Friday, April 02, 2010

A Tale of Two Puggies?

All apologies aside, the lack of blogging really has been YOUR fault...if you think about it.

But, seeing as how I am in the final moments of spring break, I believe it may be seen as some kind of "travesty" or "calamity" if I don't at least do one blog post this week.

So. Here I am.

And, as I type, I have a black pug leaning on my arm, lap, leg, doing whatever he can to nudge ever closer -- trying with all his might to somehow, someway be physically closer to me.

His name is Morrie.


Morrie is our third dog, but the second one who has been deemed lucky enough to live with us. Oh TJ, the bitch-ass Cavalier, didn't last long in the Manasse household. His fearing of life, his peeing at the sight of exercise balls, and his living under the couch when I would enter the room did him in. I wish I could say we did something awful to him...seeing as we lived in an emotional prison while he lived with us...but I can't. TJ got to go live on Coronado Island. Living the good life that I wish I could live...except I don't have 5 mil to buy a condo. Fucking TJ.

But Morrie...Morrie is different. He is our second Pug, and very different than Maggie, who I have written about time and time again. I find it hard to believe that these two are the same breed, considering how differently they act.

Morrie, who is now sleeping next to me as I type, snoring louder than a fighter jet, loves me in a way that I cannot fully encapsulate. At least, I assume his desire to step, lie, or pounce on my balls is some kind of love. He doesn't do this on purpose, I don't think, by his ability to have a homing device for my testicles is like nothing I have ever seen (or felt). I hope Tauni is reading this (KIDDING).

His head. It's too big for his body...and his's too big for his mouth. I'm not sure how his mother birthed him, but I am assuming she didn't walk right for a few months after he was squeezed out....which is what makes his tongue that much more remarkable. I imagine it takes up about half his body weight, and while at rest, it hangs a few inches past his teeth. If there were such a thing as Puggy Porn...he would be the John Holmes of his kind.

While usually quiet and unassuming at home, he won't shut the hell up on trips to the park. Whining. Crying. Yelping. Dying? Time spent with Morrie in a car might be better spent having a root canal or prostrate exam. It's painful. His wide eyes and long tongue rhythmically bouncing as his sirens grow louder and louder the closer we get. He doesn't seem to understand "Morrie, be quiet." or "Morrie, SHHHHH" or "Morrie, SHUT THE HELL UP BEFORE I FUCKING RIP YOUR FACE OFF." Or maybe he does...but he just doesn't care.

It's hard to watch TV with him because he reacts to any dog on the screen with reckless abandon. He'll fly at the TV and try to meet his canine counterpart...and the fact that this 2D brethren ignores him, sends him into an even greater fury. Onto his hind legs he'll go, begging and talking to the screen...front paws dancing in time to his futile attempts to make a friend who doesn't know he is there. Such is life for Morrie, who spends most of his time walking on his rear legs when even the least bit excited. Is he the missing link? Does he contain the genetic code that will bridge the canine and human worlds? Or is he simply a spastic munchkin who is unable to bundle up his Puggy it bursts forth from his front legs, as they do a breast stroke while apparently dancing to YMCA? We call it "Swimming," as in "Morrie is swimming at the TV again," but we are really being nice...because it makes him look like a retard, as in "Morrie looks like a retard...AGAIN." Well, that and his tongue do. Man. He has a long-ass tongue.

I have said it many times while living with our new Pug. "Morrie, you make it hard to love you." He is like nothing I have ever experienced before...because he is his own man. I don't think he cares much for Maggie. And he loves Tauni...when she feeds him. But as I turn to my right, and look at him as I struggle to type, he leans on my arm, his tongue hanging out his mouth, his snores vibrating the couch, and I think to myself how lucky I am to have such a dog with such a deep capacity to love.

So I lean back into him...and type with my left hand. Letting him sleep on my right.

I don't want to disturb him. And I don't want him stepping on my balls.

And I want him to know...that I love him, too.

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