The Power of the Puggle

Place: The dogpark. Time: 6:15 PM, sunset. Temperature: Semi-Chilly. Windchill factor: 13. Hamlet, half-beagle, half-pug, all attitude. As he stared up, yet somehow down, at the massive bully of a Rottweiler, a spark of confusion flickered ever so slightly across the Rottweiler’s big brown piercing eyes. The Rottweiler redoubled his efforts, forcing all the intensity he could muster into that hellish glare. The others had run. All of them. Even the lab the size of a horse. What was wrong? What was happening? The puggle didn’t budge. No it wasn’t just that, the puggle was somehow gaining on him. Or perhaps growing larger and larger, not physically but psychologically. Where is the fear in this little dog? From what infinite well of confidence does this portly little beast derive its courage? The Rottweiler couldn’t take it any longer. He shuddered, consumed by terror. This dog park had a new king. There was nothing left to do but flee and beg for mercy. Even before the Rottweiler could turn, the puggle was on top of him, nipping viciously at his heels as the two sped halfway across the dog park. The Rottweiler would bully other dogs on other days but not another 10 seconds would ever go by when he didn’t give the gate a passing glance. For he would always dread the return of a portly puggle named Hamlet.