Allegedly, Tim was going to take me on grand adventures by bike. Yeah, that’s not happening. Please enjoy this pictoral and video history of my brief bike touring career…
This was from some security cam… I think it might be used in court against me for felonious snatching of a baguette in the first degree…
The dogists at Mitchell Park are basically kicking us out. We’re clean and nice, but they have issues with dogs. I have a theory that they probably got barked at once and wildly misinterpreted the kindly “hello” as “dude, I so want to bite you in the butt.” We need translators to help with the next round of negotiations. Anyways, they sicked the Park Police on us, so we get the boot. Luckily, I’m not one to direct scorn and ridicule in my blog. I’m way bigger than that, yo.
So, I was supposed to have a weekend of fun with my boy Furley, but I made the mistake of running directly into his cage and then licking his mom. Furley was displeased with this and got all in my face. He was like woof woof, growl, woof woof… so I was all burf burf – burf burf burf (I don’t take kindly to people woofin’ in my grill, even if it’s my boy Furley). Anyways, we tried to hug it out, but it was pretty apparent that staying there was going to be an issue this weekend. Problem was, Kimberly and Tim were jetting down to South Florida for some business, and the place they were staying at had some dogist neighbors that woulda ratted me out. Soooo… an early morning phone call to my boy Juan, and I’m staying at Casa Happy Pack! I love Juan, as you know. He treats me so good that I decided to be a model for him for his new website.
Sunday night we went to Annapolis to hang with some friends, including my buddy Chester. It was there where I revealed my deepest darkest secret… a secret I have even kept from blog readers.
I am a pug ninja. You can’t hear me sidle up next to you (unless of course I wish it). That cupcake in your hand? The one you dangle oh so casually, my dear? SNAP! It’s mine! I eat it whole, because I am ninja pug, and I choose to. My swiftness aids my escape into the night… my black fur covering my trail into the darkness.
Beware the ways of ninja pug… yo!
(By the way… it may look like a fawn pug in that ninja outfit, but it’s actually me… my ninja ways make it look like another pug. It’s my clever ninja tricks fooling you yet again. I dare you to leave a cupcake dangling in your fingertips again, foolish mortal!!)
Tim and Kimberly used to watch some show called I Shouldn’t Be Alive where these dumb people would find themselves in life-threatening situations because, well… they were dumb. Dude who voiced over the show would identify the most foolish choice (i.e. “heck no we don’t need water! It’s only 102 today!”) and then state emphatically, “THAT was a CRITICAL mistake.”
So, that’s the setup.
While in Oklahoma, I snuck into the kitchen when nobody was looking and ate 4-6 cups of cat food in one sitting.
THAT was a CRITICAL mistake.
I hate to get graphic here on ltp.com, but I need to describe the damage. Consider this post to be akin to one of those after school specials from the 70s… you know, the ones those 30-somethings talk about that demonstrated the horrible outcome of using drugs… except replace the 70s with 2007, and drugs with a large quantity of cheap cat food from a rural WalMart.
Ok… everyone ready? Let’s start with the poo… which was abundant and sloppy. Normally, I’m a once a day kinda pug, and the volume is not terribly significant. That, however, is when I’m disposing of the “leftovers” of the home-made pug food Tim bakes for me. WalMart cat food? Twice a day… big Tim-sized fistfuls. I know… I know… this is gross, but it’s after school special time folks… let’s keep this clinical, yo.
One other side effect of a giant bowl of cat food… the vomiting. Again, I implore you to continue reading… the pug you save may be you. I only had to hurl once, and that was today, but it was followed by another tremendous poo. Thankfully… after all gastro-intestinal rejection was accomplished, I started to turn the corner. I’m much better now.
So, is there a moral to this story? Well, I suppose I should say that I’ll never jump up on a table and eat 5-6 cups of dry, very cheap WalMart cat food ever again. I suppose I should say that I’ll leave it for G-Ma’s cats (who mysteriously never come out to say wassup while I’m there… they think their poo doesn’t stink). I suppose I should stick with my 3 meals a day and not stuff myself every time I’m exposed to food, and behave as if I have never eaten before and may never eat again.
Yeah, I suppose I’m not a pug! Forget all that! If I can survive this, I’m clearly going to survive anything. Maybe I should take on that cool Japanese guy at the hot dog eating contest next year? Hmmmmmmm…
Tim and Kimberly are jetting off to Costa Rica tomorrow… I think they must have nice people, but backwards attitudes on the temporary stay of pugs. I don’t blame Costa Rica, just their dumb dog policies.
Anyways, I’m getting put up with Gina and her cool dog Chester. Me and Chester have planned to hang out in the man cave and chill all week. Should be a good one. Chester insists that we do it right and keep technology out of it… that means the blog’s gonna be dark for a few days. I dunno… I might sneak a post in there when he’s not looking. That’s how I roll, yo.
Happy Labor Day weekend to everyone in the States!
Here at louisthepug.com I strive to make sure I’m open and honest with my massive readership (second only to Google in hits… or so they tell me at corporate HQ). To that end, here is an editorial outlining a few things I’m currently not digging, and in fact… wish to bark at.
(1) This ridiculous t-shirt. You can’t see it, but it says “love bites” on it. You know what else bites? This dopey red muscle shirt. I bark at it.
(2) The thermometer. Today we were outside, and while I had an AWESOME time (thanks again Clifford), it was 90 outside. To my international readers, it was also 90 celsius. Not really, but it was frackin’ hot as they’d say on Battlestar. I bark at the thermometer.
(3) Discipline. I’ve been on this planet for a little over two and a half years and now all of the sudden we’re looking at a new sheriff in town trying to teach me how not to get on the couch and stuff. Not only that, apparently I’m going to have to obey simple commands now! The nerve! I bark at the whole notion, yo!
Anyways, other than those three things, I’m pretty content… happy Memorial Day weekend to everyone in the US, and happy, um… May 27th to the rest of y’all!
I dunno… I’m kinda distracted. Apparently my behavior this weekend is sparking some kind of a revolt out there. I think there’s been some calls for “professional” intervention, and I think that must mean someone’s gonna call that dog whisperer guy and mess with all my freedoms and fun. So I want to jump on a table from time to time? So what if I believe all food within my reach is technically offered to me, and therefore totally mine if I want it? So what if I scratch on every door to get people to open it?
I dunno… something tells me there’s a new sheriff in town, and I’m not gonna like him… or her. Or whatever. Burf!