Demoted

There has been a shift in the balance and order of the universe. I, Poppy, have been demoted.

Last night my Aunt Sarah had a baby, so I am not the baby of the family. I fear that I am no longer Grandma's favorite. I am afraid of what this turn of events will do to what I have come to think of as the normal rate and volume of doting and treat disbursement.

I know that this means that I will have to start facing up to the responsibilities and obligations of being an older cousin that I eschewed even though Lucy and Bear are younger than I.

I know this is expected of me. But I prefer not to.

My Christmas List 2009

A Merry Christmas to all my fans out there. Please know that my love for you will last forever, or as long as some one else does not pet me or give me a treat, or as long as you don't pass by the front window unannounced.

As such nearly boundless love suggests, I, Poppy, am a very giving pug. In fact, I love to give more than to receive. Mostly I love to give kisses. My kisses, much like this blog, are bottomless. Unlike this blog, they are also very wet.

But since this is the season of giving I thought that I would take this blogging opportunity to tell you about what I am going to give to my friends this Christmas Day. Here is the list:

For my cousin Lucky: Chewies. Delish.
For my cousins Bear and Lucy: Chewies. Delish.
For my cousins Bear and Lucy's other grandparents' new dog: Ditto.
For my cousin Tucker. Ditto.
For my cousin Penelope: A new collar. (That is right. I have a cousin called Penelope. Apparently, ours is a popular name for pugs and pug-mixes). Don't tell my cousin, but I have noticed that she is getting a little round, hence the need for a new collar. However, to avoid hurting her feelings, I will tell her that I am giving her the collar because its pretty purple flowers would look so nice next to her Puggle fur.
For my brother Duncan: Nothing. He will get me nothing, as well. It is very important that we maintain the charade of indifference toward each other.

A Tail of Two Chewies

Mommy has given Duncan and me identical chewies. They are both the same in length, girth, and quality. We were equally excited to receive them. Yet my chewie sits undisturbed as I lay on the floor not a foot away from Duncan and bark at him while he chews on his.

Friend

Friend is my stuffed animal toy that looks like a pug. Friend has had many lives. The first Friend disappeared when I tried to take him on a walk. Other Friends have had their stuffing ripped out and their heads torn off. Friends often disappear out in the yard in the fall and are discovered in the spring, lying in a mud puddle. Friend has a doppelganger who lives at my grandparents' house. However, never in the many incarnations of Friend has Friend met his end in an unfortunate lawnmower accident. That is an honor belonging to Stretchy Dog, a dachshund look-alike toy who, as his name indicates, stretches out when you pull on him.

Today, Friend is lying in the exact, geographical center of the back porch. Both the porch and Friend are wet, as it has been raining. A squirrel crawls slowly toward Friend. From the squirrel's angle, Friend looks like another squirrel; he is roughly the same size as a squirrel, and has similar coloring. The real squirrel crawls closer, sniffing. Crawling is the right word, as the squirrel's knees are bent and its belly is dragging on the surface of the porch. He gets close enough to Friend to determine that Friend is not a dead squirrel. Then he runs away, around Friend, keeping a wide berth.

Evening Rest

The humans are reclining on the sofa. The Big Guy is working, and Mommy is reading. Duncan is sleeping in his favorite spot.

I would like to be on the sofa next to the Big Guy and Mommy. Since I have no concept of other beings having feeling in their bodies, I jump straight on to the Big Guy's tummy. He cries out. I ignore him. I step on him for a while, doing a little turn to get the layout of the land, and the leap onto the back of the sofa, from which I walk, catlike, to the arm next to Mommy. I lie down for a minute.

I have an itch. I get up with a snort, and start scratching my ear. My tags jangle. I climb on top of Mommy and, with really no purpose or reason, begin licking her face. She pushes me away, so I start licking her hand. I don't miss a beat. She holds me still. "That's enough," she says. But when have I, Poppy, ever been satisfied with "enough"? I start licking her hand again. She holds me still.

My toes are itchy, so I sit down on Mommy and begin several minutes of manic toe-biting. I sound like a scavenger gnawing on a carcass.

No longer itchy, I start to sneeze. The sneezing fit goes on for about thirty seconds. Everybody is looking at me because when I sneeze I sound like I'm on a ventilator about to go kaput. The sneezing fit over, I climb back over the Big Guy to sit on the pillows behind him.

For a minute, there is peace.

I am looking out the window. I see a dog, or a child, or a jogger pass by the house. Such a challenge to the integrity of our territory cannot go unanswered! I leap from the pillows, and run to the window to scare away the already out of sight intruder.

Then it starts all over again.

Home Again

I am home after spending almost an entire week with my grandparents. While I was at my grandparents' I was spoiled. They bought me lots of new toys, all of which I loved to play with. My mommy even detected Greenies on my breath. The only thing I didn't like was going to the groomer. True, I did get a pretty bow and get to play with the nice people there, but at the groomer I have to get a bath. I, Poppy, do not like baths.

When my mommy came to pick me up today, I showed her all of my new toys. Then I got to go for a ride in the car.

When we got home, the little girl from down the block was waiting for me. I greeted her. She gave me a pet. She laughed. She said she liked my tail.

I was happy to see the boys when I got home. All of us went to the school yard to play as a celebration of my homecoming. Duncan chased his ball until he got stiff and Daddy had to take it away from him. I ran after Duncan. I love to run through the grass.

Later, after we had our snack and Mommy and Daddy had their dinner, Mommy gave us the drippings from the pan. We ate with relish.

The Fiction of Being in Charge

Today Mommy came home from studying. I do not like it when Mommy studies. She does not pay attention to me. When she studies, I like to go up to her garret and look out the window. I stand on the law dictionary. It boosts me up. That is how I feel about studying. And books. I do not like books.

So, Mommy came home and I was happy. I barked. I smiled. I looked at Mommy lovingly. She also brought food.

But Mommy left again. I didn't like this new development. She went out the door. She told me, "I'm just going to the car. See, you can watch me. I'm not really leaving."

I don't get this "I'm not really leaving" idea. So I barked with urgency. "Don't leave! Don't Leave! Don't leave!" My voice is very shrill when I bark with urgency.

But Mommy left. I watched her go down the stairs. Duncan watched her, too. I scolded her as she walked down the stairs. "Bad Mommy!" My voice is rather imperious when I scold some one.

But Mommy did not pay attention. So I turned around. I trotted back into the house and I scolded Daddy, because, with Mommy gone, who else is left to scold?

The Good One

Today, when there was no one in authority in the room, I climbed up on the dining room table. Mommy's handbag was sitting there. It was open. Because I am a dog and can get away with such things, I, Poppy, ignore the unspoken admonition against reaching into a purse that is not your own. This is a useless rule when there is an empty food wrapper in the purse in question.

I took out the wrapper and began to chew on it. Somehow Mommy knew that I was up to no good. She called from upstairs, "Poppy, stop whatever you're doing." It is interesting that Mommy assumed it was me playing with the wrapper. After all, Duncan was in the dining room, too.

It is a waste of breath to command small, willful animals such as I from out of our lines of vision. I continued to chew on the wrapper. From past experience, I knew I didn't have long.

Mommy descended the stairs. "What are you doing?" She demanded. I dropped the wrapper and ran under the table. I peered out from my hiding place to assess the situation. I witnessed this: Duncan, smiling and gazing into Mommy's eyes his tail pounding the floor in happiness, saying, "It wasn't me. I'm the good one."

The character of my anxiety changed immediately from anxiety based on my fear of Mommy being mad at me, to anxiety based on my fear that Duncan will receive a greater amount of attention than I. I ran out from my hiding place -- the fear of being yelled at trumped instantly by the fear of never being petted again.

Family Event

We went to my Grandma and Grandpa's on Sunday to play with my cousins, Lucy and Bear. They are both bigger than I am, but not bigger than Duncan. When they are all together, I am caught between wanting to pay with the big dogs, and being afraid of being trampled by them. Further, they are all retrievers, and I am not. They bring the ball back to the One With Thumbs. I, Poppy, run after the ball, and then sit in the grass with it.

Late in the day my Uncle Josh was at the other end of the yard, throwing the ball for Duncan and Bear. We had been chasing the ball for a long time, and it was very hot. I was sitting in the shade under a chair, next to all of the humans. Duncan was stiff, and instead of running after the ball as he had been doing earlier, he was walking after it. Duncan was paying attention to the ball. Bear was really only paying attention to Duncan. Bear wants to be Alpha. Duncan will not let him. Lucy just wants everybody to let her alone.

Uncle Josh threw the ball toward our end of the yard. Duncan started to run after the ball, and Bear started chasing Duncan. No one had counted on me. I had been watching the ball the whole time. I dashed out from under the chair, and grabbed the ball. I laid down in the grass and put my paw on the ball, in the manner of a statue of a lion. No one tried to take it from me.

Grooming

I, Poppy, did not like taking baths at home. When some one starts running a bath around our house, I am on guard as I am suspicious that I'm going to wind up in it. Now that we are two dogs, we get baths at Petsmart. I do not like baths at Petsmart any more that I like baths at home. Baths are a good trip to Petsmart spoiled.

We are always excited to go to Petsmart. There are many exciting smells there, and often we go home with treats and bags of food. We are always excited at Petsmart until we go to the room behind the glass door. There is a gate in the room behind the glass door, and when a lady comes to take you through the gate you are scared and uncomfortable. Duncan knows right away that he does not want to go behind the gate. As soon as we enter the room behind the glass door, he turns around and looks back out the way we came. He turns his head to Mommy and with his tail wagging shoots her a look that says, "All right. I've had enough. I think it's time to go."

Though we are usually friendly and trusting dogs who will come when a human calls us, we stay put when the gate opens and the ladies call us to come through. We just stand there and look at them. It takes Mommy and two ladies to push and pull us through the gate. Duncan is just big and hard to maneuver while I place my forepaws out in front of me like I'm putting on a break. They finally get us through the gate. We watch with sad eyes as Mommy turns and abandons us in the black hole of Calcutta.

All Together

My mommy is home from far away. I follow her around all the time now. The pack is back together.

Why I Reject the Creation of a PLO (Pug Liberation Organization)

My grandpa has heard my cries for more treats and has promised that he will help create a Pug Liberation Organization for me. However, I think that my grandpa, however sensitive he is toward the plights of the oppressed peoples of the world, does not understand the particular plight of the pug. I will endeavor to explain.

First, the pug understanding of liberty is in marked contrast to the human understanding of liberty. For humans, the state of nature is a state of war, in which to protect himself and his property, an individual must be constantly struggling against the incursions of other individuals, thus making human life in a state of nature, nasty, brutish, and short. However, pugs in a state of nature are part of a pack -- our nature is to be part of a group. Thus, pugs do not need social contracts that require us to give up some of our liberties in order to protect others. In fact, as creatures who do not see ourselves as individuals, but as members of a pack, we see liberty, security, and the pursuit of happiness as one entity.

For example, when I try to get out of the house -- what humans might call liberty -- I am not trying to run away, I am trying to do one of two things: go with the part of the pack that is leaving, or play a game with the pack, to bring us closer together. Based on these examples, pugs might define liberty as "that which gives a pug unlimited access to the pack." This is why Duncan and I get very excited when our leashes come out. (Duncan is not pug, but he is useful for this argument). We know that we are going to get to go along. That is why I scream with fear and fury when I get left in the car when the humans go into Safeway. I want to go to. That is why when a human would drop Shadow's -- may he rest in peace -- leash, he would simply sit down and wait, letting the human walk ahead and waiting for him or her to come back and get him. (Shadow was also not a pug, but his example still works in favor of my point).

If we ran away, who would feed us? Petsmart is a long way away, and the bags of food are high up on the shelf. Would we be expected to be the hunters? It has been widely noted by my pack members that I really don't pay attention to squirrels. The squirrels call to me, and then I look at them with an expression devoid of curiosity and continue to sniff around for crumbs on the floor. Sometimes I point, but usually it is at statues of large pug-like creatures (see my previous blog).

So you see, what we want (liberty) is to be with you. Being with you makes us feel secure and happy. You complete us.

Access to treats (the stated reason for the creation of a PLO) is perhaps the only bone of contention that I might have with the alpha male and female in my pack (Daddy and Mommy). I consider access to treats a natural right. However, because it is a natural right does not mean that I have to be given treats by the alphas in my pack, I just need to have access to them. I am only oppressed when there is no access. Often access is not a problem. To get a treat, all I usually have to do is go stand by the treat jar and bark. Then, when Mommy comes over I sit and look at her expectantly. It is not beneath my dignity to lick out Duncan's empty bowl, or to try to eat out of the takeout cartons left on the coffee table when no one is looking. This is what I call "access." As this all happens often enough around my house, I see no need for mutiny or revolt. Neither is my freedom of speech curtailed -- I exercise my right to complain when the alphas have failed me.

Religion and Animals, My Response

I, Poppy, have never been observed praying and do not have a favorite hymn -- not even "All Things Bright and Beautiful." I am a "Saint Francis Day" Christian. I attend church for the blessing of the animals, and then I really don't enjoy being doused with holy water. It reminds me of getting a bath, an activity to which I am opposed. I have also enjoyed a sort of 21st century religious upbringing, the result of which is that I am multi-denominational, and perhaps multi-religious. I have been blessed in both the Lutheran and Episcopal churches. Recently, I have noticed that meditation cushions make a comfortable bed.

I do enjoy the social aspect of church even though there is no casserole in the fellowship hall after the blessing of the animals. There are always plenty of dogs there, barking. There is general consternation. Unfortunately, in a church we are restricted by human forms of worship. There are pews. There is an organ. There is a liturgy. There are no balls. The last time I was blessed, a bulldog was leading the recessional. I was sitting next to the aisle and I desperately wanted to say hello to the bulldog. So I jumped down from the pew and the bulldog and I introduced ourselves. Did we care that we stopped the entire choir from moving? Did we care that the organ was still playing and the congregation was still singing and that we were prohibiting the service from continuing as it was planned? No! There was a dog. He needed to be sniffed.

This idea of animals and religion has me puzzled, for I am God's least introspective creature, and the idea of any sort of spirituality seems to require introspection. Ear rubs, cuddling, Greenies, pleasures of all sorts -- these transport me.*

You humans say that we are all part of a fallen creation. To that, I say, snort. The fallen creation stuff is your baggage. For this, I posit Duncan, playing basketball this morning. The humans were all trying to make baskets. No one noticed Duncan watching. The humans were all trying to make a goal, but as soon as they tried, and the ball bounced off of the garage wall or the rim of the hoop, and Duncan was there to catch it. It bounced off the tip of his nose. It rolled into the rough. He pushed it through the rough and out onto the court. I brought it to a human. He sat. "Do it again," he said. Duncan the Rebounder. We all watched him with that ball. The ball would miss its original target, and he found the best joy in recovering it. He was single-minded. There was nothing in the world except that ball and ways that that ball could be kept in motion.

*If I may use an example from Shakespeare (I prefer not to use Shakespeare unless he really proves my point, for I have not forgiven him for the negative dog imagery in King Lear), I will refer you to Bottom in A Midsummer Night's Dream. I feel close to Bottom, his introspection is limited, as well. The closer Bottom gets to Titania, the queen of the fairies, the more he itches. In the middle of his epiphany, he is completely and totally aware of his body.

Opportunity

Last night, while we were eating, Duncan had a seizure. You, my fans, wonder why I, Poppy, would write about such an event. You wonder, "What does this matter to Poppy?"

Of course, I have really no sense about how serious certain physical ailments are. I am indifferent the need for veterinary care, even when I myself feel terrible. An ear infection is simply a time when I will squeak with fear and discomfort because I am being held down by my mommy and at least two vet techs while the doctor cleans out my ears. I do not see a correlation between such an unspeakable violation and my ears feeling better. (See previous posting on the presidential health care plans and their relation to treats). Seizures need to be paid attention to, but it is not for me, Poppy, to do that. That is why you have humans. Humans pay attention to such things, so that if you are a dog your day will be exactly like the one yesterday and the one the day before. In the case of Duncan and his episode, the humans made sure that Duncan was back with me in the mud room today.

However, when your companion has a seizure during dinner, he can't eat. Just as important, the humans are busy taking care of the afflicted to yell at you when you just, say, walk over to his bowl and eat up his whole meal. So, as Mommy soothed Duncan, I polished off two bowls of food -- mine and his. I am, after all, a Reformed Machiavellian. The ends justifies the means.

Now, you are thinking that I, Poppy am heard-hearted, simply because I practice self-interest. That is not true. Duncan is my brother and sometime pillow. Before I knew Duncan, when my mommy and I were single girls living single girl lives, I was very lonely. Now I have a companion. It is in my interest to have a companion, therefore, it is in my interest to have Duncan. It is not my fault if I am a dog and have a dog psychology. Everybody at my house is bigger than I, which means that I am the Omega dog* in our pack. As Omega dog I must seize opportunities as they present themselves.

*"Omega dog" should not be confused with "Omega Man," the Charlton Heston film about Zombies. I have never seen it. Mommy can't remember if there is a dog in it. I am not interested in movies without animals or that wonderful character, Gollum. But I digress. I have seen "I am Legend," and I barked very hard at the Zombie dogs in that movie. They went away. I am confident that if a Zombie horde attacks our house, I will be ready.

Back Yard Adventure

Our back yard is a place of adventure for me. Grandma and Grandpa have a back yard with an expanse of grass that is cool and luxurious to lie on in the summer. But our back yard has in the past resembled a jungle of sumac and tall grass. Last summer when I was in the yard it was like being a tiger, moving stealthily through the underbrush.

Daddy cut down most of the sumac last summer, but some grew back this spring and he had to cut it down again, so that he and Mommy could make the garden. The sumac grows fast, and has woody stems that, personally, I find delightful to chew on. Most of the sumac that grew back was along the side of the garage, where I used to like to explore. Now that space is empty, and there is now a pile of sumac trunks sitting in the back of the yard, awaiting that urban superhero, the Junkman, to come and haul it away. I like to explore under the trunks. Like the side of the garage, it is a place that Duncan cannot go, as he is big. But I am little, so I can squeeze through. It is fun.

Sometimes Daddy works in the garage. I like the garage, too, as it is dark and mysterious, and I have never really had an opportunity to be in there for long. Today I sneaked in there while no one was looking and I began to sniff around. Daddy did not see me, as I am little, which is to my advantage when I want to claim unfettered sniffing privileges. But then Daddy shut the door, and I was left there. How could he leave me? How could he not notice that I was there? I waited in the dark.

At some point some one noticed that I was missing from the house. Mommy and Daddy called for me in every room and in the back yard, but they didn't find me. I continued to wait. I was getting scared. I had been abandoned, it was dark, and they didn't even leave Duncan with me.

Daddy walked around the block. When he came back without me, Mommy got her keys out so she could go through the neighborhood and look for me. I have been known to sneak out the front door to be returned by neighbors, tucked under their arms, my pug legs sticking straight out like sticks and a sedate, "who me?" look on my face.

Before they left they decided to try the garage. Daddy opened the door and called to me. Oh! Happy day! I ran out. I was happy to see everybody and everybody was happy to see me! However, now that I look back it seems that Duncan did not seem at all concerned about my absence. When I found him, he was in the mud room, taking up all the room on our dog bed.

A Dilemna for One as Self-Interested as I

I am deep in thought about whom I might endorse for president. I want all my fans to be informed about the issues. However, my grandma is a rabid Hillary supporter. My grandma makes me home made treats and gives me big huge bones and lets me sleep in the bed. I want to continue my influence over her. So, Endorsing Hillary = Treats.

My parents are Subaru-driving, wine-drinking, recycling, composting, KBCO-listening, two dog-owning, French food-eating, Neiman Marcus-shopping, Mac-interfacing yuppies. Obviously, they are for Obama. So, Endorsing Obama = A Roof Over My Head.

Joh McCain is a Republican, which means he is the representative of all of the self-interested in the country. Endorsing McCain = The Supreme Rule of the Self-Interested.

Hmmmm....

Strollers

My mommy and grandma have talked about getting me a stroller so that we can all go shopping together. They have seen dogs in strollers at the mall, and there are many dog stroller products on the market.

My daddy has threatened to start his own blog, called "The Most Ridiculous Thing Ever," on which he would post pictures of me in a stroller, and invite men to share other ridiculous stories about their wives and girlfriends and shopping malls.

Suspicious

What should I make of this? Today I was locked outside and Duncan was inside and he didn't say a word.

We have been fed. Duncan and I eat different foods becuase my parents think that I am a little chubby and need diet food. I don't understand chubby. I understand that I want Duncan's food. In fact, I feel strongly that there has been some inversion of what should be, which is why he is eating his own food. I ignore my food and bark at Duncan while he buries his face in the bowl. He continues eating, as if I am not there, as if he cannot hear me tolling the bell of injustice. My food sits in the other bowl. I continue to bark. Now I am standing directly behind Duncan, and since he is taller that I am I have a direct view of his food bowl between his legs. How can he stand there and eat his food when he knows that I want to eat his food? Eventually I acquiesce to the fact that even though Duncan has committed a great wrong, he has finished what was in the bowl. As he leaves the room he gives a glance toward my bowl. I scoot over there and finish what I've been given. When I'm through with my food, I go back to his bowl and lick it out.

Tails

My tail is curly. It looks like a cinnamon bun when it is rolled up tight. It stays rolled up tight when I'm barking furiously at the neighbors who have the nerve to let me see them out the window. It stays rolled up tight when I'm eating my dinner, and when I am sitting at attention. When I want something from you and you are looking my way, I crinkle my forehead to look a little alarmed and a little worried then I twitch my tail, just barely, to indicate my intention. When I am lying down, and you walk toward me, I stay perfectly still while I look up at you with wide, liquid eyes and wag the cinnamon bun side to side in a slightly wider arc. In your peripheral vision my tail wagging looks like a butterfly.

I am only aware of my tail when you try to straighten it. Then I give you a dirty look.

Duncan has no tail awareness. He thumps it, rhythmically and with force, against walls and doors and cabinets. Lying down, he thumps it against the floor in the morning when our daddy asks him if he is hungry. Lying down, he thumps it against the floor when the Ones With the Thumbs talk about him, or say his name, or lean over to rub his tummy. They can pull his tail and he doesn't mind.

His tail is as long as me. When I stand behind him and he's excited, his tail thumps against my face.

Curiously, the Ones With the Thumbs have no tails. I wonder if these phenomena correlate. Does giving up a tail mean getting thumbs? Sort of like the Little Mermaid who got legs but lost her voice. But who wants thumbs when you can use your tail to coerce someone into getting your treat for you?