Garage sale: Rejected

Not only did they buy nothing, but the little girl refused to say goodbye. I sense that the ducks across the street are laughing at us.

Garage sale: Dry spell ending?

Yes! Someone stopped! Praise Allah!!

Garage sale: Economics lesson

Making $5 an hour: Not good.

Making $5 an hour in 100-degree heat: Even worse.

Someday, the humans will figure this out.

Garage sale: Mugsy condemns drive-bys

They slow down, 7 mph, or perhaps 5. They gaze down their noses as they round the corner. Then they speed away, insulting us with their exhaust fumes. Infidels ...

Garage sale: Bargains go unnoticed

We are nearly four hours in, and still nobody has claimed any of our free items. That is right, my flock, the price tags on our treadmill and rickety weight bench both simply say "free." Could the ministry possibly be any more generous? Will I have to start taping dollar bills to these items to make it worthwhile for someone to claim them? Because I am not above such tactics.

Allah, we pray that we do not have to lug this junk, er, these treasures back inside.

Garage sale: The chicken dance

We have just sold a set of glassware. After some tense negotiations, we agreed to go from $3 to $2. This latest pair of ladies was accompanied by two children, who found our stuffed chicken that dances and plays the chicken dance to be immensely entertaining. Unfortunately, the elders did not take notice. For only $2, they could have given their children a lifetime of laughs. But they instead chose to ignore the cheers of pure joy and herded their now heartbroken girls back into their pickup truck.

We know who won't be winning Pug Life's Parent of the Year Award.

Mugsy experiments with live blogging

You may have seen, from time to time, live blogging from major events. The Oscars, the Super Bowl, a presidential inauguration -- all have had their share of play-by-play analysis posted live on the Web. Now, Pug Life Ministries brings you a first: live blogging from a garage sale.

Stay tuned; excitement surely awaits.

Mugsy endorses candidate

I don't usually get involved in partisan politics on this blog, but I am going to make an exception. At this point in our nation's history, the stakes are too high for me to remain silent. There is one candidate and one candidate alone with the ability to excite us, with the potential to renew our faith in the democratic process. He is handsome and charismatic, brimming with youthful vigor. His ideas are fresh. A relative political newcomer, he is free of the corruption and cynicism that so often permeate the political process. And he can help break down boundaries that have stood in this country for far too long.

Today, my flock, I offer my endorsement to the one and only Willie Bean Roscoe P. Coltrane. This 7-year-old Labrador retriever is running for mayor of Fairhope, Ala. And although his candidacy started as a joke, the Coltrane train is now on the tracks and picking up steam. My sources tell me that residents of Fairhope are growing more excited by the day. They are intrigued by the idea of canine rule. Look at the current state of the economy -- could canines have done any worse? Fill the House, Senate and White House with dogs, and I guarantee you one thing at the very least: They would not approve a half-trillion-dollar deficit like the one projected for 2009.

Said one wise Fairhope resident of the furry mayor-in-waiting, "He doesn't have any skeletons in his closet. He's eaten them all."

Change is in the air, my flock. Embrace it. Embrace the estimable Willie Bean Roscoe P. Coltrane.

Mugsy issues fatwa

Too many times have I been distracted. A flash of light shatters the darkness, drawing my gaze away from the big screen and onto the tiny screen of a cell phone. And for what -- an insignificant text message? "No more!" I say. The infidels at the movie theater have left me no choice but to issue a fatwa!

Henceforth under canine Islam, it is strictly forbidden to use a cell phone for any purpose in a theater while the movie is showing. If your text-message conversation is truly more interesting than the film you paid $9 to see, then step outside and spare the rest of us your annoying presence. Violators will forfeit their thumbs.

Temptation is everywhere

Dallas is in the midst of its annual Mary Kay convention, and longtime students of this blog know what that means: Temptation. But I have been strong, my flock. God willing, I will make it to Aug. 2 -- when the parade of pink Cadillacs finally leaves town -- without repeating the mistakes of my past.

Lost ring? I pity the Foo

Though my father swam a dozen or so laps, scouring the bottom of the pool, our efforts to retrieve mother's wedding ring were unsuccessful. He found only a plastic ring, the rubber from the leg of a deck chair and two pieces of chewed gum (deposited in the pool in blatant violation of my fatwa at the 2003 Radical Clerics' Convention in Tehran). God willing, their marriage will survive the loss of this ring, with the help of counseling from the ministry.

After our unsuccessful retrieval mission, I went to Oklahoma City for a couple of days. My aunt had tickets to see the Foo Fighters, peace be upon them, and she invited me to go along. This was the third time I had seen the band, dating back to the mid-'90s. This may seem peculiar to you, given the fact that I am a 7-year-old pug. But Allah works in mysterious ways. My first Foo Fighters show was in the historic Cain's Ballroom in Tulsa, a small venue that lacked air conditioning and was stiflingly hot, inspiring an alternate version of the song "Big Me" that has become popular on the bootleg circuit. It was interesting to see how the band had changed from those early days as I watched them Thursday at the cavernous Ford Center, soon to be the home of Oklahoma City's new NBA team.

Singer Dave Grohl first hit it big as drummer for the legendary band Nirvana, whose Pixies-inspired punk sensibilities rejected the trappings of arena rock. Now, the Foo Fighters have embraced such bombast. Thursday's show, which was excellent albeit a bit loud for my aging ears, featured a large entourage of backing musicians and a much-touted triangle solo that was met with a thunderous standing ovation.

I will pass no judgments on the merits of such a style shift except to say that any drum solo exceeding five minutes is probably excessive.

Banding together

The time is 12:06 a.m., and I am about to embark on an important mission. Mother went swimming earlier at a friend's neighborhood pool, and upon her return, she discovered that her wedding band was gone. She had already, months ago, lost her cubic zir ..., er, diamond engagement ring, which lies somewhere in the dark recesses of the floorboards of father's car.

So we are going to try to retrieve the wedding band. Since water is involved, I will naturally be eschewing a paws-on role in favor of a supervisory position. Pray for us, my flock. Can we preserve their union? Or are my parents' days of wedded bliss over?

Sweet dreams

My brother, Wendell, is barking in his sleep. I suspect he is dreaming about rawhide. But then again, aren't we all?

Used-car salespug

Several weeks ago, mother purchased a new car. Or a newer one, at least. And since then, her old vehicle had sat in the street at the side of the house, contributing nothing of value to the household. My parents made a few half-hearted attempts to sell it -- taking it to the local Walgreens with a partially melted for-sale sign in the window, for example -- but they achieved no success. Not a single phone call. Finally, I could take no more. "Mother, father," I barked, "this is the weekend. We must sell that car. It is blocking my view of the creek." And with that, I took control of the project. This was a bit of a stretch for me -- being a salesman is vastly different from being the leader of a congregation. But I had faith in my abilities.

The vehicle in question was mechanically sound, yet it was on the wrong side of 150,000 miles and had some exterior blemishes. Father tells me that he and his friends would have loved to have had such a car back when he was in high school -- did I mention that it's supercharged? -- but the demographics did not seem to be in our favor in our relatively affluent suburb. Here, the teenagers often drive nicer cars than mother and father. It's disgusting, really.

So I decided to cast a wider net, posting my first-ever ad on Craigslist on Friday evening. Soon, the calls poured in from across the metro area. As the first prospective buyer made his way to our house, I eyeballed the family. "Mother," I barked, "you're not really going to wear that shirt in front of the customers, are you? It might send the wrong message." She looked down at her "I Drink Your Milkshake" T-shirt, blushed and then went to change. The prospect brought a canine along and showed some interest, but he was not ready to commit to a sale that evening.

That was OK; I had others. Saturday arrived, and an enthusiastic lad named Jeremy called. I detailed for him the car's condition, and he proceeded to ask why I was selling the car so cheap. I took this as a good sign. Then he told me that he thought he'd like to buy it. "Why don't you come on over and take it for a spin, Jeremy," I barked. Jeremy took longer than expected to arrive, but he eventually found the compound. He must have been 17 or 18, and his father accompanied him. They looked the car over closely, and Jeremy seemed downright giddy. They took it for a long test drive, and while they were gone I received more calls about the car. Finally, they returned.

Jeremy's father said that he was concerned about the engine noise. I told him it had been that way for as long as I could recall, and it ran just fine. Perhaps it was just the supercharger. Jeremy liked this explanation. After some more time under the hood, the father brought out an offer: $200 less than the $2,500 I was asking for the old Buick. I glanced over at Jeremy, who was practically drooling over the thought of this somewhat sporty set of wheels and its respectable 240-horsepower engine. "No," I barked, "I am fairly certain I can get $2,500 for the car."

The father grimaced. "I hate buying used cars. What do you think," he said, nodding toward his son. "Oh, you know what I think!" Jeremy replied. Soon, we had a deal, at full asking price. "Jeremy," I barked, as I went to retrieve the title, "would you care to play poker sometime?"

A minor formality

A story with the potential to shake this ministry to its core recently came across my desk. A man in Knoxville, Tenn., says he was so consumed by the spirit of God that he fell and hit his head while worshipping. Now, 57-year-old Matt Lincoln is suing his church for $2.5 million for medical bills, lost income, and pain and suffering. If successful, this lawsuit could set a dangerous precedent for Pug Life Ministries, my flock. So I must ask that you all now sign the waiver below and have it notarized.

I hereby assume all risks involved in my participation in Pug Life Ministries. I fully understand that the power of Allah, when channeled through the world's pre-eminent pug ayatollah, can be unpredictable and potentially dangerous. I hereby agree not to sue Pug Life Ministries, Ayatollah Mugsy or any other representatives of the ministry for any injuries, real or imagined, that may befall me in the course of my worshipping, religious instruction, faith-healing or exorcism, should the ayatollah deem such action necessary. In the event of my passing, I shall forfeit all property, bank accounts, stocks, bonds and rawhide deposits to Ayatollah Mugsy, peace be upon him.

______________________________________
(Signature) (Print name) (Date)

Among the giants

My veterinarian has at last cleared me to return to full blogging duties, and it is good to be back. Young Wendell did an admirable job filling in for me, and he will surely return from time to time. As expected, his youthful energy helped the ministry make great inroads among the coveted "tween" market. And as far as the tabloid rumors that Wendell has recently begun dating Disney star Miley Ray Cyrus, I can neither confirm nor deny.

The ayatollah clan spent the weekend in Oklahoma, where we met up with an old friend from Chicago whom we had not seen in several years. We also had the pleasure of meeting his girlfriend for the first time. I sensed that she was quite smitten with my puppy-dog eyes -- as many of you know, I have a certain effect on females of all species. But I promised our Chicago friend that I would not attempt to steal her away for my harem. As it is, overcrowding is already a significant problem.

While in Norman, we stopped by Heisman Park to pay homage to the University of Oklahoma's four Heisman Trophy winners. Among them is the great Billy Sims (right), peace be upon him and his fearsome 'fro. For many, OU football is a religion on par with canine Islam. And there is no reason the two cannot peacefully co-exist.


As I knelt before the statue of Billy Vessels, I said a quiet prayer. "Great, merciful God, deliver us from the summer doldrums of the baseball season so that we might watch football again. Aug. 30 cannot come soon enough. Amen."

Happy Independence Day

Happy birthday to America, the greatest Great Satan in the world! May you all enjoy a restful yet fun-filled weekend.

Mugsy returns

Greetings, my flock. Your furry imam has returned. I am going to have my stitches taken out tomorrow morning, and the veterinarian tells me it is OK to resume light blogging. Praise Allah! Soon, God willing, I will be allowed to go on a walk again. Or as my parents say when they don't want to excite me, "W-A-L-K." The silly humans think I can't spell.

Beating the heat

Hey, everybody, Wendell here again. It is HOT outside. I was born last August and didn't go outside much my first couple of months, so this is my first real taste of the Texas heat. When it's this hot, a pug's gotta do whatever he can to stay cool. Fortunately, I don't share my big brother's aversion to water. So I've been hittin' the hose pretty frequently.

Ahhhh .... so refreshing.

The humans won't let me come back inside before I dry off, so I try to help them out. Now you're probably wondering how Mugsy beats the heat. Well, he has his own favorite method:

Air conditioning.

Uga: 1998-2008

Like Mugsy, I'm a Sooner pug. But I still recognize that the University of Georgia has one of the coolest mascots around. Sadly, Uga passed away last night. The sixth bulldog to roam the sidelines in Athens, he was the winningest mascot in school history, guiding the football team to an 87-27 record during his tenure. We'll miss you, Uga.

More human tomfoolery

It happened again: Pops sent us outside when he heard the repairman drive up. You'd think he'd have learned his lesson. Last time, the Maytag repairman (yes, those commercials are a total sham) said he couldn't fix the oven. He had to order a part. Order a part! If dad had just let us pugs inside, Mugsy could have fashioned a new part out of stray piles of fur. Seriously, Mugsy can do anything. At least, that's what he tells me. So anyway, the part finally arrived, and out we went. Then, through the glass door, we saw a fireball erupt from the oven. Yeah, it's still not fixed; the human repair guy ordered the wrong part. I'm starting to think Big Brother is on to something with his plans for canine rule.

Anyway, just wanted to fill you all in on the latest at the compound. Mugsy's been doing well after his surgery and will go to have his stitches out next week. He should be back blogging soon. Oh, gotta go; mom just broke out a new pack of rawhide! Peace, out.

xoxo,

Wendell

Outside looking in

Hi, all. Wendell here again. Mugsy and I are out in the back yard -- thank God for wireless Internet. It looks like we may be stuck here till the appliance repairman leaves. Like Mugsy says, how is the guy going to fix our oven properly without us standing two feet away to bark nonstop guidance? I think father's making a big mistake ...

Ugly dogs! Clones! And God arrested!

Hi, everybody. Wendell here. Big Brother told me that I need to keep his blog updated while he's recuperating from surgery, and that's not a duty I take lightly. Even though I occasionally bite him and get on his nerves, I have nothing but respect and admiration for the big fella. Had the ayatollah not taken me under his wing when I first arrived at the compound, my only role models would be our human parents. And nobody wants that. So I'm going to try to make Mugsy proud. Here's a roundup of some news that might interest the congregation:

Congratulations are in order for Gus, who was crowned the world's ugliest dog over the weekend at the Sonoma-Marin Fair in California. Gus has one eye, almost no hair, and he's rockin' three legs. But still, he's kind of cute. Not pug-puppy-cute, mind you, but cute. He's no threat to the dynasty of ugliness that was the late, great three-time champ Sam. Fortunately, there were no scandals in this year's contest like the one in the 2006 competition.

The congregation might also be interested to learn that a California company will give away a free dog cloning to the pet owner who best pleads his or her canine's case for immortality. BioArts International says it will accept submissions for the Golden Clone Giveaway in the form of 500-word essays submitted by 3 p.m. today. The ayatollah has made clear his feelings on the matter, so I strongly discourage you from entering.

Finally, you may have heard that God was arrested on a charge of selling cocaine near a Florida church. Don't worry; Mugsy assures me it's not that God.

Post-op pug

Greetings, my flock. I am recovering from surgery at the ayatollah compound. I went under the knife on Friday to have some spots removed before they turn into something dangerous. In my short time on this orb, I have been through numerous operations. In fact, I now have more stitches and scar tissue than the buffoons on satellite TV's "Cutlery Corner."




But that which does not kill me only makes me hungrier. My appetite is fully restored, and I am rapidly regaining my strength. Last night, I even briefly gave chase to young Wendell, before my parents intervened to settle me down. Although I am doing well, my veterinarian wants me to take it easy for the next week or two. So I will be temporarily turning over my blogging duties to young Wendell. I believe he is ready to take on such a major responsibility, and he should bring a fresh, young perspective to the pulpit. God willing, he will help the ministry capture some of the coveted "tween" demographic.

Naval exercises grow

WASHINGTON (AP) -- The Armed Revolutionary Forces ratcheted up its show of naval might early Friday, with dozens of submarines surfacing off the coastlines of each of the world's continents.

Pentagon and independent military analysts alike expressed shock over the immense size of the canine-helmed fleet, which before this week had been thought to consist of just two pugs, a rubber ducky chew toy and an inflatable raft. Even more disturbing, Pentagon officials said, was the growing interspecies cooperation on display.

"Ayatollah Mugsy, the ARF's spiritual leader, seems to have tapped into the zeitgeist of the animal kingdom," said Doug Jones of the RAND Corp., a nonprofit research organization.

Off the Irish coast, Labrador retrievers conducted joint exercises with a pod of dolphins. Witnesses said the dolphins appeared to have missiles mounted on their fins, and analysts suspected they had defected from a top-secret U.S. Navy program because of the ARF's superior food rations.

Half a world away, a clan of barking sea lions set up a naval blockade near the Golden Gate Bridge. The marine mammals, which swore allegiance to Ayatollah Mugsy last fall, were boarding and searching all ships entering and exiting San Francisco Bay.

The ayatollah reportedly set the naval exercises in motion in response to public comments that were deemed a threat to his Pug Life Ministries. "This show of force seems to be having the desired effect," said the RAND Corp.'s Jones. "I suspect that any human would think twice before challenging the ayatollah's authority."

Show of force

ABOARD THE HMS GREYHOUND, Gulf of Mexico (AP) -- The world's largest interfaith, interspecies ministry flexed its naval muscles Thursday in a massive show of force off the Texas coast.

Members of the Armed Revolutionary Forces (ARF) naval branch engaged in exercises across a broad swath of the Gulf of Mexico, with upwards of 8,000 seadogs taking part. The ARF is the military wing of Pug Life Ministries, led by the enigmatic Ayatollah Mugsy.

The exercises included artillery bombardment, torpedo targeting and a scuba demonstration by the elite special-operations Chihuahua Force. Details on the Chihuahua Force are sketchy, but its members are rumored to be experts in dog-paddling and underwater demolitions, as well as highly trained assassins.

The show of force is believed to be the result of a heightened alert level at the ministry, whose leader has at times been called insular and paranoid. Officials at Ayatollah Mugsy's office declined to comment.

The U.S. Navy scrambled F/A-18 fighter jets in response to the ARF naval exercises, but Navy officials, speaking on the condition of anonymity, said they wanted to make sure the situation did not escalate.

"So far, these dogs are just engaging in training exercises," said one high-ranking admiral. "The last thing we want to do is provoke them."

Ministry on alert

Pug Life's intelligence services have reported an increase in negative chatter, leaving me no choice but to raise the collective hackles of the ministry to DEFCON 3. For those who prefer their alerts to be color-coded, this would be somewhere between fuchsia and periwinkle in the Crayola box. At this heightened alert level, you may notice more frequent heavy breathing or panting on the line as you engage in telephone conversations. Pay this no mind; it is for your own protection. Further details to come ...

Whirlwind day

This has been a wild season for tornadoes, my flock. Just a few weeks ago, I was in Oklahoma watching a wall cloud on TV spawn tornado after tornado, eight to 10 in all. Some fizzled out quickly, while others grew to enormous size and ravaged the countryside. The video, shot from a helicopter alongside the wall cloud and by storm-chasers on the ground, was both impressive and humbling. It was a reminder of Allah's power. And no canine knows that power better than Chase the Rottweiler. You see, the dog in suburban Chicago was picked up by a twister over the weekend. One of his human relatives, a 10-year-old, looked out the window and saw a gust of wind carry Chase four feet off the ground. Others saw the dog take flight as well. The tornado damaged buildings and shattered car windows, sending debris flying. Miraculously, Chase survived this swirling terror. After the storm, the 130-pound dog was found shaken but unharmed about a block away. Allahu akbar!

Mugsy praises court ruling

Let it be known that I commend the enlightened nation of Norway for its Supreme Court's stance on canine civil rights. In a landmark ruling handed down yesterday, the court said that police dogs are public servants, so any attack on a police dog is no different than an attack on a human officer. This common-sense ruling was long overdue, and it should be emulated the world over. Every day, brave canines risk their lives to police the unruly human population. We track down fugitives, sniff out bombs and chat with would-be child predators online to ensnare them, in concert with Dateline NBC's To Catch a Predator (what -- did you think Chris Hanson did all that work by himself?). And in return, we ask only for food and water and perhaps, God willing, an occasional belly rub.

Norway's ruling came in the case of Casper the police dog, who chased down a loathsome burglar when his human handlers could not keep up. The thief kicked and punched Casper, but Casper would not back down. Like any dedicated police dog, he collared the perp.

Casper, a proud canine nation salutes you. The next doughnut is on us.

Farewell, Esther

It was a bittersweet day at the ayatollah compound. Esther, our polygamist-sect foster child, was reunited with her parents last night. While we were happy to see the smile on her face, we were also saddened by the realization that she hadn't yet had the time to repaint our chimney or repair our leaning fence. Still, the compound has never been cleaner, and we owe a debt of gratitude to Esther and her strong fundamentalist work ethic. God willing, our application for a foreign-exchange student will be approved, and our other household projects will be taken care of in short order.


Before she left, Esther presented Wendell and me with the outfits she had been sewing for us. Wendell, overcome with puppy excitement, immediately tried his on.



"Esther," I barked, "I think I will save mine for a special occasion."