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’Twas the Pug Before Christmas

Our pug, Aggie, is far from normal. Most pugs are a bit eccentric but ours inherited an extra dose of personality.  For example, she has quite a vocabulary. She recognizes more words than most toddlers and she can even speak a few words. (She is able to “say” the phrase “I love you,” and she is working on mastering “happy birthday.”)

She even watches TV – golf is her favorite. She tilts her head at the whispering and then sits up on the edge of her seat to watch with anticipation where the little white ball ends up. The recent “Tigergate” scandle hasn’t seemed to impact her love of the game. She does become hysterical when images of animals appear on TV (even dinosaurs in cartoon format). A brief glimpse of Michael Jackson on TV causes her to bark frantically.

But her recent communication with us was too incredible to not share it in my holiday rhyme below.

’Twas the Pug Before Christmas

‘Twas just weeks before Christmas, when all through the house
not a creature was stirring, not our pug (or even a mouse).

The stockings were hung, Charlie Brown Christmas was on the flat screen,
The house was adorned in perfection – it was quite the holiday scene.

The children were upstairs playing in their room,
Except just one who snuggled up with me as if she missed the womb.

In our moment of bliss between she and me,
I turned to her and said, “Plug in the tree.”

When all of a sudden there arose such a clatter.
As Aggie leaped off the couch as if something was the matter.

She turned to give us quite the glare,
Her giant pug eyes wide, not a blink in her stare.

Between anxious spins and puggy yaps
She used her paw to give us pesky taps.

Faster spinning and jumps so lively and quick,
We thought maybe she had seen a glance of good ol’ St. Nick.

My daughter and I looked at one another in awe.
What had we done to create such hoopla?

The answer then came from the one so young and sweet:
“Mom, instead of ‘Plug in the tree,’ she thought you said, ’Pug gets a treat.’”


Ann Springer is a published writer living in Southern California. She’s the mother of three daughters and her pug, Aggie. (Hence the name of her blog – – where she posts tips to save time, money, and sanity to find more joy in the journey of motherhood.) Someday Ann’s tombstone will read, “Killer of Plants,” with a quote beneath it reading, ‘If you don’t bark or cry at my house, you don’t eat.’”

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