Pugs

Pugs

I’m in my forties and sitting in a wildly pink and stuffed bedroom staring at a monitor.

Probably doing something stupid like thinking instead of doing. I hear kids playing downstairs as we have a playdate. Nobody leaves any flowers on my desk and I wish they would.

Sadie had decided that the pug was the Form of Dog and was happy to have as many as she could. As such, the room is riotous in pug. Any flat vertical surface was judged. If it was worthy, something pug would be there. No space was unworthy, so it was packed.

This is my favorite office. She let me stay for years until gently asking me to please, please, get the fuck out of here. We weren’t there yet and I was in my head wasting valuable company time.

One of the stranger’s kids blasts into the room. Pure joy and fun: “WOW SADIE SURE LIKES PUGS!”

I reply: “Me too. Why do you like them?”

“OH. THEY’RE THE CUTEST.” Big smile. “YOU?”

“Well, they’re the ones that taste best.”