This time last year, I set out on a journey of faith hoping that a new puppy would take away the sadness of losing my beloved Ming who died tragically the year before. At the time of Ming's sudden passing, I was inconsolable and believed there would never be a pug who could replace her.
Besides, it's not like we needed another dog. We still had the geriatric Gordie and of course, The Black Bastard Finnigan. But the house was short a fawn. It just didn't seem right without one.
It was a cold day like this one when Scott drove me into the backwoods of Quebec in search of a single mom who was trying to sell a five month old puppy she could not afford to keep. The story was a crock, of course. When we arrived, we found Sophie who was not five months. She was barely five weeks old. She had no food, no training pads just that little sad sweet face. I'm sure she had been weaned shortly before we arrived.
We couldn't leave her, not in that house with no food or water so we paid the woman and left.
We took Sophie outside to pee, and it appeared she didn't know what outside was. So we wrapped her tiny body in a blanket and started back home.
Minutes into the journey, it was clear that Sophie was no ordinary pug; at least she wasn't like the docile pugs I'd known. For most of the trip, I had to wear Scott's gloves to keep her from gnawing off my fingers. She was scratchy and feisty and a little unlovable if I am to be perfectly honest.
Like a little devil wrapped in cake.
I worried about Finnigan and how he would adjust to the new puppy. He had been using the Jurassic Pug, Gordie, as a chew toy and I thought he might hurt little Sophie, but fortunately, my fears were unfounded. In fact, it was Sophie who began, almost immediately, to attack Finnigan from above, underneath and behind.
It turns out she had been a Navy Seal in a past life.
See evidence below.
She's also a one pug wrecking ball. She's shredded the carpet, chewed the coffee table and ruined at least four pairs of shoes including Scott's good boots. She is a champion paper shredder, the kind of dog who literally eats your homework. And she can get up on the counter by climbing up the cabinets.
Our little pug has three speeds: asleep, running and biting. She is a championship sleeper but as soon as the light comes into the window, she's on Scott's face biting his nose.
Now that I think about it, much of it is Finn's fault, as usual. I decided to get Sophie on the advice of Cesar Milan who suggested that the best way to train a puppy is to use an adolescent dog. That adolescent dog is Finnigan, the untrainable.
Between Sophie and Finnigan, they have made our home impossible to visit. It's so bad I'm thinking of having everyone sign a release upon entering the premises.
Still, I love the little rat.
It's hard not to. Just look at this face.
And cover your ears, hide the shoes and keep the toilet paper in the cupboard. Put duck tape on the carpet. Invest in hot sauce. Oh wait, that didn't work. She loves hot sauce.
Ella ama a Taco Bell.
In any event, happy birthday, my little kumquat.
There's joy in the world because Sophie's in it.