Life with a pug never gets dull. Although he’s now 11 years old with a grizzled face, Mr. Magoo still livens my days.
The other day would have been quiet and ordinary if it hadn’t been for him. I turned into the grocery store parking lot with Mr. Magoo and Abby, my lab/something or-other as my passengers.
I’d no sooner removed the keys from the ignition when I noticed two huge dogs in the neighboring car, gigantic heads glaring ominously out the windows, seriously guarding their owner’s car.
I hesitated. Should I park here? I was pondering the question when Magoo answered it for me. He spotted the neighboring canines, one sitting behind the steering wheel, the other in the back seat, looking like two horses.
One look at the two offenders (in his mind) and Magoo transitioned into super-guard dog.
His flat face contorted. His front paws scrabbled at the window, and he roared out barks as if he were a German shepherd. The giant dogs jumped into action responding with enormous, deep, earth shaking bellows, incensed at whatever insult Magoo had flung at them.
The sight of two huge enraged dogs made me a little nervous, but did it bother my small pug? No. Fearlessly, Magoo upgraded his barking level. His high-pitched barks weren’t frightening, only annoying, but they fomented the huge beasts into more vicious and deadly barks.
“Your entire body’s smaller than that dog’s head,” I pointed out.
Magoo ignored me and launched another round of threatening barks. By now, the car holding the massive dogs was rocking back and forth and up and down like a hippie van on date night. Those dogs were not happy.
Meanwhile, Abby lay low, pretending to nap in the back seat. I spotted a glimmer of open eye, but it closed quickly. She was having nothing to do with the whole scene.
“I give up,” I told Magoo. “We’re moving.”
Mr. Magoo’s relationship with food also keeps me busy and vigilant. I’ve learned never to leave unattended food in the car with him. He can scarf down a half a dozen barbequed chicken drummies in less than five minutes. That little incident cost me a week of anxiety as I carefully monitored him until six chicken bones had safely passed through his system.
Although he’s slowing down a bit, he hasn’t lost his ability to move like a cheetah at the sound of food hitting the floor. This doesn’t endear him to the grandchildren or to me as I hurriedly chop vegetables or trim fat from pork chops. I do give him kudos for keeping my floors clean.
As always, he manages to escape displeasure with a wag of his curly tail and a lick in my ear.
Leave a Reply