A View to the World

Now that the weather's warm, the front door is open often. I like to lie on the floor in front of the security door, looking out at the world through the bars. My posture is such that I am on my tummy with my forelegs propping me up and my hind legs spread out behind me. Less than gracious people may call this posture unladylike, but I prefer to think of myself as mimicking a sphinx, if the sphinx has two, little, pork chop-shaped, back legs.

I lie looking at the world in front of me. The porch wall blocks my view on two sides and most of the third. In front of me I see the school playing field and the people and dogs that are on it. I have a feeling that they should not be there in my field of vision. I scold them for their impertinent being there.

Birds hop into my view. I watch bugs fly by. I am alert, watching. My ears are perky, and I respond loudly to some far away noise. I have better hearing than the humans. They need me to listen for them.

When the sun goes down and the visibility is low, I lie there and bark out into the night, softly and with no purpose at all other than to announce my presence to the darkness.

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....

Superdelegate

Many of my fans have asked me, Poppy, to endorse a candidate for president. They say, "Poppy, who do you want to lead the United States for the next four, maybe eight years?" Though I hate to disappoint my fans, I am at this point undecided. However, since you do want to know, "What would Poppy do?" I will be sure to devote space on this blog to the upcoming general election and to the rest of the Democratic race for a nominee.

As a prelude to the informed political commentary that I will provide here on Poppy's Blog, I will give you a basic summary of the dominate political theory to which I subscribe. I, Poppy, am a Reformed Machiavellian.

Those of us who are Reformed believe only in aggression as defense. Where we differ from Machiavelli's Prince is that, though we are territorial, we do not seek to expand our territory beyond that which we already have -- like the front and back yards and most of the house when the doors are not closed. And, generally, our defense is loud and manic barking rather than full scale war. Further, when we are called on to defend our territory beyond barking loudly and seemingly without purpose, we delegate that to the humans, who are bigger and rather expendable, since, as Machiavellians, anybody with treats will do as protectors. This, of course, is in sharp contrast to the Prince, who would be better off to not use mercenary armies to unite large swaths of territory, like the Italian Peninsula. However, the Prince was never called upon to defend the Homeland from such invaders as schoolchildren and postal workers. I'd like to see where deadly force would get him in those situations.

Where Reformed and Orthodox Machiavellians meet is in the principle of self-interest. Pugs are not beyond a little bit of trickery or manipulation to get what we want. Daddy fed us but Mommy doesn't know that? We look hungry. The dining chairs are pulled out and nobody's watching? It's just a quick two jumps and I'm on the table to see if some crumbs are still left. Somebody left the gate open? Well, there's some territory to explore -- a successful Prince spends his free time getting to know the terrain of his country.

It is my great ambition to be a very successful Princess. So, of course, the election of a new president is important to this endeavor, as if affects the price of treats, food, and Juicy Couture dog apparel. I will get back to you.

Shakedown

When Duncan has finished his chewie but I still have mine he likes to come over and stand extra close to me, exerting pressure. His eye is on the chewie, his tail wagging slowly. I have already crawled under a chair in the dining room in anticipation of the siege. Duncan has his nose near my face, waiting for an opportunity. I growl a growl that sounds like an electric toothbrush. I keep on chewing. "Give it to me, Little Dog," says Duncan. "When pigs fly," I tell him.

Molting

The trees may shed their leaves in the fall, but in the spring, it is my turn to shed my hair. As a pug, I, Poppy, spend a great deal of energy growing hair and then losing it. I am very good at this. In fact, you might say it is a forte of mine. Like any one who has a great skill, I practice year round, however, when the sun begins to come back, and Mommy and Daddy come home to feed me before it is dark, and the grass at Grandma and Grandpa's starts to green (I am a great fan of grass, but that is a subject for another post), I elevate my shedding to a work of art. Most of the time my hair simply accumulates on the carpet, or in the corners of the room, or sticks to the clothes of my human companions. In spring, my hair comes off in great clumps, which, if I were a middle-aged man, would be worrisome and cause me to think about buying a sports car. I am not, however, a middle-aged man. Instead, the hair flies from my body when I shake. It accumulates on my beds, it sticks to the hands of whomever is rubbing my ears or my tummy. I leave a trail of pug hair as I walk through the kitchen. Try as they might, the cleaners cannot get my hair off of the back seat of my mommy's car. I have even been known to shed on myself -- the fawn hair of my body being a marked contrast to the black of my face.

Like every great craftsperson (or dog), I make what I do look effortless. I fain the appearance of nonchalance as I create volumes of half-inch-long adhesive stickers. You might say I do it unconsciously.

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.

When Mommy Came Home From Petsmart

Today was a hot day. I spent it in the mud room, trying to keep cool. When I went outside, I saw Duncan jump over the little fence to get into the garden. I wanted to go, too, but I could only watch through the slats.

Later in the day Mommy came home with supplies from Petsmart. She brought a big bag of my food and lots of treats with her. Duncan and I watched while she emptied the treats into the treat jars. We sat very still and at attention, which is our command to Mommy to give us treats. There were Greenies and small chewies and big chewies. We got Greenies first. We took them far away into the dining room to eat them. Duncan finished his first and went back to tell Mommy he wanted more. I finished half of my Greenie and got thirsty, so I went for some water.

I walked over to see what Mommy and Duncan were doing. They were pouring the bag of food into the big bin where it is kept. Oh, the bin! How tantalizing! Each day we sit in the mud room, next to the bin, but cannot open it! If only we had thumbs! One time, when we first got the bins, the Ones With Thumbs left the top of one unlatched just a bit. When they abandoned us for the day, Duncan pushed over the bin and the food spilled out. My eyes got wide, and we set to eating the spilled food -- all of the little pieces of food that travelled to all of the corners of the room -- it kept us busy for hours!

Mommy told me to rescue my Greenie, as she said it would disappear if I did not eat it right away. I looked at her. I saw that there were chewies. I saw that she was feeling like she might obey me. I sat at attention. Good Mommy! She gave us chewies, and we ran off with them. My Greenie disappeared. Later, I went for more water and my chewie disappeared. I found it with Duncan. It was sitting a few inches away from him while he finished his own. Mean Duncan! I began to complain of his meanness. I scolded him for his meanness. I told him to give me back my chewie. He kept right on chewing.