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. 

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.