His name is Riley.
But I call him
Pug.

He’s not just any pug.
He’s our
Pug.

He was a puppy
when we met him.
Four precious weeks.

He was the biggest
little one
of his entire litter.

“Wow.”
We whispered.
“He’s a lotta pug.”

He claimed us
when he sat on our laps
and let us know he was the Pug.

We brought him home
when he was 12 weeks
old.

We taught
Pug
to climb the stairs.

Then he kept
jumping
and never kept still.

His snores are loud
but the sound
lulls me to sleep.

I wanted a pug who sat on my lap.
And he does.
My lap is where this pug sleeps.

His licks
cover us.
He’s saying, “I’m here. I’m Pug”.

He’s stubborn.
He’s silly.
He’s full of love.

He thinks bicycles are jerks.
He barks when anything moves.
Still- he has a sweet, sweet pug hug.

After we’ve been gone a day, an hour,
or even a moment.
He greets us at home with much love.

I hold him when I’m scared,
when I feel broken,
or when I just need a hug.

Pug’s now ten.
But he’s still
a puppy.

His face is turning
gray.
But his eyes remain the same.

He walks more slowly.
But he still
keeps pace.

No more jumping
for this
Pugga bug.

But still lotsa
pug cuddling
And always pug love.

Riley’s our pug.
Our sweet pug.
Our Pug Bug.