I was standing in my kitchen last night and I had six sets of eyes staring back at me. These eyes were attached to four of my pugs and two of my son’s rescue dogs who we are babysitting this week. As the aroma of dog wafted through the house, the six sets of eyes were watching my every move, ready to follow me to whatever corner of the house I attempted to go. I felt like the pied piper of canines.
I grew up in a household where we always had a dog. My childhood dogs were high strung spaniels who in addition to being pets for my brother and myself, were also bird dogs. Our pets loved to flush pheasants and they ran miles and miles across the lush fields of the Bitterroot Valley in Western Montana. This all sounds very regal and not to diminish the skill of these hunting pets, but all these dogs were quirky and were known to run through screen doors, or sometimes miss the door and just hit the wall. Fletcher, a spastic Brittany Spaniel, had a fondness for peeing on anyone’s leg who stood next to him. I am not certain if Fletcher thought people were trees, or if he just was asserting his dominance, but it was quite off putting. There were often family discussions centered on the diminished capacity of the dogs and genuine concern as to whether there was something cognitively “off” with them. However, they were family and we loved each of them.
Fast forward to 2024 and my home is now filled with the grumble of pugs. For your reference, the term grumble refers to a group of pugs and was created to describe a group of pugs due to the pug’s good nature and snorty grumbling sounds they make, as well as their expressive faces which sometimes are very sincere and serious looking. My grumble consists of a 12-year-old black pug named Louie, a 9-year-old brindle pug named Linus, a 9-year-old black rescue pug named JJ, and a very bossy 4-year-old fawn pug named Murphy. I love pugs and they are a handful. The pugs’ favorite activities include sitting on me, barking at our neighbors, eating watermelon chunks, attacking each other and trick-or-treaters, and defending the house from the tree in the front yard.
My husband and I herd the pugs around daily. They are a constant source of amusement and happiness, as well as frustration due to their need to constantly be underfoot, shed voluminous amounts of fur everywhere, and startle us when they begin furiously barking for no reason. My husband and I have talked about the pugs being our last pets. We talk about wanting the freedom that comes with being pet free and the upcoming house remodel would be so nice to have and enjoy without pug hair everywhere and slurpy water drools on the kitchen floors. It is hard for me to imagine a life without a dog in it though. The pugs are good company, and they are very loyal little fellows who are always delighted to greet us at the end of a long workday. Due to their extreme pampering and a lifestyle of canine luxury, they will live to be 20 years old. For now, I am just going to try and enjoy the grumble and whatever time we have left with them all. Like youth soccer in the snow, there too will come a day when I miss having the grumble underfoot.
