Reggie the Wonder Pug
You see, a few years ago our older son came home one day with a little surprise. He had gone to the pet store and bought what I considered then to be the ugliest dog I had ever seen. If you've never seen a pug puppy, then you have no idea what I'm talking about. There is simply nothing about them that you would find even remotely attractive. Bulging eyes, no neck, squatty body, and a smashed in face.
I certainly wasn't in any mood to welcome another dog into the house either. We already had Bo, who was well over 10 years old at the time. Why in the world would we want another poop machine in the house.
Well, it seems that my vote wasn't counted in this election. Valerie took one look at the rat and proclaimed it to be the cutiest thing she had ever seen. (Yeah, it made me wonder about her thoughts on me too). She immediately took the little thing in her arms and rocked it for the rest of the afternoon. Tim immediately declared that the pup would be formally named Reggie Montoya Pryor, but we would just call him Reggie.
What did I do? Being the internet geek I am, I immediately jumped on the computer to see what sort of trouble we were now in. And good lord, the danger warnings were everywhere.
Pugs:
- shed their hair only once a year, but the cycle lasts for 365 days, then starts over.
- fart constantly, and to say they stink is a slap in the face to limburger cheese.
- snore louder than a jet engine.
- pee on everything that is above ground level.
- snort and sneeze constantly, usually when standing on your chest, with their face directly in front of yours. It is like they are alergic to looking at you.
Of course, I figured it would only be days before the household came to its senses and shipped this thing back to the puppy farm it came from. Boy was I wrong.
In the next couple of years, we provided a home for "Tim's Dog", and took care of it. I learned rather quickly that Reggie had a hierarchy of loyality in the house....and I was at the bottom. If I was alone with him, then he was the sweetest thing in the world to me. He wanted to cuddle with me in the chair, and would follow me everywhere I went. At dinner time, he would quickly gobble up any food I presented to him.
That, of course, was when I was the only one home. As soon as anyone of the other three entered the door, he immediately made it clear to me that I no longer existed in his universe. He would even go so far as to go hungry rather than eat anything I put in his bowl. The newly arrived occupant could feed him and pet him, but I was deemed persona non grata.
The hierarchy went me, to Daryl, to Valerie, and of course culminated with the king of Reggie's world....Tim. When Tim was home, everyone else in Reggie's universe simply ceased to exist. He would eat, sleep and everything else with Tim. When Tim took a shower, Reggie waited on the rug outside the shower, staring directly in to it. When Tim went to the bathroom, Reggie would cry at the bathroom door if Tim went in without him. And when Tim went to bed, Reggie would not leave the bed for any reason.
It got so crazy that if Tim slept like a normal teenager, like say to 1PM, then Reggie would stay in that bed until 1PM. He wouldn't leave it to eat, go to the bathroom himself, or for any other reason. Tim was in the bed, so therefore Reggie Montoya was a permanent resident of bedland.
Then, after we moved to Colorado, Tim went off to college and later joined the Navy. They tried bringing Reggie into the frat house, but that was no life for him. Pugs don't like loud noise or big crowds at all. Many nights, when they were all in the house partying, Reggie would be found sitting directly at Tim's feet. He wanted to be near Tim, but he certainly wasn't happy. And don't even think about Hawaii and the Navy. Tim lives in an apartment, and room to run and play simply doesn't exist out there for a dog. Meanwhile we had five acres back in Colorado for him to play in, and no traffic at all to endanger him. So it was decided that Reggie would stay with us.
This, of course, meant that I now had a dog. Oh joy.
The only problem is, as with anything you spend a lot of time with, the little guy has a way of working his way into your heart. I simply can't imagine him not being around. How did this happen?
I think the biggest turning point happened earlier this year when Reggie stopped eating. Just stopped. Not one bite. He had done it before for a day or so, but this time he stopped for a week. He was rapidly losing weight, and you could tell that it was more than just stubborness. When I realized he wasn't going to get over it, I took him to the vet for an examination. They looked him over, pumped some barium down his throat, and took a few x-rays which showed nothing. They then gave me some medication for him, along with a bill for $250. That was a Friday.
On Monday, nothing had changed, so I took him back to the vet. They were still clueless, but they decided that another series of x-rays (and probably another $250) was the answer to the problem. This x-ray showed something really interesting. It showed barium.....still in his system. The vet said that it surely should have passed through over 72 hours. What this mean, he explained, was that nothing was passing through Reggie's system, and he either had a twisted bowel, or something inside his digestive system that was blocking things.
Now, I immediately got concerned. But I got concerned because I knew what that meant. Since they had no idea what the problem was, they were going to have to cut him open and take a look inside. Since I was fairly certain that canine stomach surgery wasn't included on my medical plan, I was pretty sure that the cost was going to be signicant. Vets have to eat too. And I was dead on with that assessment. $2000. For a dog. A dog that I could replace for $25 from the Humane Society.
So I discussed it with the wife, and came to the conclusion that I was going to pay for this surgery. In other words, Reggie had gone from a glorified pain in my ass to a valued member of the family. He was at least valued at $2000.
So the surgery took place, and sure enough, he had swallowed two pieces of a toy he had chewed up, and they were stuck in his stomach and colon. Nothing was getting through because nothing could get through. He had taken the phrase "put a cork in it" to heart, I guess.
Now, since the surgery, something interesting has taken place. It seems I have gone from the bottom of the pecking order with him to the top. Suddenly it seems like he is "MY DOG".
On most nights, Valerie goes to bed well before I do. She gets up earlier, and quite honestly, she just needs more sleep than me. I'm good with 5 hours a night, and she needs 8 or she just ain't happy. And when she goes up to bed, Reggie goes with her, because he loves the bed. But later on, when I go up to bed, it is clear that he has been waiting for me. He is sleeping on my side, and when I climb in to bed, he waits til I get comfortable on my right side and then slides into the crook of my legs and rests his head on my knee. Only then do the Reggie snores begin.
Then when I wake up in the morning, he is still right there in my legs. Valerie gets up a little earlier than me, so she lets him out and feeds him. But once that is finished, he hustles right back up to the bed and takes his spot up against me. Oh sure, a vet will tell you that pugs have short hair, and get cold, and that this is the reason the cuddle against you. I call these vets "people who don't own pugs". He is cuddling. There is no other reasonable explanation.
If we don't go to bed around 9 PM, he is still ready to cuddle. In fact, as I type this, he is saddled up right next to me with his head in my lap. Since it is 9:30 PM, he can't figure out why we aren't in bed. He knows what time it is, whether we do or not. If I said "Wanna go to bed" right now, he would fly off the couch and be waiting in the middle of the bed before I could get to the staircase. And to be perfectly honest, I now look forward to the pug cuddle time.
We now happily put up with the snoring, the farts, and the hair all over the place. It doesn't take that long to clean things up. Sure, our bed cover looks like it is made out of pug hair, but is that such a problem? It really isn't hurting anything, is it?
So as I get ready to go to bed tonight, I can't help but think about what Daryl said last week. "Just took a nap with a pug. Name something better". Sorry dude, I can't.
UPDATE: November 4, 2017
Christa was at her second job, Carter was in his room playing, and I was getting him dinner ready. Reggie whined a little, so I let him outside. Just another normal Monday night.
Then a few minutes later, I looked out back because Reggie hadn't barked to come back in, and I saw him laying on the back porch, with his head on his paws. His normal position. I opened the door, and called him in. He struggled up the stairs, as he always did, because at 14 the body just doesn't work as well as it used to. So he struggled, but he made it up. He walked into the kitchen, and it looked like his back hips just gave out. His legs slipped out behind him, and he fell. But he jumped right back up again.
Then he fell over on his left side. I'm not a vet, but it was pretty obvious that the old man had had a heart attack. He was breathing, but you could tell he was forcing the breaths. I sat down with him, took his head in my lap, and called Christa. I needed her at home. I didn't call a vet, because it was pretty obvious what was happening. She rushed home, we brought Carter in, and I called Tim. I just meant to tell him what was going on, and discuss the options. Little did I know that I would talk Tim through Reggie's last breath. It was even harder knowing that Tim and Alyssa had recently lost their dog, after earlier in the year losing their cat.
Christa went and got a blanket, and Carter came in and we told him what was going on. So Reggie was surrounded by his family, and even had Tim on the phone. We should all be so lucky as to pass surrounded by those that love us.
So that final breath came, and we all said our goodbyes. Every morning since I've gone into the kitchen and been surprised that Reggie wasn't in there waiting. Every morning since I've heard a dog bark outside as I fix Carter breakfast. Every evening since I've heard a dog bark in the kitchen after I go to bed. I don't know when they'll stop, but I know they will some day.
To Reggie, just know you were not just a dog. In fact, I wouldn't let Christa call you a "dog". You were a family member. You are missed every day, and everyone from Christa, Carter, me and anyone else that knew you still talks about you. You can never be replaced.
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