Mr. Pug & Mr. Other Pug Come Clean
Mr. Pug smelled something. He sniffed the air. He sniffed the garbage can. He sniffed the muddy boots by the front door. Then he looked at Mr. Other Pug.
Mr. Other Pug caught his eye. “What?” he asked cautiously.
Mr. Pug walked up to Mr. Other Pug and took a big whiff.
“Ugh!” he said. “What have you gotten into?”
Mr. Other Pug lifted his arm and sniffed.
“I don’t smell anything out of the ordinary. What’s the problem?” asked Mr. Other Pug.
“You smell like you’ve been rolling around in street poop,” said Mr. Pug.
Mr. Other Pug blushed and gazed down at his feet.
“You have been rolling around in street poop again, haven’t you?” Mr. Pug hissed. “What’s wrong with you, man?”
“I just couldn’t control myself,” said Mr. Other Pug. “It’s a visceral thing, passed on by pug ancestors. They’d instinctually roll around in waste and dead animal parts as a kind of camouflage. Since dogs identify each other thru smell, a pug who rolls in waste from a member of another species could fool members of that species into accepting it as one of their own, enabling it to get closer to a potential meal than it could otherwise, thereby improving its chances for survival.”
“Seriously?” said Mr. Pug, staring at Mr. Other Pug. “No more ‘Animal Planet’ for you.”
“It was a good episode!” said Mr. Other Pug.
“I can see that. You memorized the entire thing. Now get upstairs,” ordered Mr. Pug. “You’re taking a bath.”
“No, no! Please,” cried Mr. Other Pug. “Please don’t make me take a bath.”
Mr. Pug marched Mr. Other Pug upstairs, turned on the water and poured a box of bath salts into the tub. In a few minutes the mirrors were steamy and there was a mountain of bubbles and a fog in the air.
“Get in,” said Mr. Pug.
“What if I refuse?” asked Mr. Other Pug.
“No Fritos during the ‘Real Housewives’ marathon tonight,” said Mr. Pug, knowing that Mr. Other Pug couldn’t pass up either the crunchy goodness of Fritos or the crunchy goodness of the ‘Real Housewives’ marathon.
“Ok. Ok,” said Mr. Other Pug. “Meanie.” Gingerly he dipped the big toe on his back paw in the steamy water.
“Oooow,” cried Mr. Other Pug, pulling his foot out of the tub. “It’s too hot.”
Mr. Pug tested the water himself. It was fine.
“Get in,” he said.
Mr. Other Pug eased his butt into the suds and sunk deep into the warm bubbles.
“Hey, it’s not so bad in here once you get used to it, said Mr. Other Pug. “Pass me the soap, will ya?”
And as Mr. Pug handed over a bar of Ivory Soap, Mr. Other Pug grabbed his arm and pulled him into the sudsy mounds.
If Mr. Pug was angry, he didn’t show it. The two jostled around, giggling and splashing in the tub until Mr. Pug arose from the suds with a skycraper of bubbles piled high on his head.
“I really do hate baths,” said Mr. Other Pug as he splashed Mr. Pug.
“Cleanliness is next to pugliness,” said Mr. Pug as he splashed Mr. Other Pug back.