Raising the roof

I awoke early Monday morning to a thud on the roof. Then another. Wendell and I did what any self-respecting canines would do: We barked. And we surveyed the house. From room to room we ran, and in each spot the pounding persisted overhead. Was the compound under attack, perhaps by those nefarious chew toys? Or were the members of the Jedi church wing of Pug Life Ministries right -- had space aliens arrived? We returned to the bedroom to wake our parents, who for some reason were trying to sleep through the racket. "Mugsy," father said groggily, "it's just the roofers. Remember? They're replacing the roof."

I gave father a cold, piercing, incredulous stare. Nearly $5,000 of my rawhide fund, gone forever. And all because of his impetuous impatience.

True, the roof needed to be replaced. It was bombarded, along with every other home in the neighborhood, by a furious hailstorm. Why Allah had sent this wrath down upon my humble abode, I cannot say. But I suspect He was punishing me for not selling enough merchandise and raising enough money to serve His purpose. God willing, my beloved flock's generosity will spare me from a recurrence of this maelstrom.

Yes, the roof needed to be replaced. But to hire professionals, when our polygamist-sect child Esther had almost finished reading the shingles chapter of her Popular Mechanics library book, this was just too much. "Father," I barked, "I don't even know who you are anymore."

A mighty wind

Good morning, denizens of Pug Life. Today, I must tell you about a mighty wind. A mighty, relentless wind that some of you in this part of the country may have encountered over the weekend. The sky was a disturbing shade of brown as unending gusts battered the ayatollah compound, shearing trees and toppling basketball goals. This dust bowl was like something from The Grapes of Wrath. And truth be told, I strongly considered packing the family up in a jalopy and heading for California. Why did I stay? Because I feared the jalopy would be blown off the road.

We began to hear noises on the roof. One, then another. The electricity flickered on and off. Then we heard a crash. "I must go check on this," I barked, as I tethered my leash to a sturdy indoor object to avoid going airborne. Once outside, I meandered around debris and peered up at the roof. Sections of shingles were peeling away like the lid of a sardine can. "This is not good," I barked to myself as I rushed back inside. After placing a call to the insurance company to reserve my place in a long queue, I realized that there was nothing more I could do. For the next 10 hours or so, the tempest raged. The 60 mph winds continued to wreak havoc on my roof.

"If it must be replaced," I thought, "perhaps it can be improved upon." So I began to research. Ultimately, I decided that a replica of the Pantheon's dome would suit the compound well. True, I would have to stop leaving the mail on my kitchen's island, lest it be drenched in a downpour. But the aesthetic value would surely make up for any inconveniences caused by the hole in the roof. Now, I wonder if the homeowners' association will approve ...