Pug Meets Baby

You should have seen Puggo yesterday. Lindsey’s husband, Matt, is a KISS fan and wanted see the lit guitar, so we all agreed to meet for brunch and I brought the guitar to John’s house. Jack brought the RepRap and we showed off our advanced in technology. Lindsey and Matt have a 14 month old baby, a little girl who is cautious about the notion of walking but she crawls very well. Lindsey put the baby down on the floor and Puggo came up to see what kind of Pug-sized creature was perched on all fours on Puggo’s turf.

Puggo sniffed and licked at the baby’s face; the baby giggled but eventually pushed at Puggo’s snout, then started to crawl across the rug. Puggo was entranced! Puggo gave the “PLAY with me!!” crouch, then raced into the living room. Puggo circled the interior of the house several times, barking happily. The baby sat down,  her diapered bottom plopped firmly onto the rug, and watched the dog in curiosity. Puggo would approach the baby to sniff and lick at her face, then race off, daring the baby to chase her. The baby wasn’t as quick as the Puggo, even if she was a skilled crawler. Still, Puggo was ecstatic to have someone close to her size and form on the floor; someone who wasn’t a feline.

Puggo’s little curled tail wagged furiously whenever the baby looked her way, so much so that Puggo’s whole rump wagged. We got out Puggo’s stuffed chicken toy from the basket, the chicken with the squeaky in the head, and handed it to the baby. The baby waved it happily but didn’t want to share with Puggo. She kept it away from the dog, grinning and giggling, occasionally saying, “No!” and “Chicken!” The baby even chewed on the chicken. The baby should develop a strong immune system! 

Neither deep literature nor instruction in the Geek Way; just an observation of what I found humorous yesterday.  Some posts are like that.

Suicidal wildlife

The doe eyed the passing traffic warily as it delicately tongued the newly sprouted leaves into her mouth, delicately stripping the low-growing branch. A large dead buck laid nearby, on the side of the divided highway, semi-dried ropes of intestines sprouting from its ruptured abdomen. Connecticut Route 15 is known as both the Merritt Parkway and as the Wilbur Cross Parkway, depending on where you are. I had entered the road at I-91 but hadn’t yet reached the tunnel at New Haven, so I was still on the Wilber Cross when I saw them, the bodies spread out over a stretch of about 15 miles. These were the fourth and fifth deer that I had seen since the interchange from I-91, but the first live one, still seemingly pausing for a snack before leaping to its doom. Maybe, on this day anyway, it wouldn’t jump. Did the doe have a fawn lying in the grass, nearby? If it did, I didn’t see it. There was still one more deer carcass next to the road, a few miles before I reached the tunnel, then, much to my surprise, no more. 

Why so many suicidal deer along such a short stretch of highway, I don’t know. It was early morning and I had to get to Philadelphia by noon. I drove carefully, uncertain if other wildlife might attack my car as it sped down the road. 

 Why was I driving to Philadelphia? That's another story. For this episode, suffice to say that I reached my destination and returned, later that night, physically unscathed. No animals were injured in the process.