Dear old friends, I am sorry that I have been quite derelict in my blogging for about the past year; but rest assurred that it was alll the Stray's fault. She quite viciously, and without purpose destroyed the power source on Mommy's computer (all my wanton destruction is with clear purpose, primarily to annoy Daddy), and then was such a pain demanding to be walked and pampered that my Parents were unable to help me post (see previous mention of my lacking fingers to effectively type). Well, it appears that I may be able to resume posting on a more regular basis. I also hope to resume my quest for world domination, although I have become disallusioned by inability to conquer even a wussy region, such as France or Rhode Island, so I may not give this quest the same attention I did in the past. Plus, I cannot even effectively run my own household since the nuerotic Stray arrived.
I SEE YOU!!! I know that some of you have continued lurking over the past year, and your loyalty has been duly noted. This is a throwback to what my parents refer to as my "cute days." I still believe myself to be utterly adorable.
As everyone is aware, geography necessitates regular exposure to my Grandparents and their brood. That is Mr. Bones several weeks ago. He is so named because he was an emaciated stray (literally) when my Grandparents adopted him, right around the same time that my Parents had me (I am not adopted!!! Although the House of Pugsworth does have a long history of supporting numerous adoptions programs for Stray Pugs, Dogs and Children and would encourage all to do the same).
This is Mr. Bones following his "prepare for the Texas summer shaving." You may not believe it, but his butt-scent indicates that it is, in fact, the same dog.
He enjoys rolling around in the manner of a mindless lesser dog.
And he rolls, and rolls, and rolls, and rolls, and rolls.... Seriously, this goes on for hours. It stops being funny after a while, then it starts getting funny after while again, and then it just gets sad.
This is the Stray putting her entire head in the water in search of a sinking twig. This occurs while there are literally thousands of twigs in the yard (non-submerged) that she could have easier access to. She may grown, but her brain did not.
My parents say that her cute little face is the only reason they don't beat her. I don't think it is cute at all and their unecessary restraint is starting to wear on me. [Parents' note: we do say that, but the statement is normally preceded by some of her unnecessary, and occaisonally dangerous, destruction. Like when she destroyed the power-source of her Mommy's computer. We would never actually beat her, unfortunately.]
I always like to end these posts with a picture of dignity. So, a toast to the thirty plus pounds of pug dignity that I now personify.
Snarf Everydog later,
/s/Winston, the Grand Duke of Pugsworth