“Hi Chief. I like your eyeshadow. Nice wing."

 The first day of Pugfest is something that I will remember for the rest of my life. 

A few hilarious things happened, but I’m going to start with my favorite first. The first afternoon, which was on a Saturday, a group of pre-teen girls came to the booth that I was volunteering in.

I went to Pugfest as a volunteer for Wichita Pug Rescue, an organization that I’ve been involved with for about 10 years and have adopted two Pugs from. My job at Pugfest was to run our kissing booth. I’ve never run the kissing booth at Pugfest, so I got a little training from more senior Kansas Pug officials before the event actually started.

I was to tell people that these Pugs are our world famous kissing Pugs. The Pugs will sell you a kiss for 50 cents, or you can pet them and cuddle them all you want for free. All the money raised goes to help rescue Pugs. 

There were four dogs in the kissing booth, including my two Pugs, Chief, who is 2 and who I just adopted in March, and Pickles, who is 9 and has the most adorable gray face and longest tongue you’ve ever seen. (I’ll talk about Pickles in a future blog post.)

There were three pre-teen girls in this group on Saturday afternoon and their Mom was with them as well. The girls liked Chief immediately. To be honest, every girl likes Chief and Chief likes every girl he meets. 

My boy Pug is a total womanizer and he can pretty much get any girl’s attention without much effort. Chief is show stoppingly beautiful. 

He knows it. 

He even flaunts it. 

So the girls turn their attention to Chief. One of the girls, who is dressed super cute with her hair and makeup done perfectly with gorgeous manicured nails, says to my dog: “Hi Chief. I like your eyeshadow. Nice wing.”

I didn’t miss a beat and I immediately asked the girls if they were Taylor Swift fans. The middle kid said yes, and her and her Mom immediately started grinning because they both knew what I was about to say. 

My response: “His cat eye is sharp enough to kill a man.”

And then I laughed so hard I don’t think I’ve ever laughed harder in my life. All four of us were rolling with laughter and for about 30 seconds or so, none of us could speak a coherent word. It was just a bunch of girls giggling about my boy Pug’s perfect eyeliner. 

When people at Pugfest asked me how and why I named him Chief, I asked if they were fans of country music, and when they said yes, I got to explain that I actually named my dog after my favorite country guy, Eric Church.

In one weekend in Kentucky, I managed to combine all of the things that I’m addicted to in life: Pugs, Taylor Swift and Eric Church.

This will be one of many blog posts I write about Pugfest. I’m actually shocked that I didn’t lose any Facebook friends over the weekend from my incessant posting about everything Pug related. 

Future blog posts might involve the story about how Pickles stole a sandwich, the list of crimes that Chief has committed in his four months with me, the story of Chief winning second place in his race when he was snoring in my lap literally two minutes before the race started, about how cool it is to volunteer for the actual Pugfest event itself, and a list of all the cool Pug names that I heard.

And then I’ll probably write about the dog bar we went to on Saturday night, where Pickles hit on every single man that she saw and where Chief earned a reputation for being the only Pug brave enough to run with the big dogs. That dog bar was probably the happiest three hours of my whole entire life.

One more thing about my Chiefy: I only met three Pugs at Pugfest bigger than him. Chief is a beefy boy. 

It turns out it’s actually socially acceptable to walk around Pugfest and ask total strangers from all over the country how much their boy Pugs weigh. A group of us were all doing the same thing, and every one of us basically had the same response.

Our response? 

I like big Pugs and I cannot lie. You other brothers can’t deny…Red beans and rice didn’t miss ya.

For Raven

In 2019, I went to Tennessee for a few days. Towards the end of my trip, my phone buzzed with a text message from my parents.

"Did you know Raven likes pulled pork sandwiches?"

Raven was my then 8-year-old Pug, who was blind. I'm pretty sure my response was, well, why would she not like pulled pork sandwiches?

I got Raven in 2015 after the puppy mill she lived at got rid of her. She was blind then and had never known life outside of a cage. 

Raven was always a different dog, and it didn't take me long to notice that she had some special needs. My favorite thing about her was that she stayed put and never ran away. (Blind dogs don't run.) Two months after I got Raven, Pickles came into our life, and as a puppy Pickles could run a 5-minute mile. 

But this blog post is about Raven. 

Raven crossed the Rainbow Bridge a couple of weeks ago, which was one of the most heartbreaking days of my life. I'm a firm believer that dogs tell you when they're ready to go, and my girl was ready to go. 

In the end, she went in my arms, surrounded by love. 

With me she knew grass and sunshine, was surrounded by family, got used to the loudness of kids and had her Pug sisters to cuddle with.

On her last night, I told her that she would never be alone. I slept next to her, and cried, while Penny Pug said goodbye to her and licked my tears away. 

During the winter, Raven could always be found by the space heater. Raven Pug had an excellent sense of hearing and used it to make up for her blindness. 

Raven was sensitive to sounds, yes, but she was also a source of sound. She let her dislikes be known by screaming at me at the top of her lungs. Among her top dislikes were wet grass during a morning potty, the sound that trains make, and thunder during storms. Despite her screaming, her tail always wagged in public and she was always quiet in public. 

She liked my parents, especially my Dad. Her tail wagged extra for him.

I named Raven after my favorite poem, The Raven. I named her based on her personality, not her color, and people always assumed that Raven was my black Pug. 

No, Raven was my moody fawn Pug. If she were a person, she'd be off in a corner during a party writing dark poetry in a corner of a room, all by herself. 

That's just Raven for you. 

I still look for my old girl, and I can't believe she's not here. I can't believe I had a day to say goodbye and just like that, she was gone. 

Gone, but not forgotten.

I love you, Raven. I hope I gave you the life that you deserved. 

Things I didn't picture myself saying out loud 10 years ago.

 "Pickles, stop licking the couch."

"You're an older, toothless gal, aren't you?"

Penny Pug is sick this week and taking antibiotics. 

Penny Pug, also known as Pig to her close circle of family and friends, is 13 years old. She's living out her best retired life by receiving Pickles kisses all day and by fighting with Raven day and night.

I took Penny to the doctor this week, and the doctor is a very nice lady that Penny and I both like a lot.

The doctor walked into our treatment room, greeted both of us, and then said: "You're an older, toothless gal, aren't you?"

I kept my mouth shut and didn't say much, but in the moment, I wasn't sure whether she was talking to me or Penny. 

She was talking about Penny.

(For what it's worth, I was wearing my retainer with my fake tooth in it.) 

Penny Pug.

 This is a recycled post from Facebook, but I haven't posted in a while. It will have to do.

Penny. 

Things I’ve comforted/helped my dogs with today:

• Her foot got stuck in her harness and she flipped out about it - Pickles.
• Getting over a fear of a new suitcase - Penny.
• It rained 13 hours ago, so obviously it’s still raining outside which means she can’t go outside - Raven.
• Got stuck in a corner because of blind dog reasons and growled and got pissed off at a wall - Raven.
• Fear over a new rug and re-arranged furniture - all of them.

Pickles, why are you eating spaghetti?

There are certain things I never thought I'd say out loud.

Among them: Pickles, why are you eating spaghetti?

Pickles, my little black Pug, along with her two Pug buddies and I, made the 400-round trip mile to go home over the weekend.

Pickles celebrated by being the life of the party. She had some spaghetti and birthday cake, loved on my brother's three kids, and snored all the way home.

💛

 

This is the face of a killer, Bella.

 

City Pickles or County Pickles

 Can I brag on my little Pickles for a second? We went to Wichita yesterday to volunteer for a couple of different non-profits. She was perfect the entire time.

We went to Petco in between volunteering gigs and picked out a new bed. She greeted people and dogs in the store like she had been doing it her whole life.

My favorite thing about this little monster is that she's versatile. She could be a city Pickles or a country Pickles. She really doesn't care, as long as she's with me.

She turned out to be an excellent dog. The world needs more people and dogs like Pickles in it.

Four year challenge

I got Pickles four years ago this month, and my life hasn't been the same since.

Happy anniversary, Pickles! You turned out to be a pretty good Pickles.

Not a rotten Pickles, not a sour Pickles. Just a pretty good Pickles.

Blind dog

My blind dog loves my parents. Other than feeding her pork when they're dog sitting for me, I've been trying to figure out why she loves them so much and loves being at their house so much.

Last night, I was on the phone with my Mom.

Mom: "When Raven's here, Dad picks her up and holds her. She falls asleep in his lap."

Well, there you go. I think I just found the reason why the blind dogs loves her grandparents so much.

Also, my Dad put a sticker on my blind dog's head and then called her Vision.

:)

I see you have heat. I like heat. - Raven

Weird sentences

I laid in bed last night, thinking about life.

I have a pretty impressive bruise on my leg from the day's shenanigans. I laid awake thinking of the sentence that I could come up with that would best describe how I got that injury.

Here's what I came up with: I have a huge bruise on my leg because I rammed it into a shopping cart while I ran over a porkchop.

I wish I was kidding.

I'm not.

That incident is my second favorite that's happened this year that warrants a weird explanation. A couple of months ago, while I was shaving my legs in the shower, I cut my nose with the razor that I had in my hand.

Don't ask me how it happened, because I have no idea.

I left it alone and it healed nicely. However, explaining to people why I had a wound on my face was kind of an awkward conversation.

Something like: Apparently you need to pay attention to where your face is when there's a sharp object in your hand. Who knew?

Every morning when I put makeup over the scar on my nose, I think about all the weird sentences that I've come up with in my life.

This morning, when it was pouring rain outside: We have a moist Pickles who's probably going to poop in my house today.

Life is wild and crazy.

---

One more note...

Fall weather!

Pickle juice.

Text message I tried to send: Pickles looks exhausted.

The message, auto-corrected: Pickles is jaw baskets.

Yes, indeed, she is jaw baskets.

Penny

On Sunday afternoon, I laid down to take a nap.

You could say that I'm a big fan of naps.

I had a dream that I was sleeping next to someone who was snoring.

I woke up to discover Penny snoring right by my head. She usually sleeps by my hip or my feet, so her snores were a little closer than usual.

That was the best dream and best nap ever.

:)

Yes, kid. I am brilliant.

I'm adorable.

For approximately 17 hours over the weekend, I was in charge of six breathing things.

My Pugs are pretty easy to keep alive. In addition to them, my brother's three kids (5, 5, 3) spent the night at my house.

I'm still exhausted.

The baby of the group, three-year-old C, has only spent the night at my house once before. 

She cracks me up. 

The fun started when she saw my vacuum. Last year I bought a robotic vacuum and named him Jarvis. About a week after that, my parents bought one and named theirs Zoe.

The kids saw Grandma's vacuum first, which is the same brand that I have. 

That means that when little C walked in to my house and saw my vacuum, she thought I stole it from her grandparents. 

"Monta, why you steal Zoe?"

"Monta, give Zoe back to Gamma. That not nice."

"Monta don't steal."

Explaining logic to a three-year-old is pointless.

---

Somebody has to supervise bath time.

---

We went to the playground on Saturday. 

Before we left, C had an important question for me. 

"Monta, where you keep your van?"

I am single, 33 years old and have no children. I decided to tell little C the truth. 

"I keep my van in my garage."

Little C: "Otay."

---

The three-year-old had some other one-liners that were pretty good. 

While they were prolonging bedtime, the kids wanted to know who built my house. Earlier in the night, I explained to them that my house is really old. They're old enough now to know the difference between an old house and a new house.

C: "Monta, who built your house?"

Me: "I don't know, C. My house is more than 100 years old. Somebody built it a really long time ago."

C: "It was Papa. Papa built your house."

Me: "Absolutely. Your Grandpa, who is in his 60s, built my 100-year-old house."

C: "I love Papa. He so good."

---

One of the books I read to them before bedtime is called Night Night, Groot. 

As I was reading it, I pointed out all of the Marvel characters. There's Captain America, Groot, Spiderman, Rocket and Gamora. I explained to them that Gamora has a sister named Nebula. 

Little C was blown away by my basic Marvel movie knowledge.

C: "Monta so smart."

Yes, kid. I am brilliant.

---

I pointed out all the nooks and crannies of my house to the girls. The twins are old enough to understand that new houses don't have the "character" that mine has. 

I pointed out the closets in my bathroom, two of which I've never opened because I can't reach them. I asked the twins what they thought might be in those closets. 

One of them quipped: "Maybe Eric Church will pop out."

I've never been so proud of someone in my life. I've taught them well. 

Life in photos

Penny kisses.

Just blind dog stuff.

I had a big ass tree removed. Sweet.

Sweet dreams, Pickles.

The horsey jackets kill me every time the kids wear them.

Is this hamburger missing something?

Human Pickles

Over the weekend I met the human version of Pickles, and the experience did not disappoint.

I'm not sure where I can even begin to describe that sentence, so I guess I should start from the beginning. 

---

I have a dog named Pickles. She is three, she is gray, and she is insanely adorable and happy.

She is so happy, in fact, that sometimes I get mad at her because of her happiness. Pickles loves everything and everyone. Pickles loves every single person she meets, and she loves just about everything in her life.

Pickles loves love.

That's the story of Dog Pickles. The story of Human Pickles is coming up here shortly.

---

A while back, I had a pretty important conversation with my nieces. 

I asked my Mom when it was appropriate to tell the kids (4, 4, and 2) that I was seeing someone. 

Grandma said that now is as good a time as any. 

So I awkwardly explained to my little nieces that their aunt is dating somebody. 

At the time, I thought this was earth shattering news. The food came about 20 seconds later, and suddenly the conversation turned to more important things in life, specifically about where to put ketchup on their plate.

About a week later, I decided to test whether the little girls remembered our conversation. I brought up the fact that I was dating someone to them, and told them his name.

Little K, who is 4 and excited about Halloween, had an important question.

K: Is he a spider?

No, little K. I am not dating a spider.

K: Are you sure?

Yep, kid. I'm pretty sure. 

At that point little K wandered off to do little kid things. I started talking to little L. 

"He's your friend?" she asked me.

Yes, I told her. He is my friend.

"He's your friend friend?"

Yes, child. He is my friend friend. 

---

Over the weekend, my friend friend and I went to a concert. 

At one point during the concert, my friend friend told me he was learning a lot of dance moves from the woman beside him.

I looked over, and when I finally saw it, I could not look way.

This woman was dancing like she had nothing to lose. She was a cute, short women, youngish, a brunette with a pixie hair cut.

She was rocking out the entire time. 

When I finally realized who she reminded me of, I knew I had to tell my friend friend. When I got his attention and started to tell him, all that came out was laughter.

I could not keep a straight face or tell my story. 

After I giggled for a while, I finally got my point across. The lady dancing around and being obnoxiously happy was basically the human version of Pickles. 

We named her Human Pickles. 

When I lost Human Pickles in the crowd, I asked my friend friend where she was. 

He said he didn't know, but when she returned we would both know it, because she would skip back to her place. 

My giggling was epic.

I never thought I'd meet the human version of my dog in another city at a concert, but life can be kind of random like that.

The world needs more people like Human Pickles (and Dog Pickles).

Pugs

I'm not even sure how to explain the awesomeness I just encountered over the weekend.

For now, I'll just show you a picture. I'll point out that only one of these dogs is mine. The other two followed Penny to my lap and to my heart.

#pugsnotdrugs

Life in photos

I don't know what to do when car doors do not open.

Scene 1:

I discovered yesterday on my lunch break that my car door did not open.

I don't know what to do when car doors do not open.

I crawled out the passenger side door, called the guy who fixes my car, then went and traded my Dad's perfectly fine truck for a car that doesn't have a functioning driver's side door.

(Cars are kind of like teeth. When it goes wrong, I know to call someone smarter than me.)

--

Scene 2:

While being laughed at by the guy who fixes my car, my Dad asks me if I want to lock my doors on my car while it's sitting in the parking lot of the fixing place.

Well, I said, if someone tries to steal it, they're going to have a really hard time opening the door.

Fyi, apparently if the hinge that holds the door open breaks, and you open your car door on a day where the wind is blowing 50 miles per hour, you can actually damage your front fender.

You can damage your front fender so much that the damn door will not open.

--

Scene 3:

My mom: Oh my God did you wreck your car? What did you hit?

Me: The wind. I hit the wind.

--

Scene 3:

My dumbass dog woke up at 4:30 a.m. and did not go back to sleep.

I worked up some tomatoes. I made a big breakfast. I did dishes. I watched the news curled up with a blanket and a space heater...all before 8 a.m.

Dog at 4:30 a.m.: Hey I have to go outside.

Dog at 4:32 a.m.: Oh my God it’s cold let me back in.

Dog at 4:33 a.m.: Hey since you’re awake do you wanna party?

Soulmates

I think this dog and I are soulmates.

I can't say for sure why, but yesterday I cried most of my mascara off before the sun set.

It's a combination of things, really. My daily dose of sadness wasn't aimed at one specific thing.

It all accumulated yesterday, and I decided to cry it out.

This dog did not leave my side. She knows, and she understands. We made out for a long time yesterday - against my will - and I ended up laughing at her because she was so relentless with her kisses.

This dog and I were meant to be in each other's lives.

"Go outside" actually means go belly up in the covers. Look at her smug face.