech accent thick. His arms moved in an exaggerated fashion, and in his left hand he clutched a book of spells. "I do not know his exact whereabouts, but I know of someone who can help you track this monster down. I might be willing to ... pull a few strings. Quid pro quo, of course."

I studied the sorcerer's face. Was he sincere? Or was he trying to use me to achieve some diabolical black-magic aim? After traveling more than 5,000 miles, I decided I had little choice but to hear him out. "Go on," I barked.

He showed no emotion as he laid out his offer in full detail. "And that is all I seek, my liege. Do me this small favor, and Blue Bull could be yours." I briefly considered his proposal. "Done," I barked. "I shall return this evening."

As I left the shop, I could not help but wonder: Had my pursuit of the Blue Satan led me to make a deal with the devil? I said a silent prayer to Allah as I descended an escalator at the Malastranska subway stop.

To be continued ...

Back from Prague

I have returned from Prague with much to tell, my long-waiting flock. My hunt for Blue Bull had its share of ups and down, successes and failures, triumphs and frustrations. And, as is so often the case for a canine with aspirations of world domination, lingering unfinished business. But enough of this scene-setting. Without further ado, let me tell you about my search for Blue Bull in the Czech Republic.

I arrived in the afternoon, exhausted from a grueling overnight flight and a four-hour layover in London. After finding my hotel on the steeply sloping Nerudova Street in Prague's Mala Strana (Little Quarter) area, I promptly fell asleep. I awoke at midnight, refreshed and ready to tackle the challenges of this strange, vowel-deprived land. Setting out on foot, I put my nose to the cobblestones in an effort to detect a hint of the fuzzy infidel who had tried to destroy the ministry that I have so painstakingly assembled. After crossing the Charles Bridge into Old Town, I followed the crowds of humans toward Old Town Square and then on to the seedy (at least at 1 a.m.) sidewalks of Wenceslas Square. No sign of Blue Bull. Though my haphazard late-night sniffing bore no fruit, I knew there would be more time. Eager to exit the den of debaucherous infidels on Wenceslas Square, I strode back to my apartment and tried to sleep through the night.

Over the next few days, I would meet with many pre-arranged contacts, including a onetime KGB bureau chief, an imam at a local mosque and former President Vaclav Havel. I scoured the Vltava River for signs of Blue Bull, meeting with some distant relatives of my colleague Mallard. They offered some leads on the Blue Satan's whereabouts, but nothing concrete. I searched high and low, climbing the medieval Powder Tower and wandering the cty's endless labyrinth of narrow alleyways. I searched in modest gift shops and extravagant palaces.

Finally, a glimmer of hope took the sting out of my aching paws. As I pursued Blue Bull's scent in the shadows of Mala Strana, a low voice called my name. "Pssst," it whispered. "Ayatollah, it is you, isn't it?" I turned to find a local marionette shop. And peering out from the doorway was a steely stare I will not soon forget.

"Ayatollah Mugsy, my liege. I am so glad you are here at last. The prophets spoke of your arrival. You are here to find the Evil One who seeks to return this nation to the communist rule that sapped us of our will and our freedoms for four long decades. I believe I can be of service to you."

Though I want to tell you more about this old sorcerer's message, my flock, my travels have left me weary. As my eyelids grow heavy and my tail begins to droop, it is becoming apparent to me. This is a tale that will have to wait until a later date.

To be continued ...

Itinerary

Hi, everybody. Mallard here. The ayatollah entrusted me with a big responsibility -- handling all the fundraising while he's away. I hope I'm up to the task. I think this trip will be really good for him. He was really bummed out a couple of weeks ago when he felt like the Rutgers women's basketball team stole this year's Nobel Peace Prize out from under him. He's really fixated on winning that, almost as if it were a biscuit. I bet he'd even roll over if it meant a win, and he doesn't roll over for anyone anymore. But I digress ...

Mugsy left me a paw-written partial itinerary*, and I thought it might be of interest to some of the Pug Life faithful. So here it is:

April 20, 4 p.m.: Depart D/FW Airport.
April 21, 7 a.m.: Arrive in London; attempt to convert Hare Krishnas during long layover.
April 21, 2 p.m.: Prague, at last. Sleep.
April 22, 4 a.m.: Wake up, curse jet lag, wait till breakfast.
April 22, 8 a.m.: Attempt to enjoy hotel's vegan breakfast (thanks, mother).
April 22, 9 a.m.: Search city for meat market.
April 23, 2 p.m.: Commence search for the Blue Satan.
April 24, 7 p.m.: Dine at Prague Castle.
April 25, 10 a.m.: Dog-paddle the Vltava River.
April 26, 2 p.m.: Sniff the Charles Bridge.
April 27, 11 p.m.: Meet with former KGB bureau chief to discuss "best practices."
April 28, noon: Sermon at Wenceslas Square; gain new donors.
April 29, 9 p.m.: Check puggy bank, see if I have enough funds for souvenirs.
April 29, 1 p.m.: Fly to London; spend rest of day there.
Apriil 29, 7 p.m.: Sermon at Hyde Park.


* Times, dates and events altered for security reasons.

Gearing up

Only 24 hours before I leave for the airport. I am filled with a mix of tail-wagging excitement and stoic determination. Excitement over getting to see the history-filled city of Prague and its varied architectural wonders; determination to smoke Blue Bull out of his bovine hole and bring him to justice. My mother, the daughter of a longtime Cold Warrior, was at first reluctant to accompany me behind the Iron Curtain. Her childhood aversion to the Eastern bloc still lingered. But I was finally able to convince her that the odds of being thrown into a gulag were virtually nil, and that the city is known for inexpensive glassware.

In my absence, Mallard and Rabbi Jake will handle the day-to-day affairs of the ministry. Please direct all questions and donations to them. Peace and rawhide be upon you all.

***********

P.S. -- Before I go, I must ask: Does anyone know the story behind this blog, which has purloined many of my posts? I am thoroughly perplexed.

Learning from the past

In three days, I will depart for Prague in my effort to personally hunt down the Fuzzy Satan known as Blue Bull. I have been gathering information in preparation for my sojourn, and one story in particular has stuck with me. So I will share it with you now. This is an important lesson. A lesson of history, a lesson of tolerance. Let us now learn from the past, my children.

Prague has a long history of defenestration -- hurling people from windows. It began in 1419 and may have continued as late as the mid-20th century, when a government minister hurtled from a window at Cerninsky palac. But the incident on which I wish to focus -- our window of opportunity for learning -- occurred on May 23, 1618.

The city was awash in sectarian strife. King Ferdinand refused to halt Catholic discrimination, and radical protestant preacher Vaclav Budova teamed with a soldier named Count Matthias Thurn in a plot against the king's two governors in Prague Castle. They recruited a team of protestants and stormed the castle's Bohemian Chancellery to confront the two men. But the conversation was brief. The protestants grabbed the men, along with an unlucky secretary, and threw them in fine Prague fashion out of a window.

But these three seemingly unfortunate men were in luck. Instead of plummeting to their deaths, they were saved. By what, you ask? A soft landing on a giant pile of dung.

The moral of the story, my esteemed flock, is this: The next time you see a canine "doing his business" in your yard, think twice before you utter a harsh word or cast a disapproving look. The product of that canine's efforts just may save your life.

The sights and scents of my weekend

It was a busy weekend at the ayatollah compound. A pair of human houseguests came from out of state to visit. Alas, they did not bring their canine daughter, the alluring Shelby. But they did bring her sumptuous scent on their jeans, a fact that did not escape my well-honed sniffer. On Saturday, we went to see Body Worlds at the Museum of Science and Nature in Dallas. For those unfamiliar with the exhibit, it features "plastinated" bodies posed in various states and sometimes dissected, bisected, sliced and diced. The plastic preserves the tissue. Our houseguests, being in the medical field, found it to be quite interesting. I, being a canine imam, found it to be more than a bit creepy. And on our subsequent trip to North Park Mall, I could not help but look at the store mannequins in a different light. But overall, I suppose it was an enlightening experience. If you would like to donate your body for a future exhibit, you may sign up here.

Afterward, we played Trivial Pursuit, a game in which I am always victorious. The secret is (and I tell you this in confidence): If I start to fall behind, I either ransack the playing board in a fit of puggish enthusiasm or I eat one of my foes' pieces.

The noose tightens

For months now, we have relentlessly pursued the infidel who sought to usurp my power and force you all to give up your God and your private property. This communist evildoer is Public Enemy No. 1 in the eyes of the ministry, and the passage of time cannot erase his crimes against dogkind. He can run, he can hide, but so help me Allah, he can never escape. The ministry's intelligence bureau has been working overtime to track the Blue Satan's movements, and it recently received compelling and credible reports of his whereabouts.

We believe Blue Bull has sought refuge in the former Soviet bloc, apparently unaware that communism died out in Europe over 15 years ago. The Bullshevik leader (seen above in a surveillance photo) began his journey in Moscow, seeking asylum from what he hoped would be a friendly government. After being turned away, he visited the Baltics, Hungary, Slovakia and the Czech Republic. Unfortunately, this is where -- despite the efforts of our finest sniffer dogs -- the trail ran cold.

Because this is such an important matter of national security, I am preparing a fact-finding mission to Central Europe. God willing, Blue Bull's cotton shall flow like the mighty Vltava River.

Out and about

Though there was a chill in the air, I decided yesterday to visit the local dog park. It had been awhile since I last proselytized there, so the timing seemed right. Unfortunately, the park was nearly deserted. I sniffed a 7-month-old pug pup a bit and tried to spread my message of peace and rawhide to a timid little white dog. But after the pug puppy left, there was no one left to preach to. Only one dog remained, and he was busy dashing up and down the fenceline mirroring some of the canines in the big-dog park. After a long workweek at the mosque, I simply didn't have the energy to keep up.

So we departed the park and visited a nearby store called Woof. It is owned and operated by a pug named Wilbur, and he even has his own business card and Web site. Unfortunately, Wilbur was out of the office. Perhaps, God willing, my social life will improve today.

A champion is crowned

The brackets have been checked and re-checked, and it is now time to announce the winner of the inaugural Pug Life Ministries NCAA Tournament Bracket Challenge. And the winner is ... me! Here are the top 10 finishers:

1. Ayatollah Mugsy
2. Braxton
3. Buster
4. Winston Pugsworth
5. Pugaleeto
6. Winston Pugg
7. Magsters
8. Pugsley Ann & Milo
9. Mr. Pugsley
10. Peanut

To finish first in such a knowledgeable and spiritually aware field is an accomplishment I will treasure always. I would, of course, like to thank God first and foremost. As anyone who has watched a victory speech knows, He always takes sides in competitions, be they sporting events, elections or beauty pageants. That He chose me as His teammate over all the other competitors is a great honor, though not particularly surprising.

Since I won, the grand prize will go to Braxton, who finished a close second after correctly picking all of the Final Four teams. Well done, my furry protege. And well done to the rest of you as well. Thanks to all who participated.

Protest canceled

My mother informs me that the city was very polite and promptly removed the water-violation sign, so I have called off our march on City Hall. But please hang onto the money collected for bail; I still have that subpoena before Congress to contend with.

Mugsy victimized by unjust regime

It was a rude awakening, to say the least. As visions of Italian Milkbone Biscottis danced in my velvety, slumbering head, my mother threw open the door to the bedroom. "They cut off our water!" she exclaimed, the indignation heavy in her voice. "What?" I replied, yawning widely. "The city put a sign out in our yard and turned off our sprinkler water!" she said.

How could this be? I am a law-abiding pug. The city last spring enacted watering restrictions -- only once a week on trash day -- and I follow them to the letter. I would never dream of breaking the rules and over-watering. As anyone who has seen my back yard would attest, I have weeds that grow 15 inches high between their weekly mow. They certainly do not need any additional water.

And yet planted in my yard is a red sign detailing my alleged infraction at 6:42 this morning. This scarlet letter is meant to serve as a badge of shame -- it insists that it remain there for all the neighborhood to see, only to be removed by city personnel. It also bears the address of a house down the street.

Perplexed by this turn of events, I went to the garage to check the controls for my in-ground sprinklers, which once doubled as a fine security system to deal with snooping nuclear inspectors. I opened the panel and scrolled through the various days of the week. For each day, the system was set to "on." The result of a power surge, perhaps? I seem to recall the system resetting itself in this manner after the power went out a year or so ago. So I can only assume that my sprinklers were, indeed, on this morning. But as Allah well knows, it was certainly not my fault. Shouldn't the city place a phone call or issue a warning of some kind before it shuts off one's water? Is this any way to treat a law-abiding, tax-paying pug? Am I not a pillar of the community?!?!

This is simply not right. And so I am organizing a protest march. We will take our righteous rage over this injustice straight to City Hall. I will recruit the most raucous, unruly canines I can find. Chihuahuas, even. God willing, we will make the Code Enforcement Department wish it had never dared to defile my yard with its silly sign and its extortionistic fine. We will shout loud slogans, clash with police and make a spectacle the likes of which this sleepy suburb has never seen. And then, when the police haul out their firehoses to disperse the crowd, the hypocrisy of the city's corrupt regime shall be revealed for all to see.

And then a hero comes along

It is not often that I hand out the ministry's prestigious Medal of Valor. It is reserved for those who display uncommon heroism or selflessness (or those who donate large sums of money or rawhide to the ministry). And so it is a fitting award for young Toby the Golden Retriever. The Maryland 2-year-old spotted his human caretaker choking on a piece of apple that had lodged in her throat. Debbie Parkhurst, 45, attempted to perform the Heimlich maneuver on herself to no avail. After she began beating on her chest, Toby took notice and took the matter into his own paws. "The next think I know, Toby's up on his hind feet and he's got his front paws on my shoulders," she recalled. "He pushed me to the ground, and once I was on my back, he began jumping up and down on my chest." Toby's Heimlich maneuver left a paw-shaped bruise on Parkhurst's chest, but it did the trick.

Toby, on behalf of the ministry and a grateful nation, I present to you the Medal of Valor. In addition, you will receive a one-year scholarship to the ministry's obedience school/madrassa in Yemen. Well done, Toby. May Allah ensure that your coat retains its luxuriant shine for many years to come.

A worthy cause

My flock, this man needs our help. Garth Flaherty is being held by police in Washington state on charges of stealing 93 pounds of women's undergarments from apartment laundry rooms. Police say that is as much as 1,500 items, making it the biggest alleged panty heist in years. Naturally, I feel a certain empathy for Flaherty. Police say the 24-year-old told them that he "had a problem." The only problem I see is a society that would jail a man for such a minor offense. Who among us has not thought about absconding with 93 pounds of women's underwear? Back in my gangsta-rapper days, that was but a few hours of chewing entertainment.

And so I intend to take young Garth under my wing. The ministry is accepting donations for his legal defense fund, and your help is urgently needed. If necessary, we will take this case all the way to the Supreme Court. Garth, if you are reading this, please contact me at once. God willing, we will beat this unfair rap.

Mugsy subpoenaed

Fear not, my flock. Your secrets are safe with me ...

WASHINGTON (AP) -- Following the House's lead, a Senate panel on Friday authorized a subpoena for a shadowy canine cleric in the ongoing investigation of the firing of eight U.S. attorneys.

"This pug knows something," said Sen. Patrick Leahy, referring to Ayatollah Mugsy. The Texas-based imam is the leader of Pug Life Ministries, and many Washington insiders believe he was instrumental in the firings.

"Every single one of the fired prosecutors was involved in building a case against the ayatollah," said Leahy, a Vermont Democrat.

One member of the Senate Judiciary Committee, speaking on condition of anonymity, said that Pug Life Ministries was being investigated on charges of tax evasion, sedition and making terrieristic threats. The tax evasion charges apparently stemmed from the for-profit ministry's assertions that it was a religious institution, and later from its assertion that it was based in the sovereign nation of "Pugistan" and was therefore not subject to U.S. tax law.

"All of the charges were dropped after the U.S. attorney firings," the source said.

An official with Pug Life Ministries said that any talk of Ayatollah Mugsy's involvement in the firings was "preposterous."

"He is but a humble imam," said the source, on condition of anonymity. "And Mugsy would never make terrieristic threats -- that's what his underlings are for."

Holy land in the making

I have exciting news, my ebullient flock. After much deliberation, the ministry's one-pug site-selection committee has chosen a location for the Dogloo compound. It is the perfect spot for this architectural wonder-to-be. We will have easy access to a major highway, to accommodate the never-ending throng of pilgrims. And we will be within 40 minutes or so of the region's two major airports.

Yes, my flock, our dream now has an address -- on Rawhide Court. Has a name ever fit so perfectly? Now we have only to take care of a few minor details, such as procuring the land and funding construction. A couple hundred homes and a pair of school campuses will have to be razed to make way for the Dogloo compound, and this may arouse a faint protest. But as anyone who has made an omelet knows, this is the price of progress. Are pilgrims likely to trek to a suburban schoolhouse five centuries hence? Of course not; it would probably not be standing by then anyway. Yet the Dogloo compound will stand for millennia upon millennia, an eternal beacon of hope and salvation for Pug Lifers everywhere. My tail wags just thinking about it. Allahu akbar!

Last call for contest

Time is running out to enter the ministry's NCAA tournament bracket challenge. The tournament starts Thursday morning (we do not consider the silly "play-in" game to be part of the tournament). The winner will get a fabulous prize from my online gift shop -- possibly a Classic Harem-Wear Thong. Or maybe, God willing, it will be something even more spectacular. Given the dearth of contestants, your odds of winning are far higher than they would be in the Mega Millions lottery. And yet the prizes are comparable, and entry to this contest, unlike the lottery, is free. Do not miss this opportunity of a lifetime.

Click here to enter.

So frustrating

I think I have one of the ringleaders of the chew-toy insurgency cornered. Unfortunately, my parents will not open the chest that he is hiding in, no matter how much I paw at it. I am considering having them locked up on treason charges.

Fill out your brackets

The ministry is sponsoring a contest to see who can pick the most games correctly in the NCAA basketball tournament. You may enter free of charge, and if you have the top score in the country, you could win $10,000. If you have the top score in the ministry (a far more likely accomplishment), you will win a prize from my online gift shop.

To enter, click here. And be sure to join the Pug Life Ministries group. All entries must be made before the tournament begins.

Day at the park

It had been a particularly grueling week at the mosque. And so it was time for some relaxation. After all, Allah had blessed us with a beautiful day. "Pack a bowl of icewater and grab a plastic bag," I barked to the humans. "We are going to the park." Central Park, not far from the ayatollah compound, is a nice slice of nature punctuated by statues of rampaging cattle and verses of cowboy poetry. Just the kind of place for a canine cleric to unwind.

And unwind I did. I roamed the trail. I sniffed the cacti. I even met a lovely canine near one of the park's bubbling fountains. She was nervous at first, perhaps stifled by her non-Muslim upbringing. But as I told her of my vision for Pugistan, she began to warm to me. Her tail was soon wagging as vigorously as mine.

Finally, I bid farewell and made my way toward the pugmobile. My new friend cried and whimpered. She strained at her leash, not ready to see me go. "Keep Allah in your heart and rawhide in your mouth," I barked, "and I shall always be close at paw."

Relentless

As daylight began to creep through the blinds of my bed chamber, a premonition came to me. My sleep grew fitful as this dark prophecy was revealed. My legs flailed. Then I awoke with a start, the vision complete: My father was soon going to be ill. Such is the burden of my great spiritual awareness. This was terrible news. For when the humans are ill, they slack off in their walking duties. And when I don't get a chance to walk the neighborhood, I don't get to spread my message of peace and rawhide. Nor do I get to leave presents for the rival canine cleric down the street. "No, this would be unacceptable," I thought. "I cannot allow illness to infiltrate the ayatollah compound."

Thus began my quest for Saturday. I sat on father's lap as he watched a basketball game. I was looking for an opening. "Why don't you ever wear midriff-baring shirts?" I barked. "What's that?" he replied. "You want to go outside?"

"Your linguistic shortcomings are appalling," I barked back. Perhaps I would have to wait for another time to reach his navel, where I could deliver my healing saliva.

A few hours later, I caught father in a playful mood. I snapped at his hands and ran circles around him. Then I sprinted to the bedroom, leading him along. I rounded the edge of the bed at breakneck speed, challenging him to try to catch me. Then I saw an opening. I pounced at his midsection, nudging at his shirt. "What are you doing, Mugsy?" he asked, laughing. He pushed me away. But I was not to be denied. Again, I lunged forward, pinning him down with my powerful paws. "It is time for the laying on of tongues ritual," I barked. "Resistance is futile." I began the ritual as my father shrieked in horror. Or perhaps he was just laughing hysterically. My eyes briefly met his. "Don't you ever wash this thing?" I barked, swallowing a piece of lint. Then I finished the ritual and moved on to mother's belly button. True, she was not part of my premonition. But better safe than sorry.

Mugsy demands apology

An attorney challenging the authority of the city's police chief in Fostoria, Ohio, wants the department's police dog to appear in court as an exhibit, because he says the dog and the chief have criminal justice degrees from the same online school. The issue gives "one pause, if not paws, for concern" about what it takes to get the degrees from the school based in the Virgin Islands, Gene Murray wrote in a court document filed Monday. Both police Chief John McGuire and Rocko, who is listed as John I. Rocko on his diploma, are graduates of Concordia College and University, according to copies of diplomas that are part of Murray's motion.

Frankly, I find this attorney's insinuation insulting. And as a leading civil rights leader, I feel it is my duty to demand an apology on behalf of Rocko. I finished at the top of my class at PetSmart and at my madrassas in Pakistan and Yemen. And in doing so, I had to work twice as hard as the humans to overcome the widespread bias against canines. This police dog should be commended for his accomplishments in higher education, not subjected to ridicule and baseless suspicion.

A mighty wind

Good morning, denizens of Pug Life. Today, I must tell you about a mighty wind. A mighty, relentless wind that some of you in this part of the country may have encountered over the weekend. The sky was a disturbing shade of brown as unending gusts battered the ayatollah compound, shearing trees and toppling basketball goals. This dust bowl was like something from The Grapes of Wrath. And truth be told, I strongly considered packing the family up in a jalopy and heading for California. Why did I stay? Because I feared the jalopy would be blown off the road.

We began to hear noises on the roof. One, then another. The electricity flickered on and off. Then we heard a crash. "I must go check on this," I barked, as I tethered my leash to a sturdy indoor object to avoid going airborne. Once outside, I meandered around debris and peered up at the roof. Sections of shingles were peeling away like the lid of a sardine can. "This is not good," I barked to myself as I rushed back inside. After placing a call to the insurance company to reserve my place in a long queue, I realized that there was nothing more I could do. For the next 10 hours or so, the tempest raged. The 60 mph winds continued to wreak havoc on my roof.

"If it must be replaced," I thought, "perhaps it can be improved upon." So I began to research. Ultimately, I decided that a replica of the Pantheon's dome would suit the compound well. True, I would have to stop leaving the mail on my kitchen's island, lest it be drenched in a downpour. But the aesthetic value would surely make up for any inconveniences caused by the hole in the roof. Now, I wonder if the homeowners' association will approve ...

Support our troops

Press Release

February 21, 2007

Pug Life Patriots Embracing New Vehicle Ribbons

DALLAS -- Pug Life Ministries (NYSE: PUG) announced today the wild success of its new fawn-colored patriotic vehicle ribbons.

The ribbons help motorists remember the troops who are serving in the ongoing war against chew-toy aggression.

Made from 100 percent natural pug fur from Supreme Ayatollah Mugsy, the ministry's leader and spiritual beacon, the ribbons are available in a limited edition first printing of 500.

Some consumers have expressed dismay, unable to find the fast-selling symbols of canine nationalism.

So ministry officials, always attuned to the needs of the marketplace, say they are prepared to tap into the Ayatollah Compound's baseboards to attain enough fur for a second printing of 1,000 additional ribbons.

Spitting images?

Visit www.myheritage.com to try out this facial recognition Web site. The results can be rather interesting, if not altogether accurate. Frankly, I was shocked that Jude Law wasn't in my Top 8.

Is Cupid an infidel?

Happy Valentine's Day, my beloved flock. As I was being chauffeured to the mosque this morning, I heard a local radio host say that Muslims do not celebrate Valentine's Day. He cited as evidence a cleric in Indonesia who declared that it is forbidden to celebrate the holiday. Why this host would make such a blanket statement based on the pronouncement of one man, I do not know. Some Christians like to dance with poisonous snakes, yet I do not attribute such behavior to all of them. (However, on a side note, I am pleased to announce that Pug Life Ministries' new Christian Fundamentalist Serpent Handlers wing will conduct its first service on Feb. 25.)

If this radio host had been a regular reader of my blog, he would have seen the romantic poem I posted last year for the many Valentines in my harem. You see, it is true that Valentine's Day is not sanctioned in the Quran. But neither is it expressly forbidden.

What is the harm in celebrating this holiday? Clearly, there is none. As the Beatles once sang, "All you need is love." This is not true, of course, as love does not build lavish Dogloo-shaped religious shrines or gold-plated statues of a steed-mounted ayatollah. But love is certainly not a bad thing. I am a pug of great passion. I love the ladies of my harem. I love treats, which go paw in paw with Valentine's Day. And I even love an occasional flower, which -- in a pinch -- can be every bit as tasty as a treat.

Big Top Mugsy

I went to see Cirque du Soleil this weekend at Dallas' Fair Park, not far from the scene of my Cotton Bowl triumph last year. I really enjoyed the show, especially the first half. I was not really sure what to expect and thought that perhaps the performance would consist of naked Frenchmen eating baguettes and cartwheeling around the stage. I am pleased to report that there was none of that. Instead, Cirque du Soleil offered an often jaw-dropping feast for the eyes. Not quite as satisfying as a feast for the belly, perhaps, but not bad. Not bad at all.

The performers pulled off some amazing feats. Among the most impressive were some who got inside large rings (imagine a 7-foot-diameter hula hoop) and spun around the stage in a manner that would make even a newly bathed pug dizzy. The show also featured a tiny woman tethered to oversized helium-filled balloons who was batted around by the crowd like a beach ball.

For all its creativity and its vague storyline about a dead clown, Cirque du Soleil's Corteo was at its heart a circus. With acrobats and trapeze artists and clowns, it brought back memories of my own brief stint as a circus performer. The ups, the downs, the cameraderie. But I don't want to bore you; I am sure nobody in the congregation wants to hear about those bygone days.

Here comes the rain again

Many of you have no doubt heard about Punxsutawney Phil, the weather-forecasting groundhog. But did you know that there is a pug who predicts rainfall? And not only that, she is far more trustworthy than most TV meteorologists -- and certainly more so than any who wear bow ties. Today's lesson, class, is about Mattie the pug.

Mattie, a 6-year-old, made her annual prognostication at last Saturday's Pacific Northwest Rain Festival in Bellingham, Wash. Publicity chairperson Taimi Dunn Gorman told the Seattle Times that the event is "one of the shortest festivals in the world. An hour, maybe a little more. The pug is felt, then everyone heads off to drink or get something to eat."

And that is the highlight: The annual feeling of the pug (pictured above). As anxious festivalgoers watch with rapt attention, the event's Reigning Queen lifts Mattie from underneath an awning and thrusts her out into the elements. Mattie's fur is then felt for moisture. Wet fur means six more weeks of rain. But last week's event found Mattie with dry fur, and hence the Pacific Northwest can expect another seven weeks of rainfall.

In an affirmation of Mattie's uncanny prognosticating prowess, precipitation soon followed.

For more details on the festival, click here.

The soundtrack of our lives

Let us all take a moment of silence for Frankie Laine. The "Rawhide" singer passed away Tuesday at age 93. He sang it; we canines live it. Peace be upon you, Frankie.

Peyton who?

The big day is finally here. It is time to marvel at the exploits of some of the world's elite athletes as they seek dominance on the gridiron. It is a time when legends are made. Yes, Puppy Bowl III begins at 2 p.m. central time today on Animal Planet. The game will be rebroadcast throughout the day. The network spares no expense in its presentation, using even submerged water-bowl cams to ensure that we get to see all the action. The Puppy Bowl will once again have a kitty halftime show, and afterward, the network will air a puppy tailgate party. May Allah watch over the participants, and may the best team win.