A Man and his Pug: Volume 9

For those of us willing to pay attention it is very easy to see that all animals, and dogs especially, have their own unique personalities. Just like we human folk. Some are quiet and reserved, some are energetic and excitable. Others may tend toward stringent obedience or exuberant playfulness but with the majority of our beloved hounds they also incline toward having a loving demeanour, as is ideal from one companion in the company of another.

With each pet that we choose to care for, we also take with us the responsibility of ensuring that we help it to become what they have the potential to be. With the appropriate time and care, they can become true testaments to their respective breeds and their personalities will inevitably shine through as a result.

The Bulldog can provide a plodding gentleness. The Alsatian is capable of becoming stout and courageous. The Rottweiler tends toward determination and fearlessness. The Chihuahua is known to be wilful and lively (to say the least) and the Boxer could become both boisterous and loyal. These are just a few cases that the kingdom of canines provides with plenty more examples of why owning a dog is just a brilliant idea. Do you want something that can become excitably curious or laughably defensive at the mere prospect of a human fart? This is one of many reasons to go searching amongst the many breeds of boundless brilliance canine companionship offers.

With all of this in mind, I will then politely ask you to consider the Pug.

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I’ve had my share of experience around dogs in my life but never have I come across a creature so wonderfully odd and astoundingly awesome as our Pug, Oghren. Allow me to elaborate on some noteworthy instances that best showcase the personality of this fantastic, fun loving and occasionally flatulent little fawn laden fur frolicker.

Most mornings as the sun rises and so do we, he will bound into the bedroom as we awake with all manner of excitability and an epic desire to void his bowels so that he can revisit his second favourite place in the house, the treat cupboard. The obvious stop in his mind for a poop well done. But before all that can ensue, he has a tendency to nudge my fiancé out of the way of her gradual ascent from slumber (face first) so that he may proceed to wrap and roll himself, as much as he is able to, upon her pillow. He will not stop until he has coated himself in a shroud of scent detectable only to the nose of this pillow prancing pooch. There’s no doubting that he likes the smell of ‘future wife’ so much so that he will attempt to dig through the pillow to try get to it. I don’t think he is aware that it’s not something he can grab and gain to use as he sees fit. We’re not going to stop him though, it’s adorable. Ignorance and bliss and all that!

Lately he has also taken to a cementing an abusive/loving relationship with his most recent toy, a plush stuffed polar bear that must be named Ian. This is due to a predetermined mentality employed by my significant other regarding the naming of all bears as ‘Ian’ because of an attachment to a digital bear that she once acquired in the game Zoo Tycoon.

Anyway, one minute he will be chasing him down the hallway as part of a classic game of ‘fetch what I am about to throw because reasons’ before furiously ravaging this once unblemished plush toy betwixt his teeth. An arduous activity to be sure if the proceeding act of lazily lounging on the floor after a few minutes of exertion is anything to go by. So, they will be lying on the ground together enjoying some well-deserved snuggle/smush time – with the bear still firmly embedded in Oghren’s teeth. Sometimes he licks the bear, sometimes he paws at it. Is there an end goal to this? Bugger knows! We still aren’t sure if this thing is a respected member of his toy selection or just an unfortunate victim of his odd propensity to inflict his will upon something so undeniably subservient, being an inanimate object and all. Basically, this Ian is his bitch, in the non-gender appropriate terminology of the word relating to dogs of the opposite sex.

And he is not exactly unenthusiastic about dressing up either.

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Oghren dressed as Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle Michelangelo on Christmas Day. You can see him contemplating his eventual reward as he stares into the kitchen.

Pugs are well known for being sociable, loving, sensitive, playful clowns and just like any other dog, if they’re looked after they will become a boundless source of joy and love and a perfect companion for any person or family. Except for neglectful bastards who need not burden themselves with the consideration. The words that I believe could best attributed to this breed though, and most definitely in the case of our own little Pug, are quintessentially quirky with a dollop of endearing eccentricity and a dash of slothful nonchalance. A veritable cornucopia of canine quality!

Please forgive my obvious bias but there is no creature alive quite like him. He is undeniably adorable and fervent in his many attempts to enforce his desire to show his affection and we wouldn’t have it any other way.

Forged From Reverie.

A Man and his Pug: Volume 8

Dogs can be a messy bunch of creatures. As we all know they have a tendency to shed themselves of hairs and furs, coating up the joint in all manner of shaggy splendour and we happen to have one of the most notorious breeds when it comes to the act of such fur casting in the tubby shape of our Pug. When they walk, they shed. When they run, they shed. They eat, they shed. They sleep, they shed. They stoop down in the cool mists of an Autumn eve after circling the garden countless times to find the perfect poop spot, they shed. They waggle their arses in an odd display of booty shaking because their tails are too curled up into the shape of a cinnabon to perform such an act that represents their joy and excitement, they shed. A lot.

Have you ever sneezed as a result of waking up to a thin tuft of prickly fur lining the outskirts of your pillow as it attempts to invade your nose holes!? Well I have and the dog was nowhere around when it happened. He just leaves them there as gifts of golden allergy inducing globules from his mane.

I don’t exactly want them but it seems that neither of us have a choice in the matter. I’ll sneeze and he will just stare at me without an inkling of comprehension that his butt tufts are the reason I am to be awoken in this most inconvenient of manners. It is not like I can return these gifts either which is basically me trying to reinsert these hairs into his coat by poking at him for a several seconds in the hope that they will magically reattach. It doesn’t work and I shall not resort to glue…. yet!

Before we reach that time when our cleaning habits turn to hoovering and the necessity arises that we must begin picking up Oghren’s little fluff stuffs, our home tends to be coated in a thin line of this fawn coloured fur. It is as if he is trying to turn our cushions and our floors into a lifeless, flat dullard of a companion that mildly resembles himself so that he can lord over them as the master of all the fur. He will cover all that he sees in a blanket of ever present pelt shards for he is the Fur King and his reign shall be glorious.

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Oghren, King of the Pugs, Master of Fur, Destroyer of Gravy Bones!

At least he could bloody act like a King if this is to be the case. He can become a little too enraptured by his desire to consume the little bone shaped delicacies that we give him as a reward for his good behaviour. Once this gravy bone has been thoroughly decimated within mere seconds to begin its perilous journey into the tummy of no return, it is practically a given that he’ll want more. Thus he will ignore our warnings to not lick the floors and the carpets in search of them (they are kept in his own special cupboard so his efforts are futile) and proceed to try to procure more for himself by lapping up everything he can with his tongue so frenzied with yearning.

However, there is nothing for him to find on the floor except for his own hair that he has conveniently dropped all over the house. He licks away in the hope of finding some wayward treat that has been lost in time and fur but the end result is always the same. A look of longing, a huff of disappointment, sometimes he’ll gag as he coughs up his own hair and then he will eventually settle upon the lap of my fiancé to begin his evening slumber.

We do know that this fur loss is not intentional. He cannot help that the two coats he received when birthed into his lifetime membership of the Pug parade have to remove themselves somehow lest he become a mobile, fluffy, golden creature with a sheep-fro snorting about the place like a jiggly, puffy pillow. But there is fur everywhere, EVERYWHERE! On the floors, the sofa, the kitchen, the bedroom, the bathroom, my beard! They float around casually placing themselves wherever they please like spiteful little wisps of whimsical fur drops. The relentless little pricks!

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Just look at all of that hair on the rug! He’s just minding his own business, chewing on his bone and yet those little buggers will just fall anywhere they please.

I suppose the most ardent representations of this fur loss phenomena are the tufts of hair that combine together to form one mega ball of Pug locks. Sometimes when we haven’t noticed them yet, we’ll see one rolling along in the breeze coming from one of the open windows like a little tumbleweed of fawn hair just going for a stroll. Or a tumble-tuft, if you will, that moseys along looking for a quiet corner to call home.

Until next time folks, may your floors be full of fur and your homes be ever laced in fluff (if you don’t have a pet then I would speak to your partner about this – or an abnormal neighbour if you live alone), for I am going to go and inspect my beard for questionable fawn coloured hairs that probably shouldn’t be there.

Forged From Reverie.

A Man and his Pug: Volume 7

Whenever I read, watch or bear witness to any being unleashing a primal roar of dominant authority it usually sends an adrenaline fuelled prickle down my spine. For any creature to produce such an aggressive display of pure unyielding dominance, for whatever reason, it can be quite the spectacle. The lion roars, the bear growls, the wolf howls, the tiger snarls, the hound barks; any such beast has the potential to unleash a truly terrifying parade of primal ferocity.

And then we have this little bundle of brazen, growl gushing grandeur.

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Enter the Pug!

Most mammals have a territorial tendency to defend their nests and often portray this by growling at any passing ‘thing’ that it has deemed to be a potentially intrusive threat. This is no different for our own Pug, Oghren, who sees these birds, these winged menaces that soar amongst the skies, flying past the window and decides that he needs to fend them off. If indeed the word ‘fend’ now means make inconsequential noises that would barely startle a kitten. The same instance, this need to yap incessantly at his chosen opponent, also occurs if he hears voices emanating from passing pedestrians that dare to walk near his garden of sanctuary, from vehicles that have a particular penchant for loud displays of testicular tendencies (you know, those neon coloured, ego extending Fast and Furious rejects that just need to be heard for miles around) or even the unexpected clattering of my fairly clumsy fiancé who likes to test the fortitude of our home by walking into it (the house) regularly. Even the unsuspecting denizens of television land aren’t immune to the anus-clenching, dribble infused berating of our dog.

There are likely many reasons beyond logic, in his own mind, that this little Pog of ours decides that he just needs to bellow out a little bawl of supreme ‘PUG RAGE!’, which if I am honest is about as threatening as a squirrel kindly asking you to leave his nuts alone (insert sexual pun where appropriate). It is just something we have learned to live with. We can even anticipate when he is most likely to charge forth like a triumphant warrior hound preparing for battle.

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Oghren valiantly goes to war against the vicious scrotum shrivelling Snow Beast of the Garden Plains of our former steading.

His growl literally sounds like he is saying “Roo, roo, roo, roooo!” as he lifts his head into the air to yell his contempt to the Canine Gods up above. I don’t know who the fuck ‘Roo’ is though! Maybe it is Oghren’s long lost friend and every time he sees a potential intruder he gets really pissed off about him for some reason.

It doesn’t take much to quell the little bugger back into a pleasant, slumber riddled state of sleepiness though. All it takes is a quick ‘No!’ and a rub of the head to remind him that there is in fact no actual threat to him, to us, to our home from anything or anyone. Not even from the gigantic mechanical demons he sees roaring overhead every now and then that he must greet with a howl from the ground with a fervent fury. Those aeroplane passengers will never know that this beast from below yapped at them from several hundred metres away in the confines of his cleverly marked (with pee) abode. The lucky bastards!

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He’s spotted something.

I know that he does it because he has an innate defensive mechanism built into the pack mentality of his very being but he is no Alsatian, Doberman, Pit Bull or Bull Terrier. He is the most adorable creature on the planet, especially when he is curled up and snoozing his chunky little arse off, but he is most definitely practically ineffectual as a guard dog. Not that this will stop him from trying, the little numpty!

Now I had better be off. He has sensed something happening somewhere that he seemingly doesn’t approve of so I must now interject.

Until next time folks, take care.

Forged From Reverie.