Mr. Pug & Mr. Other Pug

 

Mr. Other Pug farted in his sleep. It woke him up.

Nothing new. Mr. Other Pug was a pug after all and pugs fart a lot. He opened an eye to see if anyone noticed and saw only Mr. Pug in the room, snoring away at a safe distance.

He took a couple of satisfying sniffs and closed his eyes again.

Then he felt it. First there was a tingling, and then a rumbling, in Mr. Other Pug’s fat, little belly.

He thought he was dreaming but then he realized, much to his dismay, that he was not. It was loud enough to hear.

“Uh oh,” he said to himself.

“Go back to sleep,” said Mr. Pug, clearly irritated.

“I can’t,” said Mr. Other Pug. “I have to go.”

“You have to go where?” asked Mr. Pug, still clearly irritated.

“I have to go – you know,” said Mr. Other Pug, “out.”

And with that Mr. Other Pug clenched his puggy butt and raced out of the bedroom and down the staircase and through the living room and down the second staircase and down the really, really long hallway with the crazy oriental rug that he gets so mad at all the time and into the kitchen past the muddy shoes he liked to fight with, thru the doggie door into the backyard, right past Tab Hunter, that annoying tomcat who neither he nor Mr. Pug could say a nice thing about, and into his favorite poop spot in the back corner. The one with the brown grass and air of forgiveness.

Mr. Pug followed Mr. Other Pug down the stairs and stopped in the kitchen.

“Ahhhh,” Mr. Other Pug said to himself, although he could clearly be heard by the tabby cat nearby and by Mr. Pug, inside.

Mr. Other Pug rubbed his butt on a patch of lawn and headed back inside. He headed back to the house and as he passed the cat, she snarled. Mr. Other Pug smiled nervously.

He entered into the kitchen, more slowly than when he left, looking exhausted but feeling relieved.

Mr. Pug met him by the stove, standing on a stool wearing an apron. He had a pot of chicken and rice boiling on the front burner.

“This’ll clog you up,” Mr. Pug said, grinning.

“Thanks friend,” said Mr. Other Pug. “You always know exactly what to do. I’m so sorry I woke you… I’m so very sorry I woke you.”

“What’s done is done. Forget about it,” said Mr Pug. And then he himself farted.

“Uh oh,” said Mr. Pug, cautiously.

“Uh oh, what?” asked Mr. Other Pug.

“Uh oh, uh oh,” said Mr. Pug as he jumped off the stool, ripped off the apron and bolted thru the doggie door, calling back, “Keep stirring!”

“But I don’t know how to tie this apron,” responded Mr. Other Pug as he grabbed a slotted spoon and climbed up to the top of the stool so he could check on the rice. ”And I’m afraid of heights!”

There was no response from Mr. Pug. Just some faint grunting from out in the dark.

“Watch out for the cat,” shouted Mr. Other Pug. “And careful where you step!”