My fawn FIEND
JEREMY DIDN’T INITIALLY WARM TO HIS LATEST FAMILY MEMBER, BUT NOW HIS BOY’S GOT CRED
Time for a pug update. I’m writing about Spud, our new family member, for my own therapy – talking about the four-legged, squashed-faced demon is necessary for my mental health.
Just to be clear, he’s a dog.
It’s unfair. Since we invited this fawn fiend into our lives, he has had almost unwavering adulation. I have never experienced such universal excitement for an animal. Especially one that is so physically impractical.
His mushed-up face appeal spans all ages, races and demographics – it would seem pugs bring the world together.
But it has fallen to me to be the yin to all this Spud-loving yang. Someone’s got to bring balance. I’ve got to be the bad guy.
And, to be honest, it’s not that hard.
I can understand when nature calls, the only option may be inside. But maybe not after we’ve just spent 15 minutes outside for that very purpose. And maybe not camouflaged on the dark purple rug in our daughter’s room where she can stand in it and spread it about a bit. And don’t stand there gloating as I clean up.
He’s smart. Easy to train.
He’ll come when called... Unless there’s another dog or person or food or smell or noise or change in the wind direction. Or the wind direction stays the same. Or the one that really winds me up – when he looks directly at me, knows what I am asking, weighs up his options and says to himself, “Nup”.
He is wilfully disobedient. He’s a glutton. Okay, maybe he’s just imitating his master, but he will help himself to any food within range. And that range is impressive. For a small dog, he can get up very high. My dinner last night will attest to that.
There are positives to the gluttony – it’s easy to give him medicine, just wrap it in anything remotely edible.
And he’s got fatter so now cannot fit his pudgy stomach between the bars in the fence.
He pretends to be loyal by walking along with me, but he’s actually trying to trip me up by zig-zagging between my feet. More so when I’m carrying something large and cannot see him.
Anything I value, he chews – shoes, gift cards, hands. You name it.
And finally, like most pugs, his eyes don’t quite line up and it’s hard to tell which way he’s looking. I don’t trust him. He’s not a dog I wanted to be around.
But things changed over the holidays. TradeMe outlawed the selling of pugs. They have good reason, but the outcome was this: he is an outlaw. Suddenly there is a lot of cool to be had putting the sunglasses on and hanging out with him. It wouldn’t surprise me if a black market sprung up for these bad boys of the canine world. Mostly gangs, I imagine.
And Spud hasn’t been neutered yet, so he’s a loaded gun, a lethal weapon. I’m walking the streets with an armed and dangerous criminal. We might just get on after all.