Meet The Mutts: Hugo
And so we’ve come to the end. Just when you thought I’d never run out of dogs to profile, I am… I did… or something. I mean, this is the last dog! The last dog officially belonging to me. The last dog I signed on the dotted line for. Likely the dog most often featured on Dogs or Dollars, the baby of the family, The Pug: Hugo.
First with the nicknames, because he’s got some doozies. Hugh, Hu (pronounced Who?), Hugo-potamus, Potamus, Potamus Hu, Pots, Hu Pots, Go-Go, Pug, Pug-Dog, and Goodfernuthin’.
Hugo is a good 7 years younger than our next youngest dog (Rocco). Before Hugh, it’d been a while since we’d brought anyone except an old dog into the family. I was working at the Pet Store, circumstances were diminished (they were about to be diminished further, little did we know). In short, we had no business getting another dog.
It was saying good-bye to one our old dogs that precipitated pug acquisition. Our latest Old Dog Haven dog Chuck, was leaving us. Mobility concerns and drastically receding cognitive abilities, it was time to let him go. The appointment was scheduled. It was a hard week. I was hiding in the back at work, keeping my sniveling to a myself, only to be urgently paged to the front. Why was I paged? Because a customer walked in with an armload of puppies. Pug puppies. Rescue Pug Puppies she was fostering. I was handed one such puppy.
I promptly burst into tears. That puppy was Hugo.
Our rather kismet introduction aside, his home coming was not straight forward. I’ve a special affinity for Pugs. I grew up with a Pug. My very own dog. Most things Dog, I first learned from Louie. He was the first dog I said good-bye to. The Dog that enabled me to even think of caring for other senior dogs, and being with them during their passing. All that aside, Hugo already had a home waiting for him. Confronted with rescue pug puppy cuteness, I managed to keep my head long enough to know I did not need another dog.
We sent our Chuck off the best way we knew how. And moved on, as must be done. End of story.
Except it wasn’t. Adoptive homes fell through. I said “No, Thank You” to Hugo’s Foster Mom twice. Apparently not forcefully enough. I completely failed on the third round when I was told to come pick my puppy. Was there ever really any choice?
Hugo is ridiculous. He grew up with a pack that indulged him entirely too much, an obedience trainer (me) who was grossly involved in her two job nightmare during his formative period, and a very indulgent Doggie Daddy. Hugo is ridiculous and he is spoiled.
We say he is on The Husband’s team. Really, he is on team Jaime.
They are inseparable. They enjoy each other’s company like no two other dogs we have. It’s an unanticipated love affair. Pug loves Dalmatian. Dalmatian loves Pug.
Outside of his primary relationship Hugo is the fittest pug you are likely to meet. I’m not a fan of fat dogs, and Pugs are prone to fat. Hugo is no exception with his enthusiasm for all things food. We harness that enthusiasm into pretty much the only power we have over The Pug, and keep him lean. This does not prevent him from leaping, spinning, and snerfling for joy every time the food bowls make an appearance. All that food love, and he can still run a couple miles with me (under protest) and manage to be one of our fastest squirrel chasers. Pugs can be athletic.
I don’t buy dogs. I’d all but written off the possibility of another Pug in my life. Especially a puppy. Hugo fell into my lap. No, we didn’t need another dog. We had no business getting another dog. Yet, somehow Hugo completes our weird little family. He is our dunce and our jester. He keeps everyone laughing and he gets in trouble a lot. Trouble he doesn’t give two pug poops about most times. We all tolerate him and his antics. We all love him fiercely. Hugo is the cherry on our sundae. But, don’t say Ice Cream too loudly. You’ll never get rid of him.