The Test-PG 13



No sooner had I pressed publish on today's post than I heard from one of the "Pug Sluts" clarifying the true meaning behind the name. It seems that while the group says things that can make a trucker blush (I heard this from an actual trucker) the meaning behind the name refers to the group's willingness to do anything for their pugs.
Time to reevaluate. Do I fit this definition? I mean have I ever been tested, really tested? True, when Buffy and Vader wandered from my fenced-in yard, I went after them and brought them home. When Mira digested my nephew's Lego construction workers and policemen, I stayed up with her all night until her stomach could be x-rayed in the morning. When Alfie first met me and was too scared to move for hours, I simply sat with her and tried not to worry that my new puppy might be paralyzed.
Perhaps greater opportunities have presented themselves when it comes to defending Joan's pugs. After all, when Melinda Mugwump went missing, I created and distributed posters and roamed the roads daily shouting her name. When Tonka, Egg, Lumpi and Miska were in lockdown in a hotel for a Pug National Specialty Show in Pennsylvania in fear of a highly contagious virus (to humans not to pugs), I was willing to climb the hill and charge security with the other enraged pug handlers. And, en route to another specialty show in San Antonio, Texas, it was I, who braved the torrential rain and winds of Hurricane Rita to carry Beau Diddley and his crate from the van to the motel. It seems when it comes to going the distance for my pugs I know a thing or two.

Come to think of it, when it comes to the steamier side of things I may have paid my dues as well. I recall the time I traveled with Joan and her stud dog, Zig, to meet her friend, Leslie, and her pug, Stella, to perform an unsuccessful mating in the back of her Honda Elemental. It was a long hour of watching these two, disinterested, black pugs chase and sniff each other to no avail in the cramped confines of the car. On a cold November evening, we dined with friends in their cozy pub over wine and cheese as their pug, Dudley, and Joan's pug, Tar Baby, tried to perform the same deed; this time with success. I have to admit this was a much more upscale date. Once I drove 60 miles to Burlington with Joan to hold her pug Dempi in place during an artificial insemination. Yes, when it comes to being a "slut" it seems I might just pass the test.