Tomorrow, April 14th, is my pug Pablo’s 9th birthday, an occasion I’d like to mark by starting a blog in his honor. He’s brought me a lot of joy in the short time he’s been on earth–except at mealtimes when be begs nonstop, using yips and yaps of alternating frequency, and when those are ignored, he resorts to barking.
Before Pablo, I’d wanted a pug for a long time. While vacationing in Montauk, I’d met Charlie, a young male fawn pug of exceptional beauty and stature. Charlie ruled the beach resort where I stayed, winding his way in and out of the cottages in search of treats. As gorgeous as he was–and he knew it–he was not particularly friendly, except when food was being handed out. He’d endure our pets and praises but Charlie was out for number one. By trip’s end I knew I wanted a pug, one that looked like Charlie but was friendly and fun loving and not quite as snobbish.
Living back then in a Manhattan apartment I put off getting a pug of my own, contenting myself with yearly visits to Montauk where I gazed at Charlie and enjoyed the warm feel of his snuffling snout as he gobbled whatever treats I brought. By then the resort’s owners had added another pug to the mix–a female fawn named Violet. Violet was much friendlier than Charlie and bounded into the guests’ arms, even those who didn’t happen to be bearing food. But Violet did not come close to Charlie in the looks department. (Sorry, Violet!)
One year, I returned and no Charlie. Violet was in the office when I entered with my bags but no sign of Charlie. The resort’s owner confirmed my fears. Charlie had died in the off season, hit by a UPS truck. I mourned Charlie and vowed to keep my future pug away from all postal vehicles.
By 2001, I moved into a house. After settling in, the first order of business–get a pug!