The hunt for justice

The ministry has recently found itself attacked by "phishermen," criminals who were angling to break into my Facebook account. This forced me to change my password and raise the ministry's collective hackles to DEFCON 3. The incident is reminiscent of the time when another infidel sought to take over the ministry's accounts. Needless to say, it did not end well for him.

The Armed Revolutionary Forces (ARF) has been out rounding up suspects, and I personally have taken on the task of interrogating an infidel chew toy. He hasn't talked yet, bound by the code of chew-toy Omerta. But I'm expecting his squeaker to loosen up a little when I move on to the next step: slobberboarding.

Hang 'em high

Behold the sight of Beaver, my flock. He has been identified as the infidel in our midst, and he is suffering the fate reserved for the ministry's worst enemies: the banana hook. Beaver has been hanging from his paddle-like tail since yesterday afternoon. Let the sight of his chipped tooth and his cotton-gaping severed paws serve as a warning to other chew toys who would think to conspire against the ministry! At this very moment, Wendell is "interrogating" the infidel to gain additional intelligence. If Beaver had accomplices, they will not escape justice.

You may think that this punishment is barbaric, my flock, but do not be swayed by the mainstream media or the United Nations' recent resolution to ban banana hooks. Instead, keep in mind that Beaver was engaged in a truly heinous plot. Was he trying to build a radioactive dirty bomb, or overthrow the ministry as the infidel Blue Bull did nearly two years ago? No, but Beaver's actions were no less ghastly. He sought to dehydrate Wendell and me by damming up our water bowls.

Red Scare

Had I known that there was such nostalgia in the United States for Joseph McCarthy, I would have included a shrine to the late senator in the plans for the Dogloo Mosque.

Mugsy's Prague Spring: Part V

Part V: Battle Royale

(Click here to read the previous installment)

"I am your father." My heart skipped a beat as I considered the implications of what Blue Bull had just said to me. His fuzzy chest heaved as he sat plastered to the stone wall, his lone eye studying my face.

"Blue Bull ...," I said, carefully considering my words. "Do you take me for a fool?!?" I am an AKC-registered, pure-breed pug -- with the papers to prove it. My biological father's name is Cowboy, you infidel. How dare you besmirch his good name?"

The Blue Satan stammered, caught in yet another lie. I tore into him with my fearsome teeth, honed by a thousand chew sticks. After swinging the Bullshevik coward backward, I hurled him through the tower's eastern window. "Noooo!!!!" he cried, his voice trailing off before being silenced in a cloud of stuffing. And then, as if on cue, the dogs of Prague descended on that spot, rending Blue Bull limb from squeaking limb. Each took a bite of blue, a pinch of cotton. Souvenirs of this great moment in canine history were dispersed across the city. By the time I had reached street level, all that remained was an eye patch. And thus was completed the defenestration of Blue Bull.

"Allahu akbar!" I barked. "Allah's will be done! Now, who wants lunch?"

The End

Mugsy's Prague Spring: Part IV

Part IV: A Tip and a Confrontation

(Click here to read the previous installment)

As the nearby Astronomical Clock rang out, the shopkeeper walked outside, reaching for her keys. With no time to think, I ran. My gambit worked; she did not spot the fawn blur sliding between her ankles as she closed up shop for the night. The door locked behind me, trapping me inside the marionette store. Though I had made it this far, my mission was far from over: Hundreds, maybe thousands, of marionettes surrounded me. I began my search, surveying the peasants, witches, jesters, minstrels and more that made up the inventory of the finest marionette shop in all of Prague. Most were top-quality, costing thousands of Crowns apiece. How would I find the one the sorcerer had dubbed "the most perfect puppet"? It seemed an impossible task. I moved into a back room, even bigger than the first. And then, I saw her.

Though the lighting was sparse, she positively glowed. Her wool was soft; her eyes sparkled with sincerity and emotion. Her features were perfect, as if carved by Allah Himself. Certain that this was the marionette I sought, I called out to her.

Her head tilted. "Your Holiness," she said, "is that you? It is, isn't it?"

"I am Mugsy, supreme ayatollah of Pug Life Ministries," I barked. "I come seeking information on the infidel Blue Bull."

"Then you are in the right place," she said.

This most enchanting of all sheep then told me the story of how she had come to know of Blue Bull and his insidious plot. "You notice all the marionettes in this city?" she asked. "That is why Blue Bull chose Prague -- he wants to set up a puppet regime through which to spread his Godless communist ideology. If we do not stop him now, history will repeat itself in Eastern Europe."

"Tell me where to find this Bullshevik coward, and I will put a stop to his reign of terror once and for all," I said.

"He has an apartment in the Powder Tower," she said. "God be with you, my ayatollah."

After realizing that I couldn't reach the lock to let myself out, I curled up under the shopkeeper's desk. Justice would have to wait till sunrise.

[INTERMISSION: Please feel free to use the restroom, make popcorn or get up and stretch your legs. Click here for a brief musical interlude.]

The creaking door and its accompanying rays of sunlight awakened me. As the shopkeeper walked in, I sprang for the medieval courtyard of the Ungelt. "Ack!" she screamed, jumping as I sprinted past her. "My apologies for your carpet," I barked over my shoulder. "It was a long night, and I drank a lot of water at dinnertime."

I was soon at the Powder Tower. I had passed the 13th-century landmark two days earlier, unaware of the evil that lurked inside. But this time, Blue Bull would not escape my righteous wrath. I made my way up the cramped spiral staircase, whose ceilings seemed low even for a pug.

Panting heavily, I searched the first floor. Though I found no sign of the Azure Devil, I did encounter a woman behind a counter who demanded that I pay 100 crowns to continue. After doing so, I moved onward and upward, searching the next floor, and then the next.

Finally, the staircase turned into a ladder, poking through a wooden floor at the apex of the gothic edifice. "Either I find Blue Bull now," I thought, "or this trip has all been for naught."

Slowly, I crept up the ladder, poking my head into the light. An instinctive, guttural growl echoed through the chamber as I spied my nemesis. I vaulted toward him, my hackles seemingly a foot high. "Blue Bull!" I barked, "this is your last chance to make peace with your maker! Allahu akbar!"

Caught unaware, he squeaked in terror. Blue Bull ran toward a cache of kitchen implements in the corner. But before he could find a weapon, I scooped him up in my powerful jaws. I chomped down with all my fury, causing his stitches to pop one by one. Cotton spilled from his gaping midsection as I shrugged off his ineffectual punches. A great whooshing sound came from his newly punctured squeaker. After violently shaking him, I tossed him against a wall.

Struggling for breath, Blue Bull reached out toward me. "Mugsy," he squeaked, "before you smite me ... there is something you should know ..."

"... I am your father."

To be continued ...

Mugsy's Prague Spring: Part II

Part II: The Sorcerer's Offer

(Click here to read the previous post)

"Ayatollah, I know that you are here to bring Blue Bull to justice," said the long-haired wizard, his Czech accent thick. His arms moved in an exaggerated fashion, and in his left hand he clutched a book of spells. "I do not know his exact whereabouts, but I know of someone who can help you track this monster down. I might be willing to ... pull a few strings. Quid pro quo, of course."

I studied the sorcerer's face. Was he sincere? Or was he trying to use me to achieve some diabolical black-magic aim? After traveling more than 5,000 miles, I decided I had little choice but to hear him out. "Go on," I barked.

He showed no emotion as he laid out his offer in full detail. "And that is all I seek, my liege. Do me this small favor, and Blue Bull could be yours." I briefly considered his proposal. "Done," I barked. "I shall return this evening."

As I left the shop, I could not help but wonder: Had my pursuit of the Blue Satan led me to make a deal with the devil? I said a silent prayer to Allah as I descended an escalator at the Malastranska subway stop.

To be continued ...

Back from Prague

I have returned from Prague with much to tell, my long-waiting flock. My hunt for Blue Bull had its share of ups and down, successes and failures, triumphs and frustrations. And, as is so often the case for a canine with aspirations of world domination, lingering unfinished business. But enough of this scene-setting. Without further ado, let me tell you about my search for Blue Bull in the Czech Republic.

I arrived in the afternoon, exhausted from a grueling overnight flight and a four-hour layover in London. After finding my hotel on the steeply sloping Nerudova Street in Prague's Mala Strana (Little Quarter) area, I promptly fell asleep. I awoke at midnight, refreshed and ready to tackle the challenges of this strange, vowel-deprived land. Setting out on foot, I put my nose to the cobblestones in an effort to detect a hint of the fuzzy infidel who had tried to destroy the ministry that I have so painstakingly assembled. After crossing the Charles Bridge into Old Town, I followed the crowds of humans toward Old Town Square and then on to the seedy (at least at 1 a.m.) sidewalks of Wenceslas Square. No sign of Blue Bull. Though my haphazard late-night sniffing bore no fruit, I knew there would be more time. Eager to exit the den of debaucherous infidels on Wenceslas Square, I strode back to my apartment and tried to sleep through the night.

Over the next few days, I would meet with many pre-arranged contacts, including a onetime KGB bureau chief, an imam at a local mosque and former President Vaclav Havel. I scoured the Vltava River for signs of Blue Bull, meeting with some distant relatives of my colleague Mallard. They offered some leads on the Blue Satan's whereabouts, but nothing concrete. I searched high and low, climbing the medieval Powder Tower and wandering the cty's endless labyrinth of narrow alleyways. I searched in modest gift shops and extravagant palaces.

Finally, a glimmer of hope took the sting out of my aching paws. As I pursued Blue Bull's scent in the shadows of Mala Strana, a low voice called my name. "Pssst," it whispered. "Ayatollah, it is you, isn't it?" I turned to find a local marionette shop. And peering out from the doorway was a steely stare I will not soon forget.

"Ayatollah Mugsy, my liege. I am so glad you are here at last. The prophets spoke of your arrival. You are here to find the Evil One who seeks to return this nation to the communist rule that sapped us of our will and our freedoms for four long decades. I believe I can be of service to you."

Though I want to tell you more about this old sorcerer's message, my flock, my travels have left me weary. As my eyelids grow heavy and my tail begins to droop, it is becoming apparent to me. This is a tale that will have to wait until a later date.

To be continued ...

The noose tightens

For months now, we have relentlessly pursued the infidel who sought to usurp my power and force you all to give up your God and your private property. This communist evildoer is Public Enemy No. 1 in the eyes of the ministry, and the passage of time cannot erase his crimes against dogkind. He can run, he can hide, but so help me Allah, he can never escape. The ministry's intelligence bureau has been working overtime to track the Blue Satan's movements, and it recently received compelling and credible reports of his whereabouts.

We believe Blue Bull has sought refuge in the former Soviet bloc, apparently unaware that communism died out in Europe over 15 years ago. The Bullshevik leader (seen above in a surveillance photo) began his journey in Moscow, seeking asylum from what he hoped would be a friendly government. After being turned away, he visited the Baltics, Hungary, Slovakia and the Czech Republic. Unfortunately, this is where -- despite the efforts of our finest sniffer dogs -- the trail ran cold.

Because this is such an important matter of national security, I am preparing a fact-finding mission to Central Europe. God willing, Blue Bull's cotton shall flow like the mighty Vltava River.