Coffee Break?

It’s a tough call even though I have already given my…ahem…”decision”.  Amongst our sixteen critters we…I…have a pug.  Buddy is my second of such delightful creatures and came to us three years ago as a two years old.  Back in the mid-’90’s I’d bought my first pug puppy…an eight week old whom I named Oliver.  It suited him.  He was a charmer…a bit of devil at times, due to their breed-famed stubbornness, but a proper clown.  He kept me laughing during a challenging period in my life and if I hadn’t already loved everything about him, I’d have loved him solely for that.  One doesn’t “own” a pug…he/she owns you and once done, it lasts for life I guess.  Sadly, my boy met an untimely death at five years old.  Much as I loved the breed more than any other I’ve had, I decided it would be a long time before I could have another, if ever.  For whatever reason Oliver was so special to me, I just did not want to get another one then find I was making comparisons.

Meantime, we collected five dogs, four cats and, as of a little over a year ago, the sixth of our birds….all but one of the dogs were rescued from homes which figured they were “disposable” or “just a temporary fixture until we get tired of them”.  Of the cats, all were found feral kittens abandoned by their mothers (not the same litter!).  The birds…three we had bought, three are also rescues.  And they…plus us two…all live in a madhouse, zoo, call it what you will and all are indoor animals.  And then came Buddy-who-used-to-be-Smokey.  My partner manages a pet supply and feed store, Sundays being her one day off a week.  One of those Sundays she was called to be told only one person had shown up for work that day so, off she went to fill in.  Store closed at five and at 6pm. the phone rings.  She has just pulled into the driveway and asked me if I would come outside for a second.  I did…I thought she wanted to show me some blooms that had just come up, a different bird in the trees, a new bullfrog in the pond…one never knew.  But as I rounded the corner into the driveway I see this wrinkled face with an inquisitive look, big brown eyes, chocolate coloured velvety ears watching me…and, no…it was NOT my partner!  An apricot pug, very much like Oliver and as big…Oliver was a well-muscled big boy for a pug, perhaps about half the size of a bulldog.  I grimaced, hoping that whomever was his ‘parent’, he or she was also in the truck.  But, no…his story was not as sad as some but pathetic with regards to the family from which he came.  An older couple who had had him from when he was eight weeks old.  He’d come from a good blood line, they had paid quite a sum for him and then went on to have him neutered, a hernia repaired, and he came accompanied by beautiful ceramic bowls identified by the words “Prince”, his own placemat, several outfits for Hallowe’en dress up, a wicker basket and cushion, fancy collars and, of course toys.  At two years of age he had become ‘redundant’ to the desires of the household.   They had told my partner they had to find him a new home before the next day or they would be taking him to the SPCA.  Why?  Because he was destructive.  What HAD he done?  Chewed paper.  Chewed paper??  Well, that and they were planning to redecorate so they could not keep him.  (I guess he didn’t match, co-ordinate or blend in with the pending colour scheme).  He chewed paper??  What else??  Nothing.

Now, although several years had gone by since Oliver died, I still wasn’t ready to have another pug in the house but he certainly wasn’t going to any shelter.  I lifted him out of the truck windows, asked his name…and almost choked.  Who in the world calls a pug Smokey?  Pick another name…something that sounds similar so the adjustment would be easy…Buddy.  Hey, at least it has an “ee” on the end!  I carried him into the house and I wept for him that night.  He had obviously not been ill-treated…not like his new siblings.  Buddy is the only dog we brought home who sat at the window whimpering for three nights, waiting for his family to come for him, no doubt.  And for that I could have wrung their necks.  But…he adapted quickly to his name, his new family of us, siblings, cats and birds.  More than that, it didn’t take him long to find the food bowls, chow hounds that pugs are.  In less than a week he had found his place on the couch…leaning against me, one paw on my leg and insisting I wrap my right hand around him.  I don’t compare him to Oliver at all other than his brickhouse build and colour.  He is his own person and daft as a brush.  I think he even makes the other dogs laugh.

Don’t get me wrong, I dearly love all of our ‘kids’…even if exasperation and frustration seem to abound from time to time.  Sixteen animals is a lot of work!  And I love them equally…even if I do have a soft spot for two of them…our Brussels Griffon and, of course, Buddy.  Well…as Erma BomBeck used to answer her kids when they would ask her which one she loved most…”Whomever needs it most at a given time…”  My partner, though, knowing my particular affinity for pugs (which, by the way, seems to be rubbing off on her despite her denials), really put me on the spot tonight.  Naturally, in her job she sees, meets and befriends many dogs on a daily basis.  About a year ago she began telling me of this pug puppy who was a new customer.  She had never been so close to a few weeks old pug before and, as they do,  this little girl totally charmed her…and has continued to do so ever since.  Now this little “lady” is to be having puppies…and my partner asked me tonight if I wanted one when they are born.  Yes.  NO!!  I’d love to have one…but I don’t want seventeen pets.  Like the mother of ten who fears she may be pregnant once more, I’d have to take a powder for another creature to move in.  But a puppy?  A pug puppy?  Awww…sure…of course!  NO…I can’t!  I wish I could and I don’t see how.  

Hey, I’m what some would call more than middle-aged…by something of a stretch.  I’ve had to find more energy than I ever thought I had for most of my life, dealing with this band of “brothers and sisters”…particularly since they all do live in the house.  I’m a voracious reader yet I haven’t managed to finish ONE book in six years, a broom and a mop are permanently attached to each hand and every article of clothing I own displays it’s own unique design of dog hair, cat hair and feathers.  Our living room and large kitchen are both decorated in Early American Cat Tree, Mediterranean Cage and French Provincial Dog/Cat bed and toys.   Taking the dogs for walks is akin to running the Ididerod…six of them in harnesses and us as the sleds.  Neighbours think we run a doggie day care…well, in fact, I do…except none of them go home at nights.  They let me sit on one very small end of the couch…as long as two can be in my lap and Buddy using me as his leaning post while a fourth is obsessed by tennis balls and the throwing of same every five minutes.

Add one more?  I don’t think so!  And yet…the very idea is “pugging at my heart strings” so…who knows!