Mr. Pug & Mr. Other Pug Join A 12 Step Program
“Watch and learn,” said Mr. Pug.
Mr. Pug and Mr. Other Pug sat at the top of the stairs.
“Watching. Waiting,” said Mr. Other Pug. “Yawning.”
He stared at Mr. Pug whose mouth was held wide open by the fuzzy, yellow tennis ball lodged between his puggy jaws. All of a sudden Mr. Pug dropped the ball. It bounced down the steps, 12 in all, one by one, careening off the wall and ricocheting off the handrail. Meanwhile, Mr. Pug raced down the stairs, tongue hanging out, getting to the final step just in time to spin around and catch the yellow orb on it’s very last bounce.
“Time?” shouted Mr. Pug up to Mr. Other Pug.
Mr. Other Pug held out his stop watch.
“18 seconds,” he shouted back.
“Dammit!” swore Mr. Pug as he scampered back up the staircase.
“Again?” asked Mr. Other Pug.
“Again,” said Mr. Pug as he popped the saliva covered tennis ball back into his mouth.
“1-2-3-GO,” commanded Mr. Other Pug.
Mr. Pug opened his mouth allowing the ball to slip out again. It made it’s way down all 12 steps, hitting every one along the way, bouncing off handrails and balusters and piles of shoes before safely landing snug back in Mr. Pug’s mouth at the very bottom landing. He eagerly looked back up the stairs at his timekeeper.
“19 seconds this time,” shouted Mr. Other Pug. “I’m afraid you’re losing ground.”
“Dammit,” said Mr. Pug, who repeated this process over and over for much of the morning, each time getting a wee bit slower.
“I don’t understand,” panted Mr. Pug, tongue hanging out further than ever.
“Getting old, I guess,” chided Mr. Other Pug. “Those dog years creep up on you.”
“Oh yeah?” said Mr. Pug, still panting. “Let’s see you do any better.”
Up for the challenge Mr. Other Pug popped the slimy yellow ball into his mouth.
“Mumph, twoo, fwree,” he mumbled, “Go.”
Mr Pug hit the stop watch button at the exact moment Mr. Other Pug dropped the ball on the top step. He watched his friend race down the staircase, legs out in all directions, nails scratching against the treads, scrambling to make it to the bottom without tumbling head over heels over heaps of dirty laundry and potted plants. When he reached the landing Mr. Other Pug jumped up in the air and whipped his head around to snap up the up fuzzy prize just before it hit the far wall.
“Time?” demanded Mr. Other Pug.
“You beat me!” said Mr. Pug, staring blankly at the watch in his hand. ”How do you do it?”
Mr. Other Pug climbed back up the staircase, ready to go again.
“It’s called being ball-obsessed,” confided Mr. Other Pug as he dropped the ball again and started careening down the stairs. Seconds later he reached the landing below, turned around, and spat the ball out of his mouth.
“I’m not proud of it, but my therapist say’s that admitting you have a problem is the first step towards recovery,” he added.