Puggy Love

by BJ Kirkland

I thought that my sister and I both disliked dogs, until I received a telephone call from her.

"Sandra, I'm going to jolly old England for three months!" she blurted out, and before I could say anything she hit me with,

"You're going to be Puggy's Auntie---Aren't you excited?" When she stopped for breath, I said,

"Pamela, you didn't tell me you owned a dog! I thought we didn't like dogs." Then she prattled on,

"Puggy isn't a Dog Sandra, he's a Pug---well almost, he does have a tiny bit of Maltese in him."

As I'm simply incapable of saying no to my big sister, I obediently appeared at the airport to collect Puggy. However, I was horrified when the attendant handed me the crate, as all I could see were two black nostrils like a monkey poking through a hole.

"Are you sure it's a dog?" I exclaimed. "It says Puggy on the consignment note---is a Puggy a dog?"

He answered, wearing a dodgy grin. Then he assured me, "You don't have to worry the beast has been sedated." Back at home, I carefully deposited the crate in the centre of the room. Then I pondered what to do next. Without warning, the box let out a deafening snore, frightening the life out of me. I decided that attack was the best form of defence. Consequently, I fearlessly crawled forward to appraise the noisy offender. Taking a deep breath, I gingerly opened the crate.

"It's a bloody hairy Platypus without a beak!" I heard myself yell, as I peered at the fat little thing, with feet protruding at right angles to a fawn-coloured body. A large wrinkled head resembling a beanbag settled into the bottom of the box. After I noticed the curled fluffy tail, the tips of silky black folded ears guided me towards eyes, which resembled brown lucent marbles. 'Except for his long fawn hair he has all the features of a Pug,' I thought at the time. Then the dark depths of his eyes gyrated, and with a top lip forging a smile on the floor, he appeared to mock me. Then he astonished me by whimpering, just like the frightened puppy he was. I released him. Next thing he thanked me by licking my hand. Then he had the impertinence to pose and grunt at me.

"Puggy want some dinner," I asked, surprising myself that I was actually talking to a dog. His floppy ears lifted slightly and his eyes opened wide. After Puggy gobbled down his dinner, I bathed and blow-dried him. Then I made a quick telephone call to a friend, who agreed to be a babysitter for him during the day. Finally, I put Puggy in the bathroom to sleep. Within the hour he came, tottering into my bedroom and leapt straight onto my bed. Soon, he contently snored beside me. Sometime during the night, he scratched at the blankets, and I reluctantly let him snuggle under the covers. In the ensuing two months, this process became a routine. To my surprise, I found myself joyfully talking my head off to Puggy, while he cheerfully grunted back. By the beginning of the third month, I simply could not wait to get home to Puggy, and my cynical work mates decided that I had another live in lover. I promptly dismissed them with,

"Yes, he is also more faithful than the others." At the end of that month, I loved the little fellow so much that I dreaded the inevitable telephone call from Pamela, wanting Puggy back. Consequently one night, fuelled with a glass or two of wine, I telephoned. Pamela sleepily answered and after the usual pleasantries I blurted out; "Puggy's gone!" Silence reigned before I delivered the final blow."A huge truck hit him!"

The quietness didn't last long enough because Pamela's shrill voice almost blew the receiver out of my trembling hand. "How could you Sandra, I knew you hated dogs!" I knew that she would talk to me again but I didn't expect it so soon, because a few days later around midnight, I received a telephone call from her.

"Sandra, I'm at the airport, I'll be at your place in an hour-bye now." During the ensuing silence I panicked, then I looked helplessly at Puggy, "How on earth can I hide you at this hour!" He ruffled his long fawn coat and I had an idea. Precisely one hour later Pamela rang the bell and Puggy waddled to the door. "Sandra, don't tell me you bought yourself a dog," she scoffed. Then she asked, "He looks like a Pug, what's his name then?" "I named him Puggy, a-after…" I tearfully tried to answer, and then Pamela helped me by butting in.

"Look I understand Sandra, you named him after my Puggy - now, about that blasted telephone call. I am sorry."

"That's all forgotten now," I replied as I patted a very shorthaired Pug with a tiny bit of Maltese in him.

kirkland@pacific.net.au