Nom de Plume

She has the rather unfortunate name of Peaches, but she’s really a love.

NOOOOOOOO…..

Now I don’t sell soap, but wouldn’t these be great Pug Sudz product shots?

Mr Demo didn’t like the old windows he installed, so he put in new ones. It’s hard to tell from my pictures, but this is a huge improvement. I didn’t even mind the old ones, but then again, I didn’t have the vision. As I keep being reminded.

And while I’m uploading pictures, here’s a snap of Harry on Christmas. The ribbon traumatized him.

(harry)(foster pug)*(steve)(nightshift)=crazy pug lady

To explicate: I am fostering a pug for Seattle Pug Rescue. He’s a little, erm, bundle of energy named Obie. He and Harry get along just fine, though sometimes Harry has to put the smackdown on the rambunctious puppyness. Which secretly thrills me because most of the time, Harry just lets Obie hump him.

Also, Steve is now working the night shift. He goes to work at about 3, and comes home about 2 in the morning. He’s actually on a schedule that’s more like mine, which is weird because he’s always gone to bed at something obscenely early like 8 in the evening. But I find that I’m lonely rattling around the house at night.

Which leads me to the whole point of this post: I have become a crazy pug lady. Steve pointed out the other day that I actually CONVERSE with the dogs.

Scary.

As the queen of procrastination, I naturally picked up this jaunty orange-colored book thinking it would be a witty romp through the hours of the day. And it’s certainly a romp through the hours, but, well, there’s no way to say this nicely, so I’ll just say it: It’s just not that witty. Or funny. Or even that interesting, to be brutally honest. Sure, Hodgkinson makes some interesting points and observations (among them some admittedly pithy observations about daytime vampires), and backs everything up with quotes from other, more famous loafers. But ultimately, I abandoned this. After all, if I need lessons in idleness (which let’s face it, I don’t), I have a much better role model.

Well hello …

“Harry can’t play with Sasha and Willy any more,” Steve said this morning.

“Why?” I asked, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes and preparing to stagger into the kitchen for coffee.

“They’re a bad influence.”

Indeed. Mr Potsticker pulled the flour off the bottom shelf and proceeded to wreak havoc.

And as if that weren’t enough, he also started licking it off the floor.

Remember how you were a kid and made paste out of glue? Harry discovered that if you lick up enough flour, you’ll eventually glue your mouth shut.

I’m dogsitting for Nicki while she’s in Italy. Willie’s eye was all goopy (it was cheatgrass, embedded in his eye, owie), so I took him to the vet, where I started talking to a woman who fosters pugs for Seattle Pug Rescue. I’ve been meaning to volunteer for ages–but first Harry got sick, then I forgot about it, then we did a stint of traveling, then I forgot about it again. Anyway, I sent in the application, and then informed Steve that we might be a pug foster family. I think he’s a bit excited about having another pug because 1) he called me this afternoon just to tell me that he saw an adorable pug puppy and 2) he started trawling youtube for pug videos. He CLAIMS there was a link from yahoo. Wink. Wink.

Anyway, he came across this. Which had us ROLLING.

And then we found this … pure pug porn: