They say life imitates art, but I think my life imitates pug.
Allow me to explain.
This weekend, our little fat man was trucking along. He was traveling with a purpose -- chasing our poor cat. He was going as quickly as his pudgy arthritis-riddled legs will haul him, which is surprisingly fast.
And then something distracted him.
Someone opened the refrigerator, and Sonny couldn't help but look over to see if something coming from within might be for him. The pug kept running toward the cat, yet craned his neck toward the fridge. An internal struggle was born. He didn't know which way to go – stay on the trail of the cat or bear right toward a potentially delicious treat! What to do! Oh the horror!
Sadly, before he could decide, Sonny lost his balance. His stubby little paws caught on the spot where our tile meets our wood flooring and he face planted. Literally. His feet went behind him and his flat little face scraped the floor. And that's where he lay, bleeding and hurt until the Aggie could get to him.
Now my poor little pug has a giant scratch on his nose and upper lip. It's starting to scab over and the positioning makes him look like Hitler. Which would be hilarious if I didn't totally sympathize with my little man. Because I wiped it in the exact same spot he did.
Only no one came to my immediate aid. Two of my good friends were there helping me paint that day. But in the middle of the drama of my falling down, Ripken took the opportunity to steal a paint stirrer from a paint bucket. Then he drug it across the entire length of our home, smearing pale yellow paint over everything in his path.
Rather than come to my aid, my friends left me crying in a heap on the floor while they wrestled Ripken to the ground, confiscated the stirrer and brutally scrubbed paint.
I distinctly recall my friend Tree saying: "Just lay still. Stop moving around. We have to get this up first before we take you to the hospital. It will ruin the floor if we leave it."
"You will thank us later, I promise," my friend Lindsey added as they scrubbed.
And do you know what? They totally made the right decision. Turns out I was only bruised, not broken. No hospital trip was required. And let me tell you, it is a good friend who will say: GET A GRIP. I DON’T GIVE A SHIT IF YOUR ARM IS BROKEN AND THE BONE PROTRUDING FROM THE SKIN. THESE FLOORS ARE BRAND NEW. SO YOU ARE GOING TO HAVE TO WAIT ONE GODDAMNED MINUTE BEFORE WE ADMINISTER EMERGENCY AID!
Three years later, my poor little disabled dog bites it in the same place I did. And all because he was distracted by the possibility of food.
He doesn't like to admit it, but me and the pug? Are two kind.
Allow me to explain.
This weekend, our little fat man was trucking along. He was traveling with a purpose -- chasing our poor cat. He was going as quickly as his pudgy arthritis-riddled legs will haul him, which is surprisingly fast.
And then something distracted him.
Someone opened the refrigerator, and Sonny couldn't help but look over to see if something coming from within might be for him. The pug kept running toward the cat, yet craned his neck toward the fridge. An internal struggle was born. He didn't know which way to go – stay on the trail of the cat or bear right toward a potentially delicious treat! What to do! Oh the horror!
Sadly, before he could decide, Sonny lost his balance. His stubby little paws caught on the spot where our tile meets our wood flooring and he face planted. Literally. His feet went behind him and his flat little face scraped the floor. And that's where he lay, bleeding and hurt until the Aggie could get to him.
Now my poor little pug has a giant scratch on his nose and upper lip. It's starting to scab over and the positioning makes him look like Hitler. Which would be hilarious if I didn't totally sympathize with my little man. Because I wiped it in the exact same spot he did.
Only no one came to my immediate aid. Two of my good friends were there helping me paint that day. But in the middle of the drama of my falling down, Ripken took the opportunity to steal a paint stirrer from a paint bucket. Then he drug it across the entire length of our home, smearing pale yellow paint over everything in his path.
Rather than come to my aid, my friends left me crying in a heap on the floor while they wrestled Ripken to the ground, confiscated the stirrer and brutally scrubbed paint.
I distinctly recall my friend Tree saying: "Just lay still. Stop moving around. We have to get this up first before we take you to the hospital. It will ruin the floor if we leave it."
"You will thank us later, I promise," my friend Lindsey added as they scrubbed.
And do you know what? They totally made the right decision. Turns out I was only bruised, not broken. No hospital trip was required. And let me tell you, it is a good friend who will say: GET A GRIP. I DON’T GIVE A SHIT IF YOUR ARM IS BROKEN AND THE BONE PROTRUDING FROM THE SKIN. THESE FLOORS ARE BRAND NEW. SO YOU ARE GOING TO HAVE TO WAIT ONE GODDAMNED MINUTE BEFORE WE ADMINISTER EMERGENCY AID!
Three years later, my poor little disabled dog bites it in the same place I did. And all because he was distracted by the possibility of food.
He doesn't like to admit it, but me and the pug? Are two kind.
5 comments:
Were you feeling a little nostalgic for FC? (I am referring to the new colors header colors)
Love ya!
Like the new look of the blog!!
Auntie
This is NOT a tribute to FHS. Rather it is inspired by Williamsburg Pottery and Martha Washington's china. I own a bunch of the pottery and a tea set in the china. Totally inspired by our recent trip to Virginia!
aww pour pug. put some lotion on his nose. if he was at aunt halley's spa i would paint his toes and take him to the beach. love ya! h.
I remember that. I also remember laughing hysterically at you- because what kind of a friend would I be if I didn't?
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