R.I.P. Beloved Friend

Puggo died in my arms on the morning of May 27, 2009. He was 12 and a half years old.

Puggo had been boarding over the Memorial Day weekend and when I came to pick him up on Tuesday, he collapsed while we were still at the vet's. At home, he had another seizure. The vet told me to take him to the emergency clinic if the seizures continued, but they didn't. That night, Puggo sat on the edge of my bed, breathing heavily, then headed into the living room. I bedded down on the couch, but was awake most of the night, somehow knowing that he might have only a little time left. Finally, I dozed off at 3 a.m. for a few hours.

When I woke up, I carried Puggo outside, but as soon as I set him down on the grass, he fell over. I picked him up and carried him back in. Sitting on the edge of my bed, still holding him, I called a client who was coming over that morning to cancel our meeting, and heard myself telling her that I thought Puggo might be dying. I texted my boyfriend to tell him that Puggo was in bad shape and that I was off to the vet. In between, I talked to my beloved companion, calling him "Babycake."

At one point, I heard what I can only describe as a death rattle coming from his throat as he voided for what would be the last time. I was crying and calling to him not to leave me, even as I found a towel to wrap him in, changed into clean clothes, slipped on my shoes, and laid him on the seat next to me, racing for the vet's. Part of me hoped that he was still alive, asleep or even in a coma-- after all, his body was as warm as ever-- while another part knew that he was gone. When I got to the clinic, the receptionist took one look at us and immediately led me to a room. The vet came in, asking when was the last time Puggo had moved. She gently told me that he was gone. She didn't know why, perhaps he had a neurological disease; it was just his time to go. I called Michael, my boyfriend, and he read me Robinson Jeffers' ode to his beloved bulldog, Haig, who was buried outside the poet's home.  I stayed in the room beside Puggo until his warmth had dissipated. He was really gone.


Through the pain, I realized how lucky I was to have been there when he passed, rather than away at work, and how blessed I was that he had died in my arms.  It was almost as though he had waited, first for me to come back from a weekend away, and then for me to wake up that morning.



A couple of weeks later, Michael and I picked up the little cedar box with Puggo's ashes, which rests on the fireplace mantel. After a month of grieving, I got a new pug, also fawn, also male, a 9-month-old show puppy named Louie. I did this in part because I remembered when I miscarried my third child, the doctor had advised me to wait a couple of months and then try again. For various reasons, I didn't take his advice to have another child, but I knew that I was ready to care for another dog. Louie isn't a replacement for Puggo, but a continuation of the adventure of being a pug mama.

Pug Head Tilting: Video Link

Check out this hysterical video. Judith tried the same technique out on Puggo, who responded with a quizzical look and, sometimes, a head tilt.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9uuqXXT7VYo

Alpha Pug Sleeping

Alpha Pug

A herd of pugs, dressed in colorful harnesses and circling around each other at the dog park, stopping in front of a watching human for a pat or a drink of water, seem far removed from the ancestral wolf pack. Most will never mate and if they do, the bitches need Caesarian sections. The hunting instinct has been reduced to barking at absent-minded owners to refill the food bowls. But the drive to dominate other dogs remains.

When Puggo was about 18 months old, he attempted to hump a 10-year-old male German shepherd, who punished the pup’s audacity by biting his ear hard enough to draw blood. Although Puggo continued to run with the big dogs, he never tried that particular trick again. When he met other dogs at the park, they would sniff each other and sometimes one or the other would lay down in what seemed to be a gesture of submission. But it wasn’t until this past year that younger dogs have tried to dominate him by lifting a back leg over his rear end. Unlike the German Shepherd, Puggo hasn’t bit the upstarts. At 12, he just sits down and tries to ignore them, seemingly resigned to no longer being a top dog.

Except at home, where he remains, if not the leader of the pack, at least the center of attention.

Pugs and Costumes

For some reason, pugs and costumes go together. Few owners seem able to resist the temptation to dress up their lap dogs like a Muffy Bear or baby doll. For example, a photo of two unhappy-looking pugs, each wearing a hot dog bun, one topped with mustard, the other with ketchup, made the Internet rounds a while back with the caption, "Why Dogs Kill Their Owners." Then there was the gruff pug wearing the "I (heart) New York" T-shirt in the movie "Men in Black." At our local Pug Meet-up's Halloween party, there were pugs in Hawaiian shirts, frilly skirts, a miniature Jedi knight costume and two pugs in yellow and back stripes, who kept circling Puggo and the giant artificial rose tied to the back of his halter as though they were real bees and he a real flower. A month later, a girl pug wearing a lobster costume attracted Puggo's attention, although I doubt he's ever tasted crustacean.

Not that Judith is immune to the temptation to doll up her dog. In addition to the flower, Puggo has had to endure a cowboy hat (with holes cut for his ears), a Superman cape, and booties designed to protect his feet from the snow and ice. As a tiny puppy in Boston, he was dressed in a cut-off sweatshirt sleeve, which at least kept him warm. But as a mature male, he strongly feels that wearing clothing is beneath his dignity. Judith, however, does insist that he wear his red harness around his chest, not only while on the leash but off it as well; her rather flimsy excuse is that it's easier to grab him by the harness when he wanders into the neighbors' yards than it is to catch him bare naked.

Oh well, at least she doesn't make him wear a bonnet-- or a hot dog bun.

Papers

Puggo has a thing for paper. He doesn’t seem particularly motivated by the bland taste of cellulose. No, he’s motivated by the small dog need for attention. Eating paper is simply a way of getting attention. Receipts seem to be particularly effective but he is also very fond of tissues, paper towels and napkins. Fortunately he doesn’t go after this writer’s books or magazines—probably only because his mouth is too small. If he did, there would be real trouble. Despite Judith’s best efforts to keep the floor, bed and other Pug-reachable spaces free of paper, Puggo has an uncanny ability to sniff out tissues from open purses and tossed envelopes from the recycling bin. But his latest trick surprised even her.

J had her nose in a book, turning its pages rather than patting her pug. Suddenly, she heard a thud, and looked up to see that Puggo had knocked the CD holder off a nearby table, presumably with a head-butt. His target was a small paper napkin underneath the CD holder. He ignored her attempts to scold and distract him, so J only managed to grab half of the napkin while the Pug snarfed up the other half. He was so pleased with his efforts at getting both paper and attention, that he didn’t really mind being ordered to leave the room. Like many a parent, J was secretly amused by her little rascal’s antics but didn’t dare show it.

She was less amused a couple of days later when he ate her breakfast bun while she was out of the room.

The Pug and His Human Companion

The Puggo Papers is a blog about pugs in general and the life and misadventures of one pug in specific, Puggo, a 12-year-old fawn male, and his human companion, Judith, who hopes to be reincarnated as her dog. A life of snoozing in the sunshine, snoring on soft cushions, sniffing expeditions, jumping for treats, chasing the odd cat, being petted and fawned over, without a care in the world, her only work to listen attentively and snuggle up sympathetically as needed.