pug thoughts.

There's nothing sadder than having to look your obese pug in her bulging brown eyes and say, "No. I'm sorry, you can't have any more ice cream." It breaks my heart that I can't feed her hot dogs and buttered rolls and fried chicken skin. Pooky loves food as much as me, and I wish we could share that experience more.

I'm starting to freak out about leaving her with my parents when I move to Portland next week. I know Pooky would love the weather; half the time I can't walk her in Texas because it's too dang hot and she starts overheating and there is nothing worse than a panting pug in the middle of July. But moving a dog 2300 miles is no small matter. And she's used to having people around all day, none of this 9 to 5 business, because no one in my family has a real job. I'm worried she'll forget about me, and I'm worried she'll miss me. I wish I could just roll up her fatty self like a sleeping bag and stuff her in my carry-on. Having Pooky in Portland would be like having a fat, furry roll of Home.