Baths Are Bad

Apparently, Pugs smell. I am told that it is a well known fact that pugs are some of the stinkyist dogs in the world if not properly groomed. To that end Mom and Dad wash my ears and my face daily which, I do not enjoy but have become used to. The thing that I will never become used to is baths.
When we lived in Durango Mom and Dad walked me to the Dirty Dogz Dog Wash every Saturday, set me in a metal tub, hosed me, scrubbed me, and dried me. Since we have moved to Corvallis Mom and Dad drive me to the Dirty Dogs Self Service Dog Groomer about once a month, set me in a plastic tub, hose me, scrub me, and dry me.
I hate this process. Not just because of the hosing and the drying and the scrubbing, but also because it is just so undignified. It doesn't matter that the frequency has decreased due to lack of money on my parents part, it is still terrible. And it doesn't matter that the location and name of the dog washes has changed (both named spell torture for me), its just not what should be done to a Pug who is in a loving home.
So, I implore you, if you love your Pug, don't bathe it, let it stink, its just better that way!
Love,
Jemima Jones Beck
P.S. today is dad's birthday and I would just like to take this opportunity to say "Happy Birthday - why didn't you have cake and share it with me?!?"
J.

No, Its NOT "Aunt" Jemima

Hello again everyone! Jemima Jones here after a short break from my little website during which I missed you all very much.
Now, a question that I receive frequently from people that I meet, is a question that I bet you all have thought to yourselves on at least one occasion, and that question is "Who are you named after, Jemima?".
The answer to that question is quite simple, I am named after the title character of one of Jane Green's best books Jemima J, a Tale of Ugly Ducklings and Swans. In said book Jemima Jones goes from being fat and unhappy, to annorexically thin and unhappy, and finally to a healthy weight and extremely happy. Mom thought that it was a message that she would like to be reminded of daily so she named me after the book (although apparently the message isn't helped by the fact that I am fat and extremely happy).
My feelings about being constantly asked who I am named after are not so simple. Some people think that I am named after Jemima Brown, who was a character in a Robert Redford movie (whoever Robert Redford is). Having my name sake mistaken for her is not so bad because people who have seen the movie tell me that she is pretty, and funny, and a woman who liked her men (I like my Dad, and he's a "men" - right?). But when people call me Aunt Jemima it makes me boiling mad because, well, do I look like the plump, crazy, eccentric, Aunt type to any of you? Plus it makes Mom mad because she finds it insulting that people automatically assume that she would name her puggy after a sweet, gloopy, food. ( I think that she might be just a touch sensitive about this since she is a little tubby).
At any rate, my name is Jemima Jones Beck, not Aunt Jemima, or Jemima Brown, and I was named after a book, not a food or a hussy, just to set the record straight.
Love,
Jemima Jones Beck

The Relationship Between Pug and Person

I have decided that the relationship between a Pug and her person or people is really a very strange one. In human society people typically break off into small family units, and whether that family includes human children or not, for the majority of a humans life they are with just one other human, in a pair or "couple".
However, human couples are frequently compelled to add a Pug to their family, thus disturbing the normal balance of the human couple. Almost nowhere in the worldwide relationships of human beings is another adult allowed to live, and spend as much time with, a couple as the adult Pug does (which seems strange considering that Pugs are people too, and are just as smart, if not smarter, than the average human).
For instance, I sleep in the bed with Mom and Dad, but if a human adult asked to sleep in the bed with Mom and Dad, they would be greeted with incredible scorn. Also, Mom and Dad both hug, kiss, and hold me, as well as frequently telling me that they love me. If these actions were taken by either one of my parents with another adult human (excepting their own parents of course), then the couple that is Mom and Dad would probably come to an end. Another strange thing that I have noticed about the Mom-Dad couple is that neither of them accompanies the other to the bathroom, but both allow me into the bathroom with them, and one or the other (and sometimes both) of them are always with me during my bathroom times. Why is that? Why am I the only one trusted enough to view the bathroom behaviors of both of my parents? Is it because they love me more than they love each other, or less? Or is it that I love them both so much that I can continue to love them even after having seen them poo, while neither of them loves the other so much? Or are they just shy? Who knows?
As illustration of my various points I have included a picture of Mom and I holding paws. Which, as I have mentioned, is a perfectly acceptable thing for Mom to do with Me, but not with any human other than Dad, and Grandma.
Jemima Jones Beck

Mom's New Shoes

Mom has had the same pair of ratty old shoes for the past two years, since well before I was born.
She says that she has held onto these shoes because they were the only pair that she was able to wear back when her Autoimmune disease first flared up, and anything that she was able to wear and be comfortable in during that time is worth being loyal to.
But here in Oregon Mom's purple shoes, called "Crocs", are not at all practical because they have a number of holes in the top that were put there by the designers to allow a persons foot to get air, as well as a number of holes in the bottom that Mom wore into them from so much walking. These holes are bad because of all of the rain here; Mom's feet and socks were constantly soaked and the soles of her feet were actually peeling away - yuck!
So, Grandma bought Mom some new shoes that are so comfortable and cute (they are pink) that Mom doesn't even wear her crocs anymore!
In the night time picture to the left Mom caught me chewing her old shoes (something that I used to get in trouble for). You can see the huge hole on the bottom of the shoe that caused all of the water problems, you can also see that Dad had been trying to duck tape the holes closed for Mom.
Jemima Jones Beck

I Poop a Lot!

I poop a lot. I am not ashamed of it... pooping is what Pugs were made to do. However, Mom and Dad both seem to think that I poop an excessive amount. And I agreed to show the world the above pictures so that the public could come to an informed consensus about whether or not I poop excessively.
In the top picture you will see Dad holding the size bag that is required to clean up one poop from one average dog.
In the bottom picture you will see Dad holding the size bag that is required to clean up one poop from Me.
As you can see, the bag in the bottom picture is only twice my own body size (as illustrated by my standing in the picture with Dad), and as such, is not "excessive", as Mom and Dad both claim. This is simply my opinion. Please, now that you have seen the bags that are required for an average dog poo and the one that is required for my poo, write and tell us whether or not you think that I poop excessively.
Jemima Jones Beck
Ps. If this public census doesn't go my way then I will poo on your lawns.

Mom Got a Job...

The other day Mom approached me, clearly holding something behind her back. She knelt down in front of me and told me that she had gotten a job, at a book store.
I was devastated because I have been lobbying against her getting a job for some time, using this blog as my sounding block. Apparently though, my protests against being left alone were ignored, soon I will be once again be consigned to the pug pen at the beginning of each work day, and not released until the end of it.
Mom instantly made her pronouncement better though, by revealing the thing that she had been concealing behind her back - the biggest dog chewy bone ever! As you can see in the picture to the left I enjoy the bone immensely, and don't enjoy my time with it to be interrupted, not ever to have my picture taken.
Ironically, Mom is now working in a book store called Phase II. It was the adventures of my book chewing youth that made me a pug confined to being with, as the pug pen wasn't introduced until after I began chewing Moms books (you can read about my "habit" in an earlier entry).
Mom is enjoying her new job. She likes having something to do during the day, can sleep better at night because she is tired from hauling books around all day, and now has something more interesting to talk to Dad about in the evenings than how many times I pooped on our walks (although I, and my poop, are very interesting subjects). Apparently, some of the books are really big and long and hard (or is that supposed to be "Hard Backed"? I can never remember), and other are small and short. Some are interesting and others are just plain strange, as with all books, none are perfect!
Jemima Jones Beck