For those who’ve read my earlier blog posts, you know my pug passed away last year. We decided to adopt another dog. My choice was to get a Min Pin. My aunt’s, another pug. She won out. Now, I don’t have anything against pugs. I loved, loved, loved my last one and was perfectly happy to adopt another. The problem is, I do believe we are now the owners of the worse dog ever.
Our new pug is another rescue like his predecessor. And like his predecessor he has come with a few quirks, I guess would be the polite thing to say.
He has a foot obsession. And the feet he is obsessed with are mine. He hates them, no one else’s, just mine. He barks, and shrieks at my feet. I don’t mind so much but now that the summer is coming and with it my return to sandals, I do mind his constant need to blow snot on my feet. And let me tell you, pugs have a plethora of snot.
My feet are not his only obsession. Paper in any form is also a favorite OCD item of his. Paper towels, tissues, envelopes, you name, he’ll find it, attack it, shred it and eat it. I’m surprised I’m not 20 pounds thinner from my new past time of paper picking up, and chasing him around the house to confiscate the latest piece of his prized paper snack. Do you have any idea how much paper is in a house? And my cats are not helping. I swear those two know of his addiction and they deliberately throw paper on the floor. Junk mail, tissue boxes, you name it, those two are tossing it to him to feed his addiction.
He must be tucked under the blankets on a cold night and has no problem stealing all the blankets. And he doesn’t just steal them; he winds himself up in them so extricating him is something akin to a brain teaser puzzle. It’s dang cold waking up to find a huge mound of blankets snoring, while wearing none myself and then trying to figure out how to unknot the tubalub from them.
He goes out to do his business and after taking at least a half an hour to go here, there and everywhere, the darling little bad buns comes back in and pees on well to be honest, anything. He isn’t fussy. How can a dog have any fluid left in his bladder after peeing for half an hour? But he does.
He believes he should be the only dog in the neighborhood. Now that in and of itself isn’t so unusual with dogs. The problem is people, birds, squirrels, flies and every other living creature fall into the lump of “I should be the only one here.” My neighbor thinks he’s funny and laughs. Damn it, man, stop encouraging the fool. I swear my neighbor’s laughter makes it worse.
My delightful pug thug has it in for our cats. Neither is concerned, but that hasn’t stopped the bad buns. He barks at the oldest cat. The cat is too old to care and too experienced with dogs to worry. I swear the cat’s only reaction is to give the dog a scathing look that can only be saying “What you’re not dead yet? I can help with that, you know.”
Our younger cat was a bit put out by the pug, but once she realized that despite being overly loud and big, the dog is a coward at heart, she now has the upper hand, err, paw. It’s embarrassing to see him put on his best, pug thug showing only to be backed into a corner with his head down and a look that screams, “If I don’t look at her, she won’t kill me.”
He insists on being a lap dog, Problem with that is twofold. Not only is he an overly large pug but he doesn’t sit on my lap. He tap dances. Ever have a twenty pound lump with nails dance on your legs. Not pleasant. Thankfully it was winter and my legs were hidden in sweatpants. They looked like a road map to a crime scene. A myriad of scratches scraps and welts.
I am training him. Clicker training. When I have that clicker he is sharp, attentive and the model student. The nanosecond the clicker is out of my hand, the bedlam of bad buns returns.
Yes, I do believe we are now the owners of the worst dog ever. And don’t think for one moment this blog entry has been a complaint about that. Nope, not a chance, I’m bragging. 🙂