Today I am grateful for just being me… a pug. Being a pug has it’s privileges and among them is being a lap dog and I excel at that art. Lapping as we experts call it, requires letting all of your inhibitions go and being really, really pushy. Nobody, nowhere, and no time is off limits for taking your rightful place.
Dolly The Pug
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Ok, I may have skipped a few days of my Worldwide Thank You Tour 2016, but it’s the holidays and I’m on “vacay-mode”! I’ve been sipping eggnog and napping by the fire (not really, because I live in sunny San Diego, but I thought you might enjoy the image).
Here I go with, what I consider to be one of my most favorite things in life… bacon. Those flat, crunchy, salty bits of heaven are the reason to get up in the mornings. I would literally walk, or even saunter down the stairs to get a piece of bacon. Without bacon, why go on? Bacon should be it’s own food group. I would put it at the top of the nutrition pyramid. In fact, I would replace the entire food pyramid with bacon. I could go on, and on about bacon, but I think sharing a photo of me with bacon in my mouth is worth a thousand words, so here you go viewers:
I finish this ode to bacon just one request – MORE bacon!!!!!
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It’s that time of year again, Halloween. Now it’s true I’m only 1 1/2 years old so this is just my second year of this but I am speaking on behalf of all pugs when I say “make this madness stop”!!!!
There isn’t a day that goes by where somewhere on this planet a pug is being stuffed into a costume and having their photos taken. Then, said photos are posted on Facebook, Twitter and Instagram accounts and our most embarrassing moments are forever on display.
Halloween is just the tip of the iceberg when it comes to this travesty. We’ve been turned into Easter Bunnies, Cupids and leprechaun’s in addition to the hundreds of Yoda’s you will see this month. Here are just a few examples of the ways in which we are exploited for your amusement:
Now, you might be thinking to yourself, Dolly – you are doing the same thing. And yes, I am but you have to admit pugs make you smile (and you are probably doing that right now). So, AFTER you read my blog, start rallying in support of my important issue.
Dolly The Pug
Editor In Chief
The Dolly Files
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School is out, the sun is hot and I’m exhausted. It must be summer. And you know what summer rhymes with? BUMMER! Yes, you heard me right. I am not a fan of the summer solstice.
If you are built like me, short legs, or as I like to say – “ground hugging traction” you are closer to the hot pavement. Additionally, my classic looks include a somewhat underdeveloped nose. It is of course fabulous to look at, but harder to breathe thru. Combine that with the fact that I am of generous proportions, and you have one hot dog!
I have found a way to combat the ravages of summer with a simple routine. I bask in the sun early in the day, and follow that up with a power nap. The power nap is a necessary part of this regimen. Without the added energy and vigor of the nap, I can barely gather myself for my midday snack!
I repeat step 2 & 3 (for those of you not listening, that’s another nap and another snack) a couple more times but within the confines of my luxury, air conditioned abode. This goes on for HOURS. Nap, snack, nap, snack etc. I call this “Beast Mode”. Caution: You have to work your conditioning up to this.
Finally the sun sets and I’m ready for dinner! It’s the best time of the day.
Dear reader, I don’t know if you realize this, but you are constantly under surveillance. Not by your government, aliens from outer space or the great All Mighty. You are under the watchful eye of your pet. To be more specific, your dog!
Dogs sort of slip under the radar. We are at your feet when you are flossing. Sitting on your lap when you are reading. And generally just blending in to the background. Most dogs are trying to get your attention. They want to be petted, fed or just acknowledged in most instances. But occasionally you run across Spy Dog. Spy Dog is interested in your every move. We sniff everything you touch, we slink up behind you and root thru the trash can you just deposited something into (it could be a clue)! Spy Dog even watches you when you sleep. We are the ever-vigilant protectors of the universe (we aren’t sure what we are protecting you from, but we are always on duty).
Don’t fear Spy Dog. Don’t stop Spy Dog. Just go about your business and let us do our job. Oh, and Spy Dog works for treats. Treat Spy Dog!
Undercover! On the Job!
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Spring has sprung at my estate and our land was overrun by nasty vermin called gophers. These are vile little fellows that like to leave behind pillowy mounds of earth where once lived a favorite flower or shrub.
My humans are beside themselves, so I decided to take it upon myself to eradicate these unwanted new tenants. My first notion was to wait them out. I saw a little head pop out of a hole and retreat. I stealthily crept up and waited with bated breath (note to self, brush teeth more often). After a few minutes large quantities of soil began to spray from the hole. I took my opportunity and leapt forth. Taking no prisoners I dug deep and I dug fast!
Soon I found myself panting, and out of breath. Around me was a landscape that could only be described as barren. I had lost myself to the siren song of the dreaded gopher. The plants I had meant to be the savior of were all tossed around the yard and I have uncovered a very large hole, some might call it gaping!
Knowing when to run and hide is one of my best attributes and when I heard the screen door swing open I ran for the hills! That fawn colored blur was me bobbing and weaving across what was formerly the lawn. I found refuge in an azalea bush. From there I could survey the situation. And what I found was the situation was not good. My human said a few choice words about America’s favorite pug puppy then set about undoing all the excavation work I had done.
If anyone wants to know where I am, I am still hiding in the azalea bush. It’s the third from the right. You will know it because it is a smallish bush and I am a biggish dog.
So long from the trenches!
Dolly The Pug
For those of you that didn’t watch CNN or E! News today, it’s my birthday. Parades and speeches aside, it’s been a very busy day for me. Not only did I turn 7 today (in dog years), but I also was given a job. Not a “chore” but an actual bonafide J-O-B. My title is Czar of Social Media Content. As far as I can tell that means posing for pictures next to things. I know of several media starts that do this for a living. Think anything that ends in “dashian”.
For my first post with my fancy new title, I am sharing a peek into my work day. This is me hard a work updating my social status. Don’t you think my human should be working harder?
I’m LOL’ing and OMG’ing into the great cyber universe. I’ve #duckfaced and I think it is only appropriate to tweet the duck. I’ve also learned by some very sad trial and error how to hold the camera at a flattering angle to hide my slight issue with neck rolls. #stilllookingforskinnyfilters
Lest there be a backlash, I did NOT use a slenderizing filter #bae.
Happy Birthday To Me,
Dolly the Pug
Editor-In-Chief & New Social Media Star
The Dolly Files
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For some reason people LOVE to dress up their dogs, and in particular, pugs! My human has stuffed my plump little body into everything from a vampire bat costume, a frilly summer frock, a very bad 70’s disco vest and what can only be described as “Barrio-Chic”.
I’m not above the occasional twirl down the runway of life, I’m used to the “oohs!” and “aahs!” as I saunter past, but things have gotten out of hand. I’ve seen web searches for booties! Yes, I said booties. Small boots for dogs. Shoes, for a dog! What in heavens name do I need booties for? I live indoors… in Southern California. My paws are used to the plush feel of carpet, or a soft summer breeze as I am conveyed about the yard. Not the constriction of soles and shoe laces.
I’ve put my ear to the wall to listen to the late night confabs my human has had with her fellow dog-crazy friends. She’s been sizing me up for what can only be described as Pug Spanx! I don’t need tummy control panels, or booty pads. And certainly NOT sandal toes!
On behalf of all canines I beseech you all, this madness must end! And by end I mean no more doggy glasses, tiaras, hats, tutu’s or other accessories you think would look “cute” on us. We. Are. Not. Amused!
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I was told there’s going to be a super bowl next weekend! My little heart jumped at the thought of a giant bowl of kibble.
I was told there’s going to be a super bowl next weekend! My little heart jumped at the thought of a giant bowl of kibble. Would it be chicken? Fish? Dare I say BISON??? But no, what you humans call a Super Bowl isn’t kibble. It isn’t even in a bowl! What’s wrong with the world?
If puppies were in charge, things would be different. And by different, I mean delicious. A giant metal bowl would be created and filled to the brim with delightful treats. Puppies from all over the world would join together in a contest of true grit. Winners would be decided by how many kibbles could be downed in a 60 minute time frame. Our half time show would involve cats, mail men and squirrels. And the victor would receive a life-sized sculpture of themselves carved out of steak.
So next weekend, when you are watching that boring game on tv, ask yourself, wouldn’t a Dolly Bowl be more interesting?
Dolly the Pug
Commissioner of Mischief
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Everyone is so impressed with things like multi-tasking. Books are written on it. People brag about it on Facebook. Blah. Blah. Blah! I’m not impressed!
Everyone is so impressed with things like multi-tasking. Books are written on it. People brag about it on Facebook. Blah. Blah. Blah! I’m not impressed!
I’m what’s known as a lap dog. Definition: a small pet so precious, we not only want, but NEED to be carried about and reside mainly on laps. Yes I know, it’s a hard job, but I am up to the task.
Here’s how my workday goes:
7 am: Woken from a sound slumber by the shuffling of my humans feet. This arises in me the need to bark loudly reminding them to release me from my mountain of cushions in my crate.
7:05-7:45am: Weave in and out of the legs of my family as they try and fix breakfast, lunches and get dressed. This includes but is not limited to growling at my bowl, chewing on stray socks, shoes, erasers etc. as they float to the floor around me and generally “being a complete, and utter nuisance” (my mom’s words here, not mine.)
7:45am – 9pm: Now this is where my true talents are put to the test! Sleep on any soft surface I can find. If say, someone wants to take a nap. I’m there. If you wanted to watch tv, I’m there. If you wanted to read a book quietly, I – AM – THERE! Basically anytime you want to sit quietly and do nothing, I am your boon companion. Your BFF as you will, of total and complete loafing around.
9:01pm – 6:59am: Sleep, because all that work is exhausting!
My mom was once again watching Dr. Oz (the family usually bans her from doing this because we end up eating some crazy diet or we find he smearing strange things on her face).
My mom was once again watching Dr. Oz (the family usually bans her from doing this because we end up eating some crazy diet or we find he smearing strange things on her face). Anyway, he had a guest on that said the #1 reason he will live longer is he has a dog! Really, no kidding, a dog! Apparently us domesticated canines stare lovingly into your eyes and it reduces the overall levels of the stress hormone, cortisol in your body. Not only that, but you also get a boost in your parasympathetic nervous system activity, the system that helps calm and rest the body.
So next time you are feeling stressed out, just take a look at this picture:
While perusing the television with my humans, I ran across a “nature” program about camouflage as protection against predators. First of all, there’s nothing “natural” about living outdoors, hunting for your food, and missing nap times. It’s not just “un-natural” it goes against every fiber in my being!
Alas, I digress. The idea of camouflage is not new to me. I have been practicing my own version of it for months (I’m only 8 months old as I’m sure you already know). In order to protect myself from the occasional swats on my tush for chewing on a couch cushion, I go into “cute mode”. It involves my patented moves. There are many more, but for brevity’s sake, try these:
1. The side eye glance
2. The over the shoulder big eyes
3. The chin on the knee
4. The face between the paws
Now, this is not for everyone. Heavens NO! In fact, you must first be adorable to pull off this trick. Once you’ve established your adorableness factor (between 7-8 is meh, I’m a 10+), you can then try the beginner moves. I would start with the “Face between the paws”. It works in the most dire of situations involving expensive footwear or the accident on the carpet.
Best of luck!
Dolly the Pug
For more hints, and suggestions ask Dolly:email@example.com
After the last piece of confetti flutters to the floor. After the last strains of Pomp & Circumstance echoes thru the halls. After the crowds depart. A small pug is left to wonder. What will I do with myself? Am I going to follow in the footsteps of the graduates before me and work in a coffee shop? Will I use the skills I learned? Will my job make me happy? Ok, really I was wondering when will they feed me, when I found my true calling:
I will enter the world of “Home Health Care”. And not just enter it, I will leap into it with all four paws!
This is the story that pug will pass along to pug upon their graduation day:
It was a warm summer day. My human was returning from a form of torture known as exercise. It involved all sort of inhumane activities like running and lifting weights. The rattle of the front doorknob pulled me out of my slumber. I raced to the door to discover a hunched over human walking, no, hobbling past me. She took what seemed like an eternity to lower herself to the floor and let out a groan.
Not knowing what new game we were playing I leaped on top of her and started licking her face and bounding about. She groaned again, which I took as “jump around and lick me more”. When I was unceremoniously pushed off of her, I noticed she clearly wasn’t happy. On all fours she crawled past me to the bathroom and returned with a heating pad. She gingerly lay down upon it and remained motionless. I was puzzled, but soon came to realize she needed more licks and less leaps.
From that day forward, whenever I see a human in distress, I leap into action and administer puppy CPR. Cuddle, Pounce and Retreat. Oh and then I lick all the pain away.
If you need any job advice, please email me. As my humans say “I am full of it”!
Dog Obedience Class, or as I like to call it “another way to waste my humans money”
It was a Thursday, just like any other Thursday, except this one would go down in the annals of dog history as the “bark heard ’round the world”.
I was just minding my own business, gnawing on the rubbery heel of another chew toy (ok, it was a shoe, but nonetheless, another chew toy in my book) when I heard the gentle tinkle of my harness being removed from the coat rack. Innocently I ran towards the device, unaware of the torture that would soon be inflicted upon me.
After a short car ride I was breezing thru the doors of another pet store. Intent upon finding the treat section, I was caught unaware when I found myself inside what could only be described as a holding pen for wayward dogs. The bulldog immediately caught my eye. Was he friend or foe? Only time would tell.
Short introductions were made, then we got down to the real reason I was here. l was in “doggy obedience” classes. I made a run for it, but quickly realized I was shackled to the humans. My only option was to hunker down and wait for the assault.
A perky woman in pigtails showed the humans a bag of treats (this got my attention). She walked up to the Sheltie and proceeded to force her to sit by waving a treat under her nose. This got all the humans excited including mine. They stealthily pulled a treat out of their bag and proceeded to wave it in front of my nose. Hah! I wasn’t budging. I leaped for it, ran around their feet tangling my leash and subduing them. This caught the eye of the instructor. She took the treats and tried her voodoo magic on me, but I wasn’t falling for it! After about 10 tries, HER instructor came on to try and tame this majestic beast. She brought different treats, a doggie bed so that my tush wouldn’t touch the cold floor. But no dice lady! I woofed, wiggled and made my stand. Not just for me, but for all dog-kind.
When your children’s, children celebrate this day, tell them it was the day Dolly declared Freedom for all four legged friends! Viva Dolly! Viva!
There are the intellectuals that can be found hanging out in galleries using terms like “existential”, “painterly” and “abstract expressionism”… I’m not one of them.
There are the sporty types who know point spreads, combines and the pros and cons of designated hitters… I’m not one of them.
Then there’s the outdoors-y types. They camp. They hike. They fish, surf, climb things. Basically they’re for all things I am against!
My family is “outdoors-y”. Problem with that, you ask? After all who doesn’t want to smell fresh air and commune with Mother Nature? ME, that’s who! I am perfectly at peace with the world lying on a couch, carpet or other soft, man-made material. Driving in the comfort of a well air conditioned automobile is underrated.
I’ve been to the “mountain” and believe me, it ain’t worth the hike!
Lately I’ve been ferried about town in a tote – I’m pretty sure I’m actually being smuggled!
There appears to be stores out there that don’t want dogs in them. Weird I know, but alas it is true. Take Starbucks for instance – NOT loving dogs in their stores. Thankfully my winning smile attracted the sympathy of the baristas and they looked the other way. I’ve also been taken “on the down low” into Walmart, Macys and a few restaurants.
But here’s my real peeve: I love designer handbags like every red blooded female out there, but this has got to stop. The real issue is it’s a TOTE! It’s not even designer brand tote. This is bad for my image. If you find any photos of me stuffed into this abomination on Instagram – I am begging you to remove them, or at the very least mention I am being held against my will!
Being a world-class athlete, I am in tip-top condition at all times. My resting heart rate is optimal. My BMI is exceptionally good and my paw-eye coordination is incredible. I’m really a marvel to behold.
Why don’t I play on a team you ask? Well of course I could, and I would be the best player on the team. And that’s the problem. I am so incredibly good that I would ruin the hopes and dreams of those poor lesser talents.
Take the US Ladies Soccer team. They have a goalie. And some people think she is pretty good. But how can a person with sadly, just two feet compete with four lightening fast paws? And don’t forget a set of razor sharp teeth! It just wouldn’t be fair.
So today, while I am sitting in front of my television watching those sad bi-ped women flail and wobble about on the field, I won’t judge them to harshly. After all, it’s not their fault. There’s only room in this world for one Dolly the Pug.
I’ve heard the term “Dog Tired” bandied about by the humans in my house. They use it to describe the state of being too tired to take me on midnight raids on my kibble bowl, playing “chase me around the yard when it’s time to come in”, or basically anything I find fun!
I am here to put my paw down and say “Dog Tired” is hokum! They’re not even DOGS! I bet they watched a segment of Dr. Oz and self-diagnosed. This wouldn’t be the first time they found “symptoms” on that show. Witness the month of gluten-free, the day of super food juicing (noticed I said day, as in ONE day).
I’m a dog and I don’t get tired. I can chew on socks for hours, race around the yard till I’m panting. And still I have plenty of energy. Okay, I DO take the occasional nap. Okay, nap(sssss). But it isn’t because I’m tired, I just find a need to shut my eyes for a few minutes at a time. I’m really just in a state of meditation.
So to all you dog posers out there: GET OVER IT! Chase your dog, play ball with them, cater to their every whim, be cause we are in on your dirty little secret!
There is a magical kingdom called Dollywood. And it is ruled by a beautiful Princess named Dolly. Shoes are everywhere and everyone can chew on them without getting scolded. Kibble rains down upon the villagers like a soft summer shower. Nobody wears collars and leashes are outlawed. Kicking over a wastebasket full of paper, and chewing on the balls of wadded up fun is the national pastime.
Where is this place, you ask? It resides in the brain of a small pug. Her name? Princess Dolly. Welcome to Dolly’s world.
Written on behalf of Princess Dolly by her faithful servants.
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I know that being a celebrity comes with a lot of perks, but it also comes with the loss of ones privacy. I can no longer go to the market and shop. Ok, I never went to the market anyway. But now, even if I wanted to pretend to be a commoner and buy a can of dog food at Walmart, I would be chased back to my limo buy the blinding lights of cameras. What barbarians!
Yes, you guessed it. I’m hounded by the puperazzi. Who are the pupperazzi you ask? Well, they are a certain breed of dog (cough, Rotweiller) that bottom dwell and make their living by harassing A-listers like myself. They doctor photos to make me look like I’m not bikini ready, I’m in a cult, I’m dating George Clooney or even worse, I’m ugly!
I’ve held my head high and ignored them for far too long. The current issues on the news stands have my hackles up. I merely dropped my Chanel bag while giving a homeless man a quarter and they went crazy snapping shots of me. Obviously they used Photoshop!
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Some people might say I’m a diva. Ok, EVERYONE says I’m a Diva. So it was only natural that Diva-Dog would approach my agent to get me to model for their new campaign. Of course we turned them down – I am too “big” for that! How would they ever think that a mega-star like myself would have time in my busy day to sit and pose? But then they said it paid in kibble and we had to reconsider. After all, we’re talking about KIBBLE!
So, on the day of my shoot I arrived in total Diva style. Late. Ok, REALLY late. And they were not so pleased to see me. In fact, they were down right upset. But who can blame me? It takes hours to look this good. I don’t just roll out of bed looking adorable. I have my people. Hair, make-up, stylist, personal assistant etc. After all, who is going to carry my latte and my phone? Hello, no opposable thumbs here!
We were able to come to terms with the crew and then I went into action. I chewed on my harness, peed on the carpet, turned my tail to the camera. As I was told later “it is a total fiasco” (I think that means really good in Italian).
As the title of this article says “Move over Giselle” cuz there’s a new “B” in town, and her name is Dolly. I’ve dropped the rest of my name, because when you’re a superstar, you don’t need more than a one word name.
My mom is always on a diet. She’s “low carb”. Whatever that means. I think she also mentioned something about gluten. I’m not sure what gluten is, but if it tastes like beef, count me in!
I’m always sitting on my moms lap near the tv (and ya wonder why she’s always on a diet)! Anyway, there was this lady on a morning show – rhymes with “Da-day Show” that said there’s this diet called the Paleo diet. Of course when I heard diet, I crawled under a cushion. But what she said made perfect sense to me. Paleo refers to cavemen and their daily routine of eating whatever was at their disposal. They were what is known as “Opportunistic Eaters”. That is moi! I eat pencils, shoes, loose belts on robes and toys. Anything that lands on the floor is fair game for me. And you know what? I’ve never felt better.
Of course I am also not opposed to a heaping scoop of kibble placed in a hot pink dog bowl.