The great dog bed debacle

Here’s a photo of George looking angelic on his new dog bed:

George in bed

That happens to be the third dog bed I’ve purchased George of late. I’m sure you’re thinking, “Why is George on his third dog bed? What happened to his other two, Joy?” If so, you’re an astute reader to wonder. Bonus points if you deduced that George attempted to eat his two previous beds.

Many people are unaware that pugs have a certain agenda they adhere to in life. One of the items on the pug agenda is to consume dangerous materials, items, and/or substances in an attempt at one-up-pugship for who can eat the most expensive thing. Aubie is winning in this department, having ingested a $3500 peach pit. Really, we should’ve gilded the thing after the ER vet removed it from his guts.

But George often seems determined not to be outdone by his older counterpart. He thinks dog beds have a shot at racking up a massive vet bill. As I just ended employment at a local vets and no longer have my hefty discount, he knows any surgery bills could become astronomical. When George heard Aubie received cooked chicken for days after his surgery, all bets were off.

Lately I’ve fished out more fluff from his gullet than I care to recall. Foolishly, I believed the first two beds were flukes. The bed in the above photo had a durable bottom, which had been his favorite target area to weaken his bed prey before disemboweling it. And let’s face it. George isn’t a Rottweiler. He’s a small dog. It should be fine this time, right?

How ironic I quit my vet job to have more time for writing and it was that very writing that led George to make another attempt at needing veterinary surgery. Because George thinks I’m very boring when I’m writing pug fiction in my office. He has to make his own entertainment. So there I was, feverishly typing a story inspired by the beast himself when a ripping noise drew my attention to the floor. George, like a wolf with its head buried in the carcass of a caribou, was rooting around in the innards of his dog bed, muzzle dripping not with blood, but polyester bedding.

Well, George, three strikes and you’re out, buddy. I downgraded him to a pet mat, advertised as durable. Quite pleased with myself, I presented it to George on my office floor with much fanfare.

George dog bed

No polyester bedding inside. No fluff or bits of non-slip rubber coating to lodge in his intestines! Not only that, it’s super soft. Even softer than George’s ears, which are quite velvety.

George pawed it, sniffed it, even gave it a test bite. This is it! I thought. I’ve found George a safe dog bed on which he can happily slumber while I write.

I made myself a cup of tea and returned to my office. What do you think I found?

George on chair

That’s right. George found his own dog bed. The custom-upholstered chair in my office. The thing I splurged on when I redid my work space. The comfy, yet tasteful reclining chair where I can sit and think about my writing.

It’s now a several-hundred dollar dog bed.

Sigh.

You win this round, George. You win this one, buddy.

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Everybody loves pugs!

I’ve recently redone my home office where I do the majority of my writing. I love my desk facing out my office’s French doors. My bookcases are filled with published books of writer friends and guides on writing. A whiteboard, bulletin board, and giant Post-it pad are mounted on my wall for brainstorming story ideas. The biggest splurge in redoing my office was a custom-upholstered chair in the corner, an excellent spot for deep thinking.

Except for how it’s always filled with pugs. On any given day you can find me typing away in my office to the gentle symphony of pugs snoring in stereo. It got me thinking.

I’ve recently finished writing a quite serious book. Although it’s hopeful and uplifting, it examines some heavy stuff around mental illness and personal tragedies. It took a lot out of me to write, more than anything else I’ve ever done.

I need a break. Something light and fun and utterly, utterly ridiculous. And my pugs are providing me all the inspiration I need.

Suddenly, rather than being an impediment to brainstorming story ideas, my pugs are generating them all on their own. Because everybody loves pugs! I know I need a book starring a pug.

And not just any old pug.

George Blog 1

George the pug, inspired by my very own dog named George. So the idea for a new book is born, called Elsie and George.

Here’s a helpful side-by-side comparison of my real-life George with his fictional namesake. And one of me and the fictional George’s owner, Elsie.

Real-life George Fictional George
Enjoys eating Enjoys eating
Ate a pencil Ate a page from the magical Book of Thoth
Not psychic Psychic
Understands “breakfast, dinner, walk” Understands English, Chinese, French, German, Italian, and a smattering of Romanian
Stubborn Stubborn
One year old One hundred years old
Mortal Immortal
Snores Snores
Bound by laws of physics, sometimes cruelly so when running into glass sliding door Rumored to be able to time-travel
Lives in America Lives in England
Adorable Adorable

 

 

Me Elsie
Enjoys eating Enjoys eating
Writer Real estate agent, now runs paranormal business/antiques shop
Lives in America Lives in England
Afraid of ghosts Afraid of ghosts
Dubious fashion sense Stellar fashion sense
Loves wine Loves wine
Happily married Looking for Mr. Right
Thinks pugs are adorable Does not think pugs are adorable
Lovable Lovable, but even more so thanks to her English accent

 

Check back for updates on how my Elsie and George book is going and the latest on all the shenanigans of the real-life George.