The puglets have had an entire week! to spend with the gramma and grampa aka Big Pieces Of Food. It's like the Pied Piper with these animals -- except that instead of a song, the pugs are getting an endless supply of treats. And in return, they're giving an endless supply of love and cuddlage.
I don't think that Cleo's body has been separated from a lap.
Even private Sasha is, uncharacteristically, snuggly in her own private way.
Husband made the mistake of leaving his seat at the laptop for a second. In that brief moment in time, our deedles had jumped down from the daybed, carried her bone, and comfortably ensconced herself in his seat.
Thanks for the shoutout from Wilma, the pug! She's cutie puglet from another 3 pug family. We (the royal we, that is) are always excited to see that there are hordes of crazy pug lovers out there.
As a matter of fact, just the other day some stranger asked me -- are you that lady with the 3 black show pugs? The key word in that question being 'show' pugs. Em, no. Not unless they've been handing out prizes for incontinence at the Westminster. But apparently, we keep good company.
So, 7 things you don't already know about the puglets:
1) Sasha hates peas. Hates them. She loves all other vegetables, will jump directly into our shopping bags when we return from the farmer's market to root around for the good stuff, but she will spit. out. every. pea.
2) Our 'feardy cat pug, Cleo, used to be fear-less. No height was too high (she jumped off of the washing machine once as a puppy, I almost died), no danger too great, no mystery too deep. Now my little girl balks at plastic bags.
3) Deedee considers all dogs behind fences, her Arch Enemies. Cannot walk past without rabies-like snarling and lunging. Then she meets the same dogs, on the other side of the fence, and they're all her Best Friends. Smarty.
4) Cleo allows me to scrape her tartar with a dental pick. Just lies there and allows me to scrape away at those gigantor teeth of hers.
5) Deedee recognizes the sound of her dada's car coming down the street, well before I can. She runs to the window, yarping, for what I think is no particular reason, and then a whole minute later (at least), I hear his car turning into the driveway.
6) Sasha can tell time. Every night, at 7pm sharp, she walks directly up to her dada and sits. And stares. And stares. like -- dada. it's time to eat. r u going to feed me?
7) When we were first looking for a dog, we did extensive research (that's not the surprising part), and we had narrowed it down to a pug and a bichon frise. I don't know what we were thinking. We almost adopted a bichon. That would have been tragic.
Of all of our collective pugs (including the 3 pug cousins), Cleo has by far and away the best dental health. I would love to pat myself approvingly on the back, but it really has nothing to do with me -- she's lucky if she's in the same room with her toothbrush more than once every few months.
I do every once in a while get out the dental pick and go to town on her tartar.... except that she doesn't have any. Just a smidge, maybe, on her gravestone front teeth, but that's about it. We have a few theories. One, that she's a genetic mutant with super-resistant dental genes.
Two, that her hyperimmune state, the one that is the source of all of her allergies, is actually protective against gingivitis.
Or, three, that her ridiculously obsessive chewing is scraping those gigantor teeth clean without anyone's help.
After a nice weekend spent with friends, relaxation, more friends, and... a bath... the pugs are pretty exhausted come Monday. They've each retreated to their fave spot to catch a few winks. Cleo on the sofa.
Maybe because Cleo isn't feeling 100%, or maybe because of the phase of the moon... but she seems to be preferring Sasha's company a little more lately. The other morning, in pursuit of comfort, she tried to cram herself onto the same dog bed as Sasha.
I'm not sure Sasha was even conscious. She had her head buried, as usual.
What I failed to capture in the interim is the puppy running over, slamming her little body on top of the 2 elderly pugs, and then scampering off in search of her toy. The senior pugs are disturbed.
Poor Cleo. She has these terrible allergies (as numerous trips to various vet specialists have documented). The latest melodrama came up the other morning when I noticed that she was limping around the yard. After prolonged sobbing (mine) and hysterics (mine again), we committed to a thorough inspection of her paws.
Little girl. I forget the name but basically it's an allergic nodule that gets itchy and then infected as she licks and chews on it. I was afraid she had some sort of foreign body like a foxtail in her little flipper paw. Thus the thorough investigation. She did NOT like our examining it.
But Cleo is our best little girl and allowed us to slather ointment on her toes and wrap her up in a bootie. She's such a good pug.