Thanksgiving, Pug-style

Which doesn't really mean anything except that there was a lot of sleeping to be had. Interspersed with napping. With quick breaks taken for deep snoring and dream-barking.

Cleo was inseparable from her grampa. His armpit, to be absolutely precise, but who's counting.

Sasha was bring uncharacteristically snuggly. Note she's actually allowing herself TO BE TOUCHED by the gramma.

Even the normally energetic Deedee could be found, at any given moment, with her eyes firmly shut in her little flat sleepy head.

And what were the cousins doing? Were they taking advantage of this rare lapse in black pug vigilance to successfully forage in the kitchen? Were they plying their wiles to get in a larger percentage of snugglage?

No! They were passed out, as well. Rikki here seems to have lost facial integrity.

And, Bunni, well.... what's that saying about a picture being worth 1000 words? I think these speak for themselves.

Traveling pugs

After having sworn never to fly with 3 pugs again, we proceeded on to Total Memory Failure and booked ourselves on a plane to the grandpappys' for the holiday. Why the reluctance to fly? The primary reason is that Miss Arthritic Sasha is now 12, and possibly too old to be crammed into a carrier stuffed under a seat for the duration of a 4 to 6 hour flight.

The other is that the airlines have this total scam (detailed vociferously here) that is biased against pet owners, wherein we pay several times over to 1) buy the ticket, 2) pay a pet fee ($250 roundtrip on jetblue), 3) substitute the pug for a personal item, thereby forcing us to pay to check in bags, all for the privilege of stuffing the poor pug under the seat and endure harrassing comments from airline staff to remind us to keep our rabid, slavering, disease-ridden animals zipped up in their carriers.

We were able to let the pugs poke their collective heads out of the carriers to at least stretch their necks, in the gate area. I think Sasha is looking for more handouts. They got copious amounts in order to bribe them into the carriers in the 1st place.

Cleo is not pleased with the duplicity of the airline.

airlines suck, mama

I'm sure Deedee would agree if she were more conscious.

NO, no, please, don't bother

I am merely the mama that feeds you, walks you, clothes you, grooms you, loves you....

Don't trouble yourself to get up. Don't even bother opening your eyes.

A good napping spot

The best place to nap is the sofa. But not on the seat cushions, ho no, that's for us lame people. The absolute best spot is on TOP of the sofa. The loftier the perch, the better.

While this can be cute, ie when one is leaning back, watching TV, and one feels soft puglet breath in one's ear, it is decidedly NOT OK when said pug leans over and eats my nacho while I am distracted by my team's doofus QB yet again not being able to throw the ball at an actual teammate. Also not cute is the ridiculous amount of pug snot and fur that ends up collecting on what amounts to the most prominent parts of the sofa. Thus the throws.

For some reason, Sasha has never been a fan of the top of the sofa. She prefers the eminently more pricey rugs, instead.

Halloween cookies

*WARNING* this post has nothing to do with pugs, just their mama

In a burst of baking energy a couple of weeks ago, I decided to roll out and bake me up some holiday-themed sugar cookies for Halloween.

WHAT WAS I THINKING. Whatever sickass individual decided to perpetuate the idea that sugar-cookies-are-so-easy-even-a-child-can-do-it has clearly never spent a significant amount of time actually baking them. You gotta make the dough, chill it, roll it out without tearing it, chill it, cut out cute little shapes with sharp, knife-like, cookie cutters without dripping blood on it, chill it yet again, bake it, and then decorate the damn things.

The following was my trying to paint a design onto a frosted cookie. It's a black cat against a starry sky. Obvy.

The following was my effort, after multiple failed attempts to decorate the cookies, and after prolonged cursing, just going jackson pollock on the orbs of despair.

I did manage to put out some that featured designs a bit more festive than bat barf. This particular tray, however, took me close to an hour.

The pugs were super interested while I was flinging flour and colored sugar around the kitchen, not so much while I was sweating and cursing over frosting. Except for Sasha. This is a pic I posted a few days ago -- note the dollop of royal icing on her head -- which I didn't even notice at the time. Our vet actually pointed it out the next day. Embarrassing.

Beef bones for the other pugs

Never you worry. Cleo and Deedee also got a chance to partake in Sasha's birthday beef bone bonanza. Deedee didn't really know what to do with it, at first.

After rolling it around several times, she finally figured out that it was for eating. Smartie. She'll survive in the wild.

Cleo had no problems figuring out the pluses and advantages to her loot.

Note the delicately extended hind paw, like a pinky on a teacup. Cleo is nothing but a delicate eater.

Sasha just wants to make triply sure that no one is after her bone.

Sasha's Birthday Treat

Yes, Sasha's birthday treat celebration was a little belated -- we had to eat the beef for dinner first before we could give the birthday pug the bone.

Sasha cannot believe her good fortune.

The toothless puglet had a great time with the beef bone. What seemed like hours later, the bone still looked pristine after essentially having been gummed and licked to death.

The hilarious thing is that she's looking at me like I may steal it from her.

Pug love

One cannot help but feel like like an excellent pug mama, when one walks into a room to see this:

Happy Birthday, Sasha!

Our little girl is 12 years old, today!

She doesn't look a day over 11.

u will be punished

Halloween, shmalloween

So, while the husband and I were fending off hordes of trick-or-treating children on Halloween, while also trying to watch the World Series, where were the pugs?

Totally disinterested.

Well, that's not entirely accurate. They were slaveringly rabid every time the doorbell rang. Then we cleverly decided to just throw open the door and intercept the crowds of sugar-seeking pre-pubescents.

The pugs then decided to settle down. and nap. Did I mention they were locked away in our bedroom? just in case they actually scared one of the costumed infants at our door.

It's too much for the grand Sasha.