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Travels With Rex Pug ...

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And with Melda and, yes, with Dear Departed Little Lucille, too ...






































My Dear Old Manny Man, The Rex Pug, then and now ... The one picture was taken on Monday, August 21st, 2000, twelve years and a couple of weeks ago and just a month after he came to live with me; the other, on Sunday, September 2nd, 2012, just a couple of days ago ... In human years, he was about seven then, not even a Young Man, but a Young Boy; he's ninety-something now, an Old Manny Man; my Old Manny Man ... But still a Young Boy at heart, and still and always a Happy One at that, despite his infirmities ...





My Dear & Faithful Readers know that The Rex Pug was diagnosed with, treated for and cured of Mast Cell Cancer, a Skin Cancer, not quite three and half years ago; in early May of '09. That he was cured ... and three and half years with no recurrences is considered cured ... is little if any short of a miracle, particularly given the location of the first tumor, on his foot; the prognosis, for dogs with such tumors on their feet, is "Poor" to "Guarded" as, there being so little skin between the tumor and the bone, the cancer can readily and quite often does infiltrate the bone ...

And when that happens, it's pretty much all over; apart from the resulting metastasis to the bone, the cancer invades the marrow and then infiltrates the lymph nodes in the armpit ...

The second tumor, which I found a month after two of his toes and a chunk of one of his front feet were amputated, was on his neck; it too, of course, was removed, and immediately so.

The prognosis for dogs with multiple Mast Cell Tumors, regardless of their locations, isn't good either.

So The Rex Pug was and has been One Lucky Pug Boy indeed ...

And that despite his other Afflictions.

For six or so months before his cancer diagnosis, he'd begun having what appeared to be troubles with his hips; nothing severe, he just had developed, over time, what I think can best be described as a "stodgy walk" ... what one might expect of, say, a bow-legged old sailor who'd been on horseback all day. He'd had an incident of bladder crystals, his second, in the Fall of '07, and some x-rays were taken then; a later examination of those x-rays revealed the bare beginnings of hip dysplasia, confirmed by x-rays taken at the time of his cancer diagnosis.

So when, in the months following his treatment for the same, his hips suddenly worsened ... or seemed to do so ... the aforementioned troubles were attributed to his dysplasia.

Until, that is, he began having (further) troubles with his bladder, to wit, I'd have him out for his Daily Whiz(zes), and it would take him ten minutes ... and then twenty minutes ... and then thirty to forty minutes ... to whiz, and not much at that, three or four times, and then, five minutes after I'd give up and take him back in the house ...

He'd whiz on the floor.

Finally, after more Grief, Woe & Travail than I care to relate, his (further) troubles were diagnosed as Detrusor Atony, caused by a Degenerative Spinal Condition.

It was, in fact, the Spinal Condition that was ... and is ... the primary cause of his troubles with his hind legs, as well as with his ability, or the lack thereof, to control his bladder.

I have, for the last three years, dealt with the latter by, three times a day, expressing the same, his bladder, or, as I've come to refer to it, "Squeezing My Pug" ... while wearing a Bright Blue Medical Exam Glove.

Add it up ... three times a day, three years, let's see, that's about ...

Three thousand (3,000) times.

Making me, of course, The World's Living Authority on Expressing Dog's Bladders.

Or Pug-Squeezing, if you will.

But it's not cancer, so we cope with it, Pug Boy & I.

Of more import has been the slow but steadily progressive deterioration of his ability to use his hind legs.

As of about seven or eight months ago, following a bout of pneumonia that was initially misdiagnosed and, in consequence thereof, went untreated for a month ... until he fainted, briefly, one day, he's been unable to either stand at all or, of course, walk; the pneumonia took a little bit more out of him, just enough to worsen his Poor Little Puggy Leggies to the point where he was effectively crippled.

I have to sit on the floor in front of him twice a day, at Breptuss Time and at Supper Time, and hold his Little Puggy Pug Food Bowl up for him as, unsurprisingly, he's unable to stand up to eat and, if he's sitting down, he can't quite lean over far enough to eat his Little Puggy Pug Foods if his Little Puggy Pug Food Bowl is sitting on the floor.

He gets around now by dragging himself across the floor with his front legs when he wants to move ..

Which is nowhere near as bad as it sounds; when he wants to move, when the spirit moves him, i.e., when there's food involved, he can do so right well.

But, again, it's not cancer, so we cope with it, Pug Boy & I.

He's still just as Jolly and as Happy and as Silly and as Full Of Piss & Vinegar as he's always been, and he still shrieks his Little Puggy Brains out twice a day, at Breptuss Time and at Supper Time ... and, of course, whenever Dad sits down to eat, for The Rex Pug always gets a few bites of whatever Dad's eatin' ...

He does ok, with with my help.

Even at thirteen ... ninety-something, in human years ... he's still got a few miles left in him.

Lots of 'em, I hope.


Birthday Boy, Again ...

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Today is once again the Seventeenth Of July, and it's once again my Beloved Rex Pug's faux birthday; it's been twelve years to the day since I took him from the tree to which he'd been tied for a month, gave him a home and told him that I'd love him ... through thick and thin, through good times and bad, for better or for worse ... and told him, too, that I'd always come back ...

And I always have.

Despite his old age ... my best guess is that he's thirteen, give or take a couple or few months ... and his many troubles and infirmities, he still always has a smile on his face; when I hoist him up into bed at night, he still throws a Great Big Ol' Rootin' Fit, still digs at the covers, still burrows in the pillows, still has a Great Big Ol' Moosin' Fit with his Stinky Ol' Mister Moosey, still throws himself on his back, still kicks his Little Puggie Legs up in the air and yip!, yip!, yips! just 'cause he's so happy he'll burst if he doesn't ...

And then he still snuggles up next to his Paw, nestles his Little Grey Puggie Face down in between his Little Puggie Paws, and goes to sleep, to snore and dream of ...

KAYKZEZEZ!!!
EN PEIZEZEZ!!!
EN ISE KREEMZEZEZ!!!
EN ALL KEINZ UV UTHUR GOON STUFFZEZ!!!


And of those whom he misses, whom he hasn't seen in such a very long time ... Lucille, always, and Shabby Doll and even that Mean Old Bastard, Mr. Bealz ...











All Sleepy-Eyed ...

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All Sleepy-Eyed ...






And One Of The Kat-Thing; She Insisted ...


KAT-THINGZ DEEMAND EEKWELL TEIM!!!1





LSU Law …

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An Open Letter To The LSU Law Students
Who Continually Read This Space ...

And

Their Half-Wit Professor ...


If I were ya'll, I'd sue the aforementioned Half-Wit Professor for demanding that you waste your time here; there isn't anything here but pictures of my Pugs … now Pug, as you know … There hasn't been anything here but the same for four years, and there won't ever be anything here but the same …

And yet every time I post a new picture, that same Half-Wit Professor evidently sends ya'll scurrying here to see if I might have posted something upon which he or she can pontificate, doubtless at great, ponderous, deathly boring & pointless length …

I can only opine that whatever the Half-Wit's course is costing you, ya'll are paying too much for it; if I were you, I'd demand my money back.

In the event that the above wasn't clear, and in simple words that even a Half-Wit Law Professor should be capable of understanding … I shall, from time to time, post a few pictures of Pug Boy here and, eventually, his obituary … and that time, sadly, can't be too far off; he's older than dirt and beset by chronic problems with his health … and then, after he's gone, I shan't ever post anything in this space again.

If said pictures ... as noted, all that's been here for the last four years, and Pug Boy's eventual obituary, which just might come as soon as tomorrow; he's having surgery ... again ... are of any interest whatsoever to anybody in the legal community, ya'll have problems, if only because ya'll don't have anything better to do with your time.

But here's a novel suggestion for ya'll, and one so simple that even a Half-Wit Law Professor might be capable of understanding it … and perhaps might even be capable of reading it, albeit slowly, without moving his or her lips …

Whatever it is that ya'll might be hoping to find here, ya'll could always ask; there's a Yahoo email address on this account's profile page ... for the obtuse, not the LiveJournal address; the Yahoo address, the one next to the little purple "Y!" icon ... and I even, from time to time, check that account to see if anything other than spam has been sent to it …


My Old Manny Man ...

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A Melody So Plain ...

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Oh, I know that you know
That I know that you show
Something is tearing up your mind

Tell me, momma
    Tell me, momma
Tell me, momma
What is it?

What’s wrong with you
This time?


—  B. Dylan, Tell Me, Momma, 1966



Now I wish I could write you
A melody so plain

That could hold you dear lady
From going insane

That could ease you and cool you
And cease the pain

Of your useless and pointless knowledge


—  B. Dylan, Tombstone Blues, 1965



So sing your song and sip your champagne
Go on 'n dance 'til you've had your fill

You don't have to pay the piper
Just have him put it on your bill

A girl should never gamble
A girl should never gamble

A girl should never gamble
More than she can stand to lose

More than she can stand to lose
More than she can lose


—  D. Bromberg, Diamond Lil, 1972








Birthday Boy ...

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Today, the Seventeenth Of July, is eleven years to the day since my Beloved Rex Pug came to live with me, since I took him from the tree to which he'd been tied for a month and gave him a home … and saved him, without a doubt, from a certain death.

He's been a Good Pug.

And in those eleven years, he's become an old, old man.




Here he is as he appeared on July 23, 2000, just a few days after I took him in; he was a year old then, give or take a few months …







And here he is as he appears today, eleven years on …










Time hurries on
And the leaves that are green
Turn to brown
And they wither with the wind
And they crumble in your hand


Requiescat In Pace, Lucille Pugonious ...

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Dear Little Lucille, my Beloved Little Pug Baby, the Precious Little Black Pug Of My Heart, passed into ... Wherever it is that such Dear Souls go when they leave this Vale Of Tears ... on Monday, September 20th, 2010, at 2:30 in the afternoon Eastern Time, aged ten years, four months and four days, of complications following surgery ...

She will be ever so very much more than sorely missed by all of us here ... Rex, Melda, The Bewildered Little Kat-Thing, and myself.


She Belongs To The Ages Now.

May Her Dear Little Puggy Soul
Rest Happily Forever In Peace.





From A Letter Written Years Ago,
That No One Ever Read ...
And That No One Ever Answered.


You know ... and I know that you know it ... that the years will roll by, one after the other after the other and more quickly than you think, until they add up finally to a terrible number and you know that they are gone, that the last you ever saw of them was the day you turned your back on them and ran away forever ...




The Very First Picture I Ever Took Of Dear Little Lucille

Sunday, July 9th, 2000

She was not quite eight weeks old.




Disclaimer

Regrettably, I felt it necessary to edit the above photograph, as the individual holding Dear Little Lucille therein has a documented history of filing baseless legal actions; the Court in which said actions were filed either refused, on repeated occasions, to grant said individual's requests for alleged relief, citing said individual's inability to provide the Court with grounds for doing so or, in one instance and after unlawfully granting the requested alleged relief, was compelled to vacate its order virtually in its entirety ... But only after said Court's Presiding Judge became an Object Of National Ridicule for having, at the specific request of the plaintiff, grossly and unconstitutionally abridged the Civil Rights of the defendant by ordering him to remove all materials then appearing in this space, including materials said Court's Presiding Judge had not troubled himself to read.

In the opinion of at least one Nationally Recognized Authority on Constitutional Law, said Presiding Judge's reason for refusing to vacate the aforementioned order in its entirety was both Specious and Absurd, if not Patently Ridiculous ... said Presiding Judge asserting, in a novel if not unique construction of both State Law and the United States Constitution, that State Law superseded the First Amendment to the Aforementioned.

That noted, despite that Federal Copyright Law is unmistakably clear in stating that whoever takes a photograph owns its copyright, and is equally clear in stating that any photograph may be freely used by the same without permission of those appearing therein, provided that those who so use it do not profit from doing so ... particularly when it is obvious that those appearing in any such photograph posed for it of their own free will ... I cannot, based upon said individual's aforementioned history, rule out the possibility that were said individual identifiable, said individual might file yet another baseless legal action demanding the removal of the above photograph from this page.

And, as certain of my Dear Readers may be aware, the defendant named in any legal action, baseless or otherwise, must respond to any such action, lest the plaintiff in any such action be granted his or her demands by default ... and the burden, financial and otherwise, of so responding falls upon the defendant named in any such action.

As such, and as it cost the defendant, in the above-noted instance ... that in which the Court violated his Civil Rights at the specific request of the plaintiff ... nigh onto $20,000 to remediate, at least in part, the Presiding Judge's deficient knowledge of the Fundamentals of Constitutional Law, the above photograph, as noted, has been edited so as to render its subject unidentifiable, thus ensuring that any demands said individual might make that the above photograph be removed from this space would be, prima facie, entirely lacking in merit without respect to any Constitutional or Intellectual Property Issues that might be raised.

As regrettable as it is that I found it necessary to edit the above photograph ... and horrifyingly so, particularly given the occasion ... and certainly for the above-stated reasons, I find it yet more regrettable that I feel it also necessary to state my reasons for having done so, lest it appear ... or be construed by certain individuals ... that my motives for doing so are other than as stated.

While I might wish that I didn't have reason for such concerns, I most unfortunately do.





The Very Last Pictures Ever Taken Of Dear Little Lucille

Saturday, August 14th, 2010

She was ten years, two months and twenty-nine days old.











Coda

Ashes To Ashes, Dust To Dust ...








Dehlia was a gambling girl
She gambled all around
Oh, she was a gambling girl
She would lay her money down
She's all I've got
Is gone

Dehlia's mama
No, she never did say goodbye
Oh no, she never wrote to ask how Dehlia was
And now Poor Dehlia, she's up and died
She's all I've got
Is gone

No, her mama, she don't care, good people
But oh, how her daddy mourns
It might not be so bad
If Poor Dehlia hadn't died in his arms
She's all I've got
Is gone

You can call out your rubber tired taxis
You can call out your double seated hacks
They took Poor Dehlia to the graveyard
Oh, they won't never bring her back
She's all I've got
Is gone

All I've got
Is gone


—  Trad., Arr. by D. Bromberg, Dehlia, 1972



Death don't have no mercy in this land
Death don't have no mercy in this land
He'll come to your house and he won't stay long
You'll look in the bed and someone'll be gone
No, death don't have no mercy in this land

He won't give you time to get ready in this land
He won't give you time to get ready in this land
He'll come to your house and he won't stay long
You'll look in the bed and someone'll be gone
No, he won't give you time to get ready in this land

He'll leave you standin' and cryin' in this land
He'll leave you standin' and cryin' in this land
He'll come to your house and he won't stay long
You'll look in the bed and one of the family'll be gone
Oh, Death'll leave you standin' and cryin' in this land

Death always in a hurry in this land
Death always in a hurry in this land
He'll come to your house and he won't take long
You'll look in the bed and someone you love'll be gone
No, death don't have no mercy in this land


—  Trad., Arr. by Rev. G. Davis, Death Don't Have No Mercy, 1965



There are places I'll remember
All my life, though some have changed
Some forever, not for better
Some have gone and some remain

All these places had their moments
With lovers and friends I still can recall
Some are dead and some are living
In my life I've loved them all

But of all these friends and lovers
There is no one compares with you
And these memories lose their meaning
When I think of love as something new

Though I know I'll never lose affection
For people and things that went before
I know I'll often stop and think about them
In my life I'll love you more


—  J. Lennon & P. McCartney, In My Life, 1965






Requiescat In Pace, Dear Little Lucille.

You Will Live In My Heart For All Of My Days.