pug dealings.

There is the matter of Patrick the pug.

Patrick is a six-year old dog who lives with some of my good friends. He is brown, and ugly. His eyes almost always have dollops of yellow mucous on them, and his ears perpetually smell. It is a strain for him to climb onto the couches, and he steals your seat when you get up because—hey—your ass is somewhat like a couch cushion heater.

The other night I visited these girls. I went over there to do homework, actually, but ended up watching video clips on the internet for about three hours instead. When I got worn out, I stretched out on a couch to rest my weary eyes.

I heard wheezing, so I opened my eyes. The wheezing was coming from the ugly, yellow-dollop-eyed, brown pug. He was on the floor looking up at me as though tired.

"Hey Patrick," I said.

He licked his feet in response.

"Do you want to come up?"

He looked at me, and turned his head to the side as if to say, "Words mean so little to me."

So I patted the couch cushion in what I hoped was an inquisitive way. But it might have been imperative. I'll never know, because I can't talk to dogs. Whatever the case may be, he wheezed much harder as he tried unsuccessfully twice to make it up onto the couch.

Then he gave me a look which might have been inquisitive or imperative. I don't know exactly what happened, but I got the impression that I should help him out. So I picked him up.

He settled on my chest, facing me for a second. I stared past his dollops of mucous, and I think we had a master/pet moment.

Then he turned around, settled his ass directly in front of my nose, and passed doggy gas. Promptly thereafter he fell asleep.

There was no guessing after what I smelled: the meaningful look in his eyes was not inquisitive, or imperative, but simply indigestive.

But I love him nonetheless. At least he's cleverer than this parrot.

[what's that—oh, PATRICK!!!]
brian