Mr. Pug & Mr. Other Pug

Mr. Pug thought himself as patient but Mr. Other Pug was taking far too long getting into his wetsuit.

“I’m just not sure about this,” said Mr. Other Pug, warily.

“You’re going to be fine,” said Mr. Pug. “Everybody’s doing it.”

“Who’s everybody?” asked Mr. Other Pug.

Mr. Pug didn’t respond.

“Why are we doing this again?” asked Mr. Other Pug.

“Starfish, remember? We need starfish,” answered Mr. Pug, pulling on his mask and adjusting his snorkel in his puggly little mouth. ”Mmphy, mnphfrthmph  mu poo mu pumm inph,” he added.

“What did you say?” asked Mr. Other Pug, more nervous now that he was receiving instructions he didn’t clearly understand.

Mr. Pug pulled his mask and snorkel off so he could be clearly understood. “I said ‘Don’t forget to pull your tongue into your mouth when you put your snorkel on.’”

They both readjusted each others masks, put their snorkels on and made sure their flippers were fastened securely. Mr. Pug gave Mr. Other Pug a thumbs up sign. Mr. Other Pug shot backa half-hearted sign that meant ‘OK.’ They leaned back off the boat and splashed into the crisp, clean blue waters of the Caribbean, just off the coast of Virgin Gorda. It was cold but it was heavenly. Even for a pug.

Once they bobbed to the surface they rolled over on their fat little pug bellies and started to doggy-paddle into the lagoon for a bit. They did lazy semi circles and figure eight’s with their faces in the water until Mr. Pug excirtedly pointed straight down.

There it was – the biggest, most beautiful, golden-colored starfish they had ever seen, right there below them on the ocean floor.

Mr. Pug pulled off his snorkel.

“Go get it,” said Mr. Pug.

Mr. Other Pug pulled off his snorkel.

“I don’t want to go get it,” said Mr. Other Pug. “You go get it.”

“I don’t want to go get it,” said Mr. Pug. ” You get it. Besides, it’s for your aquarium.”

“I don’t have an aquarium,” said Mr. Other Pug. ”Anyway, what’s an aquarium?”

“I’m not so sure. It’s got the word ‘aqua‘ in it. That’s french for water,” said Mr. Pug.

“How do you know French?” quizzed Mr. Other Pug.

“That poodle on Mercer Street taught me,” said Mr. Pug.

“What poodle on Mercer Street? You never told me about a poodle on Mercer Street,” said Mr. Other Pug.

“Why do I need to tell you about the poodle on Mercer Street?” fired back Mr. Pug.

“Just wondering why you would keep it a secret about a poodle on Mercer Street. Since when do you know a poodle on Mercer Street?” asked Mr. Other Pug.

This went on and on and on until the starfish very slowly moved away and Mr. Pug and Mr. Other Pug slowly drifted to land. They had forgotten all about the quest for a starfish, and eventually the forgot about the poodle on Mercer Street, and when the waves gently pushed them to shore they took off their masks and wet suits, tossed aside their snorkels and fins and chased each other up and down the beach, occassionally stopping to pee on somebody’s towel.

“This is the best vacation ever,” said Mr. Pug.

“Oui, Oui,” Mr. Other Pug laughed, as he tore up along the breaking surf. ”Oui, Oui!“