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Inroducing: Pug Doe

If you are expecting some spark or new tip on nightclub design or how the tony Mondrian Hotel was received or what is being creating for the all new and improved Betsy Hotel make over in South Beach, you are about to be sadly mistaken. Instead of tid bits and nuggets on international night club design, you get a dog tale.

For those of you who care I am guilty of absentee blogging; A Tom Peters no no. With that said, I am back on track and at full speed. Some months ago, my friend and furniture designer Tim Collins sent me a random text message with a call back tag……ASAP. I called him back and was stunned to hear what he had to say. He told me that his assistant had witnessed a man stop at a red light, catch his eye, open his door and dump a dog on the street. The assistant whose name is Josh expressed that had witnessed the devil in disguise. He not only dumped a dog, like a piece of south Florida Taco Bell trash, he dumped “the” dog. Not just any dog, though indeed any dog counts in a hillbilly death nell. He dumped a pug.

As my blog is aptly named Mister P’s blog herewith photo attached, I was horrified at the call and the reality of human nature at its worst.

The Pug arrived at my home Sunday eve. After a short get together with Mister P, who graciously welcomed him to his home, they quickly snoozed and canoodled the first night they shared. So far, so good.

Skip to next morning: Sunrise camera, Miami. Splash, splash-pounding water as “the new guy” walked into the pool. Close to drowning I scooped him up dried him off and took him to the vet.

Turns out, the new guy can’t see very well. The vets, thou gracious in realizing the humanizing and somewhat pathetic story wouldn’t check him in without a name. The lovely Latina, and I do mean Latina at the front desk, refused to let me pass without a name for the new Buddha boy. I was truly stunned at her ignorance. ”How would I know his name? I asked.” As she had just heard the story with the rest of them was her hearing at fault? When she stated that “he has to have a name and he can’t come in for treatment without one,” my response was simply: ”I’m sure he has a name but he just didn’t share it with me.” At that point, she turned cold as ice and dumb as a stone. Good for ice cream, not so good for a vet. After a minute in a Miami stand off, I suggested a compromise. I suggested that had the little one been God’s creature of a human kind who was admitted to an ER as a male with no name, no ID and no family they would have tagged him John Doe by law I believe. At this, she stared blankly. The duh duh no a me a speaka engles fired me up with all my creative juices flowing. My reply to her was simple………Lets call him PUG DOE. Her response in perfect English by the way was simple. How do you spell it?

Hence, my new guy, my new friend and companion is now known simply as PUG DOE. He is a good boy, an old soul. After an enormous emotional and financial commitment from me, he can see albeit somewhat compromised and can at least recognize good from evil. A lesson we can all learn, regardless of name.

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