I'm not quite sure what shenanigans Ollie the Pug gets up to when we're at work. But the evidence points to a doggy equivalent of a Roman orgy.
By the time we leave for work in the morning, Ollie will have been walked, watered and fed. He'll seem relatively placid. He will either (1) lie down on a plaid quilt on the couch, or (2) sit obediently on the window seat and solemnly regard us as we walk down the garden path.
But sometimes, when we return, the house is in disarray. Ollie will have upended his cot, the one decorated with cute Dalmatian paw prints. His water dish will have been flung on its side, his chew toys scattered askew, the venetian blinds yanked into disarray.
Once Ollie gnawed a hole in the wrapped gift my daughter planned to mail to her boyfriend. Another time, he ripped up the box containing my finger-puppet collection. (Ollie, I mean, not my daughter's boyfriend.)
Perhaps such revels are the pug-dog equivalent of 1970s rock star antics. You know, back when bands like the Who, Lynyrd Skynyrd and the Faces battled boredom on the road by trashing their hotel rooms.
But instead of flinging TV sets out the window, Ollie the Pug merrily tears up a photo -- formerly affixed to the fridge with a banana-shaped magnet -- of the Chamberlains at a summer beach cabin, circa 2003. Or he ransacks the kitchen garbage bin.
Why do pets indulge in such bad craziness? It reminds me of a TV clip I once saw, provided by the owners of a wayward Lab. This dog was carefully trained not to prance about on living room couches and chairs. But its owners had a funny feeling their pet was, in their absence, breaking the all rules.
So they installed a video camera.
Just before Rover (I'll call him "Rover" to spare him public embarrassment) was left at home for the day, the dog would sit perfectly still in the middle of the living room. Nano-seconds after the door closed, he'd dash over to the window, tail wagging like a metronome. And then Rover would commence jumping on the couches and chairs like a maniac. He'd roll about, legs in the air, achieving some rarefied level of doggy nirvana.
The weirdest part is that Rover did not disrupt the arrangement of cushions on the couches and chairs.
When the front door opened upon the owners' return, Rover snapped out of his reverie, like a man roused from a three-day bender. He perched once again in the middle of the living room, unaware he'd been caught red-handed, thanks to the wonders of modern technology (not to mention the mildly disturbing paranoia of his owners).
I think Ollie the Pug is getting his jollies in a similar way. The only difference is that Ollie doesn't see fit to avoid making a mess. For making a mess is a crucial element in the Ollie the Pug pleasure-dome.
Still, it's not all fun and games. The downside of pug-dog life is constantly being ordered about by your owners. And when you go for walkies, you must always wear a leash, like Cool Hand Luke on day parole.
On the plus side, you get free room and board. You never have to go to work. Your manservant buys you special bacon-flavoured treats, regularly inserting them in your mouth to reward anything approaching good behaviour. He even pours warm water on your kibble so it's not too hard. And you get oodles of attention. Your manservant and his family continually rub your plump belly and scratch behind your ears.
Man, the last time someone rubbed my plump belly, Love Rollercoaster topped the hit parade and all my friends were wearing three-inch platform shoes. Oh, it's a dog's life all right.
Do you have a haiku inspired by your pug or other pet? Send it to yours truly at the e-mail address at the end before Oct. 10. The winning entrywill be published in the Adventures With Ollie blog. As well, you will receive a genuine Ollie the Pug shirt, size large.
