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Pug versus baby


Truth be told, not everybody in this household is happy with the arrival of The Little Peanut.

Gordon J. Blackstone is positively apoplectic.

He whines and he barks, he spins backwards like a New Zealand toilet.

If I'm feeding Skye, Gordie will nose in, lick her feet, then bounce back on his back paws, startling himself.

When I get up with her, Gordie runs around my feet.

My elderly pug may think she's a cat; I'm not sure.

I fear dementia.

If he thinks she's a cat, I'm concerned. Gordie chased the last cat we had into the furnace room and she wouldn't come out.

We had to find her a new pugless home.

Can't do that with a baby.

Gordie's going to have to learn that there's a new sheriff in town and she wears Pampers.




I'm hoping he'll adjust.

Yesterday, he was spinning so frantically, he let several tiny turds fly out of his butt hole like it was a machine gun.

Rat-a-tat-tat.
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