Mr. Pug & Mr. Other Pug

Mr. Other Pug shook Mr. Pug to wake him up.

“C’mon you can’t sleep all day,” said Mr. Other Pug. “It’s mid-autumn.”

“So what?” said Mr. Pug, incredulously.

“So ‘Chores’,” said Mr. Other Pug, pointing to a note on the refrigerator, that read: “Clean yard.”

“What the hell does that mean?” asked Mr. Pug. “I’m not picking up any, you know, doods.”

“No, no,” said Mr. Other Pug. “It means we need to rake the front yard. It’s autumn. Time get out in the brisk air and make big piles of leaves and race thru them like dolphins swimming in a sea of red, yellow and brown.”

“You’re weird,” said Mr. Pug, following Mr. Other Pug thru the doggie door and into the porch.

“It’ll be fun,” said Mr. Other Pug as he handed Mr. Pug a rake. “And if you sing, it’ll go faster.”

“Please don’t,” said Mr. Pug.

“Mamma. Just killed a man,” started Mr. Other Pug as he began raking.

“No, not that again,” said Mr. Pug.

Mr. Other Pug stopped, and then started to rake big long strokes. “If you leave me now, you’ll take away the very heart of me,” he sang.

“Puh-leese,” cried Mr. Pug. “What about Foreigner? It’ll get you in the mood for tomorrow night.”

Mr. Other Pug couldn’t wait to see Foreigner in concert. He’d was up in the attic all last night rummaging thru boxes of old rock band t-shirts and spent hours pressing his faded Foreigner shirt so it would be just right.

“Hot blooded, check it and see. I got a fever of a hundred and three,” sang Mr. Other Pug as he raked. “Or how about “Feels like the first time. Feels like the very first time.”

“You know it won’t be the same,” chided Mr. Pug, incredulously.

“I know. I’m a little fuller round the middle so the shirt’ll be a little tight,” said Mr. Other Pug. He strummed his rake like it like an electric guitar. “That double vision always seems to get the best of me,” he sang.

“I mean the band. The band won’t be the same,” said Mr. Pug.

“Of course they will. It’s Foreigner. Foreigner doesn’t change,” said Mr. Other Pug as he finished raking most of the leaves in neat little piles.

“They got a new lead singer,” said Mr. Pug. “He’s half the age of the old one.”

Mr. Other Pug tilted his head the way puzzled puggers do. “Lou?” he asked.

“Lou’s out,” said Mr. Pug.

Mr. Other Pug stopped raking. “But why?”

Mr. Pug explained: “It’s a business. Younger singer works harder for a smaller paycheck. The guitarist doesn’t care cause he still banks 90% of the draw since he wrote all the songs. It’s all dollars and cents in the music industry.”

“But I loved those guys. I used to play harmonica along with their greatest hits album,” said Mr. Other Pug.

“You played harmonica,” said Mr. Pug, suspiciously.

“Sure did,” said Mr. Other Pug, nodding his head quickly.

“With your mouth,” said Mr. Pug.

Mr. Other Pug kept nodding. “Uh-huh.”

“To Foreigner,” said Mr. Pug, staring his friend down.

“Yepper,” said Mr. Other Pug, diverting his eyes.

“Prove it,” said Mr. Pug.

Mr. Other Pug stopped nodding.

“It’s just that I’m…I’m not that good anymore,” said Mr. Other Pug. “You see, I have trouble getting my fingers to cover the small holes.”

Mr. Pug paused. “Um, you know you don’t have fingers right?” he said, “You’re a pug.”

A grin slowly appeared over Mr. Other Pug’s face. Then he swiftly picked up a big armful of leaves and threw them in Mr. Pug’s face. Mr. Pug dove at Mr. Other Pug, missed and gave chase. He ran after Mr. Other Pug all around the front yard, crashing thru pile after pile of neat islands of spent leaves. Finally, he tackled Mr. Other Pug and the two careened into the last remaining pile. The entire yard was a mess all over again.

Mr. Pug and Mr. Other Pug sat in the middle of a sea of leaves and laughed an exhausted laugh. They were breathing heavy and were trying not to wheeze. Then Mr. Pug did something he never, ever thought he’d do.

He started raking again. And as he did he quietly sang.

“So urgent, urgent, urgent, urgent,” sang Mr. Pug.

“Emergency!” Mr. Other Pug sang out joyously before jumping Mr. Pug and covering him with red and yellow leaves on a beautifully crisp mid-autumn day.