Pug crazy

We took the subway down to Shake Shack for lunch (elapsed time from arrival to eating: 45 minutes, and as always, worth every drooling second) then checked out the dog run at Madison Square Park. Extreme cuteness abounded, mostly in the form of a butterball blond French bulldog puppy that kept crawling all over an enormous older British bulldog. I find those French bulldogs, with their combination of goofiness and muscularity, frickin' irresistible. Someday, I'll get up the nerve to ask to pet one.

But nothing could prepare us for what waited at the end of our mile-and-a-half stroll to the dog run at Tompkins Square Park.











Pug meet-up! From what we could gather listening to the owners, this was a spontaneous occurence. Believe it or not, there are at least two or three pugs that never made it into the pictures; I think there were a total of nine. We heard one couple (who did not seem like crazy people) cop to owning FOUR pugs. And speaking of cops, as one owner bent to scratch the head of someone else's pug, she said, baby-voiced, "Oh, aren't you cute? Aren't you cute? You look like Vic Mackey! You look a lot like Vic Mackey."

John and I raised eyebrows at each other, then heard her husband call their pug away from the fence - their pug named Vic Mackey.