Grandparents and Pugs

My parents came to visit last weekend.  My mom called from the car, saying that they were in the neighborhood, but had to look for parking.  I said great, to just come by when they found parking.  Then she sheepishly admitted that they were double-parked outside our building, wanted to see the pugs NOW, and that I should bring them out.  In our family, pugs take precedence over everything, I guess.

When Bunni recognized that it was my mom walking down the street towards her, all 15 pounds of her bucked like a little bronco in a frenzied attempt to reach my mother, except that this bronco was on a leash, which I was holding. Bunni then gave out a string of excited barks when she saw my dad.

Why all the excitement?  We nickname my parents "the big pieces of food" because that's how our pugs must see them.  My parents truly believe it is their God-given duty to offer a bite of whatever it is they are eating to the pugs.  Everything.  We made the mistake of leaving Bunni with my parents one time for a few weeks while we were on vacation, and when she came back, I almost didn't recognize her because of the weight gain.

After that visit, my dad was about to give her a piece of salami and I went apeshit, asking him what he was doing.  You know what he says to me? In a somewhat exasperated tone of voice: "She likes salami." Oh really? And just how exactly does she know that she likes salami? I was soon to learn that Bunni had discovered at my parents' house that she apparently likes a great many things, such as cheese, cabbage, blueberries, drippings from roasted meat, a little wine--you name it she ate it.

Whenever my parents make the 5-hour drive to NYC, they pack a cooler like they're going on a weekend camping trip to the edge of civilization.  When I brought it into the apartment, the pugs were immediately interested.

Also when my parents come to visit, we have a 6-pack of Beard Papa cream puffs waiting because they're my mom's favorite (she actually got mad one time when we forgot to haul those things down on the train to her place). Every time she picks up a cream puff, she makes a public avowal of not giving any to the pugs.  And then she inevitably caves, and stealthily gives the pugs a taste, thinking that I'm not seeing the whole thing.

So our pugs have learned to wait, with barely containable hope.

Exhibit A that the pugs look at my parents as big pieces of food.

Still waiting. Actually I think this is after they already had some.

Grandpa was not to be outdone.  Exhibit B.

Look at my dad waving his hands in the next picture, trying to tell them that he doesn't have anymore. Like they care. They know they just have to wait him out.

Do you see the tongue at the left, lapping up that last bit of rich, creamy goodness? These spoiled pugs, I tell you.

The next day, Rikki practically jumped into a car where an Asian dude was eating an orange with the car door open.  Bunni has walked up to middle-aged Asian women in public (airport, park, etc.) and plopped her ass down, looking up at the stranger with an expression of hope.

Beggars and decidedly not smart are what they are.