On Saturday, I welcomed a new canine to the congregation. My uncle adopted Bruce, a Lab puppy, from a shelter in Carrollton and stopped by to introduce him to me. "Ayatollah," he said, "I want Bruce to learn from you how to be a 'good dog.' Can you take him under your wing and mentor him?"
"Yes, my human child," I replied. "I will work with your large-pawed pup. For a small fee."
After receiving a biscuit in payment, I took Bruce out in the back yard to get a baseline of his skills. He possessed excellent athleticism and keen ball-fetching ability. He was a fast runner, but not as fast as yours truly. Yes, my flock -- despite this graying beard, the ayatollah can still tuck tail and fly.
Bruce's drinking form -- splashing much of the water out of his bowl -- differed from mine. But it proved effective all the same. Once the humans began to feast on their lunch, Bruce and I made our way inside. The pup displayed food-seeking techniques beyond his years, using his height to full advantage and nearly making off with slices of pizza on multiple occasions. It was apparent that with practice and a slightly refined technique, he could become a true begging prodigy.
Finally, it was time for Bruce to go. His parents had a date with PetSmart and one of those cages the humans like to euphemistically call "crates." I took young Bruce aside. "You are off to a fine start, my canine protege," I barked. "When next we meet, I will introduce you to rawhide."
I was patrolling the back yard, making sure no infidels had intruded upon my lush carpet of weeds interspersed with grass. The fence line marks my domain, and a good ayatollah must be ever-vigilant about re-asserting his territorial claims. Who knows what that scissor-tail flycatcher is up to -- is he just passing through, or are his motives more sinister? Either way, a gruff bark will send him fluttering on his way. As I sniffed the perimeter, a loud thunderclap raised my hackles. I felt a cool drop on my back, and then another. Then came the deluge. Before I could even scratch the door to make it magically open, my fur was drenched. My tail, heavy with the accursed rainwater, sank almost to the concrete.Allah, we converse daily. Couldn't you have given me some warning?
I finally got around to posting some photos from Prague on my travel blog. Click here if you'd like to take a look.
Progress. It is a beautiful word, and one that I believe applies to my weekend with Rabbi Jake. As you know, we have a long-term, mutual interest in bringing peace to the Middle East. It is one of my top personal goals as head of Pug Life Ministries -- perhaps not as high on the list as universal access to rawhide or canine suffrage, but important nonetheless. And this weekend, we put our snouts to the grindstone to try to make it happen. The situation looked bleak. Factional fighting had shattered any semblance of Palestinian unity, and the peace process had long been dormant. But lo and behold, what do we see after an exhausting weekend of talks?
Palestinian President Mahmoud Abbas has told President Bush that now is the time to resume Mideast peace talks. Not only that, but Abbas said this with great urgency. A sense of urgency that comes only from being leaned on by a strong-arm pug backed by the world's greatest canine military machine, the Armed Revolutionary Forces (ARF). Allahu Akbar! God willing, a humble pug and a curmudgeonly schnauzer will change the world.
I am awaiting the arrival of Rabbi Jake, my longtime friend and the head of the Jewish wing of Pug Life Ministries. Given the rapidly deteriorating situation in the Middle East, we felt it necessary to do whatever we could to promote peace in the region. So we are convening an emergency summit to try to talk some sense into the feuding factions. I am less optimistic now than I was during our last attempt, but we must give it a shot. Otherwise, we will never win a Nobel Peace Prize. Even if our appeal for peace fails, we can still do some much-needed preparation for the upcoming Pug Life Telethon. Rabbi Jake tells me he knows where we can get a great deal on kazoos.
Since we last corresponded, I have been busy organizing the greatest spectacle of a telethon this world has ever seen. Just yesterday, recording star Kelly Clarkson canceled her summer tour so that she could devote all her energies to a telethon performance. "Though I am sacrificing potentially millions of dollars," she said, "it is worth it to help my fellow North Texan and spiritual adviser. Without the ayatollah, I would be nothing." I have been in talks with other celebrities as well, and I believe you will be pleased with the star-studded mix that awaits on telethon day. More details to come.
My friends, I have an exciting announcement to make. While nursing on my monkey foot, I entered a place of perfect calm and clarity. My mind focused, and I understood Allah's plan like never before. And then it hit, smack-dab in my already-flattened face: an epiphany. An idea that touches on all the key missions of Pug Life Ministries -- spiritual outreach, charity, fundraising. My friends, this will be a milestone in canine history. What is it, you ask? I will tell you. A telethon! Yes, like the great Jerry Lewis before me, I will be holding a telethon. What better way to raise the ministry's profile in France? Allah willing, there will be more exciting details to come.
Good day, faithful adherents of canine Islam. I regret that I have not had time to post in recent days, but I have been incredibly busy. With what, you ask? I have been suckling the monkey foot. By nursing at the toe of my stuffed monkey, I have gained incredible clarity, finding a place of zen, if you will. My intensity in these sessions with the monkey has grown legendary around the ayatollah compound. The outside world is of no concern to me; it is just me and the slobber-hardened monkey foot. So great is my single-minded focus that my mother has described it as "really creepy." But she is a mere human; how could she be expected to understand this higher plane of enlightenment? The humans have tried to capture a photo of these monkey-suckling, chi-channeling moments, but to no avail. The camera distracts me, and the moment is gone, quickly fleeting into memory like my morning kibble. But I have found a photo here, in the ministry's archives. He is the orange-eyed primate to the left of the Blue Satan. Don't panic, however; I am not cavorting with the enemy. Intensive counseling sessions have broken the monkey of his revolutionary brainwashing. He was, deep down, a good monkey who fell in with the wrong crowd. And as a former juvenile delinquent, I understand as well as anyone the importance of a second chance. The monkey's sole allegiance is now to the ministry, and he has put his best foot forward to prove it. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have business to attend to.
I know that there has been great concern within Pug Life Ministries today over an incident involving Pope Pius Pug. Let me assure you all that he is doing well. The pontiff, head of Pug Life's Catholic wing and my longtime business partner, was going for a spin at the Vatican when a deranged man tried to jump into his popemobile. My sources in the Swiss Guard tell me that this man, a German, was screaming "I must feel the fur! The soft, soft fur!" as he reached out for the pope. Fortunately, members of the pope's ARF security detail were able to quickly wrestle the assailant to the ground, disorienting him with copious amounts of slobber before shackling him with a choke-chain collar. This man is now being transferred to Syrian custody for "interrogation."
Greetings, future citizens of Pugistan. A photo of me in my last Pug-O-Ween garb was recently chosen for display on Pugaday.com, and I was happy to be able to add to the daily parade of pugs there. But it was insinuated in the comments that perhaps I should feel shame for being dressed in such a manner. So let me set the record straight. I am secure enough in my ayatollahhood to show the world my yellow, modified-from-the-toddler-aisle Pugly Duckling suit, complete with its masculine tuft of white fuzz on top -- just as I am comfortable sharing images of my crimefighting outfit and my equestrian gear. And all other canines should feel free to don a costume as well. Let no human tell you otherwise. If we cannot let our turbans down for Pug-O-Ween, when can we?
As the temperature rises, my desire to spend time outdoors diminishes. We pugs are a temperate breed. The Texas heat does not suit us, and so we thank Allah for the air conditioning and morning walks that help us through these not-so-dog days of summer. But it is said that every ozone cloud has a silver lining. In this case, that silver lining is piling up on my carpet and furniture as we speak. Thanks to God's brilliant plan, I have shed enough fur in the last week for a batch of 5,000 additional patriotic ribbons. Order yours today.
