If my beautiful Tulip was still alive, today would have been her 20th birthday. And that would be pretty frighteningly old for a pug! As it was, she almost made it to her 17th birthday, and I thought that was quite impressive. Here are the two of us looking very young, if not a bit uncomfortably positioned. I think I am 27 here and Tulip 2. Spring chickens, both!
Tulip would not particularly have enjoyed Owen, but I like to think she is somewhat responsible for his existence, in that if she hadn’t lived such a long pug life, I would not have gotten Dorothy when I did, and thus would not have gotten to know Sean well and there’d be no son.
I’m sure that Tulip is glad her life didn’t overlap with my life as it is now though, because while she did enjoy flirting with the menfolk, she did not want to share me, be it with man or boy or cat.
Here’s me and Tulip eleven or so years later on pugoween. What a pretty princess!
Anyway, I do miss my gal terribly and if I were a boozy sort with no obligations, you could probably find me in a pub tonight, toasting my pug beauty with pints of Guinness, and getting teary while quoting Auden:
She was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song….