It’s a good thing my mom is a pretty good copywriter (or so they tell me). As a potter, she’s not in the running. Here’s the pot she made before she took it off the wheel.

“See, Gracie, I’m getting better,” she said proudly. “It’s almost a cylinder, isn’t it?”

Well, I’m getting better at playing with my Santa toy. Do you hear me bragging?

At least it looks like I’m finally getting a new leash. Mom asked Aunt Sara what kind of leash to buy. Aunt Sara volunteers at the Animal Shelter. She will choose one for mom to benefit the Shelter and save my mom a trip. That’s a GOOD gift. But I bet my mom will end up making me a new food dish, at the rate she’s going.

My mom took me to the pottery studio again. She enjoys my company and (let’s not kid ourselves) says she doesn’t feel as guilty when I come along. “I hate leaving you alone in your crate,” she says.

Watching my mom make cylinders is SO boring. She has so little talent and so much motivation. I guess it’s the human equivalent of a dog with a bone..or a new toy.

Fortunately, my mom has begun to realize that I need to be entertained. Today she brought along the Santa toy that we got from my wonderful Aunt Sara. Now there’s someone who knows how to choose a dog gift! Maybe she’ll suggest a new leash to my mom next time. Is that a hint?

I’m having fun. It’s about as meaningful as my mom’s pottery activity, takes up a lot less space and doesn’t lead to a lot of misshapen objects that get foisted on her friends.

My Aunt Sara is truly gifted when it comes to choosing toys for me. Here I am trying to play with my new toy, when we get interrupted. On this video you’ll hear an insistent yowl followed by the entry of our ditzy housemate, Creampuff.

Luckily my mom’s camera ran out of battery life. This was getting a little soppy.

My mom always gets frazzled about gifts. She agonizes over what to give someone. She debated with herself about a gift certficate for my favorite dog-loving neighbor who helped us out a few times this year: Amazon or Metropolitan Market? Finally she realized her neighbor has received packages from Amazon. Like, duh! It was the right decision.

Some gifts, she says, come easily. She always gives her hair stylist a gift certificate to Macrina Bakery, which is practically next door to the shop. This year she gave a few books to people because, she said, the books seemed to fit the recipients so perfectly.

But, she adds, “If I make a mistake, it’s no big deal. The books are currently stocked in bookstores. The recipients can sell the books to used book stores or re-gift them easily. Libraries will be happy to take them.”

This year she’s going a little off the deep end, in my canine opinion. She’s giving her own pottery to selected friends. A normal person with my mom’s talent level would bury those pieces somewhere deep, like in the dog park with old tennis balls. Not my mom. She’s showing them off as if she were a pro.

I adore my Uncle Lance (that’s not his real name, of course; he’s always in disguise) because he appreciates me so much. Recently he met my mom for coffee. “If Gracie’s with her sitter on Tuesday, we’d better meet Wednesday,” he said. “I don’t want to miss seeing Gracie.”

My mom needs more friends like Uncle Lance. Alas, she gave him the misshapen object you see in the photo. It’s one of her earlier works, when she was just getting started on the wheel this fall. She glazed it black because he one said he likes that color. Uncle Lance actually claimed he liked this object. He sent my mom this photo of the pot on sitting on his shelf. It’s only a few paw-lengths tall: about 4 to 6 inches, my mom says. So it won’t exactly jump out at people who visit Uncle Lance’s home and admire his good taste.

Humans are SO complicated. Dogs get treats, period. Of course, I’m still holding out for a new leash. My mom got a gift certificate from Macys. Does Macys carry leashes? Maybe if I chew up her gift card she’ll get the hint.

My mom reviews books for Amazon. Recently the Vine program sent her this book:

How To Teach Physics To Your Dog, by Chad Orzel.

As an author herself who now coaches book marketing, my mom was concerned about the book’s publication date. “This book would be the perfect gift for dog lovers,” she said. “It should have been on all the bookstore holiday tables. It’s a pretty good book. And the premise has that ‘aww……’ quality that sells gift books.”

As a dog, I like the intrduction. My mom read it to me. Apparently the author’s dog, Emmy, was in a shelter with a name of “Princess.” The dog interviewed Chad Orzel before agreeing to become his dog. “Do you have critters for me to play with?” she asked. “What about treats?”

Gee, I wish I’d thought of that. When the rescue society brought me to my mom’s apartment, they didn’t give us much time to get acquainted. I would have asked, “Will I be an indoor dog? Can I sleep on your bed? Wlll the couch be off-limits?”

My mom would have answered, “Yes, no and yes.” I would have turned her down flat. And look what’s happened. I have taken over the couch. I sleep on my own cushion on her bed.

So perhaps it’s just as well I didn’t interview my mom. She would have failed miserably. I would never have thought to ask, “Will I get to go to the dog park and run near the lake? Will I get healthy food and LOTS of treats? Will I get visits to the Downtown Dog Lounge where they treat me with the respect due a Canine Urban Princess? Will I have a fat fuzzy cat to tease and a skinny cat who keeps trying to make friends?”

And I’d never have asked, “Will I sit on your lap when we ride the bus?” After all, until i was adopted, I hadn’t even seen a bus.

All those things have contributed to my existence as a thoroughly spoiled dog, my mom would say. A properly appreciated dog, I would insist.

Emmy must be a pretty smart dog to learn physics. I have all I can do to watch my mom try to make cylinders in the pottery studio. So maybe Emmy knew the right questions to ask. I’m glad I didn’t. Sometimes you just have to take chances, my mom said. This time she was right.

My mom’s friends gave her a surprise Christmas present a few days ago. This is my mom with Sharon and Sharon’s kids, Kathryn and Kevin. My mom’s the un-photogenic one on the right, in the orange jacket.

Can you tell that Sharon, Kathryn and Kevin are all theatre majors?

My mom’s all bundled up in the orange jacket on the right (as if you couldn’t tell -she’s the least photogenic person in any picture). Her ears get cold so she never looks glamorous in winter. She’s got her eye on the Big Box which contains a really terrific present.: a soft throw blanket so we can curl up on the couch and stay warm. Sharon’s husband isn’t in the picture because he’s holding my mom’s camera.

I wasn’t invited. They went to a restaurant where dogs aren’t allowed. No problem. I don’t eat Thai food anyway. Not that I’d know. Do you really think my mom would let me anywhere near Thai food? Yeah, right.

Check out this cool video. My mom says to tell you, “Click on this link. No embed options this time.”

OK, I saw the video. A bunch of dogs are decorating a Christmas tree. Would I do that? No way. I’d chew open the presents. The cats would knock over the tree. We would all eat pine needles. Forget it.

That looks like a LOT of work. The best part is at the end where the dogs are all sleeping.

Did they really decorate that tree? Lots of jump cuts in that video.

My mom played this for me a few times on her computer. I was not amused.

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And here I am, sound asleep after my afternoon romp in the park. I’m curled up on my mom’s bed, with all three comforters around me.

My mom thinks I’m really cute when I’m sleeping. “So peaceful,” she says. She doesn’t like to wake me up, except when it’s time to Go Outside before she goes to sleep herself.

The good part of my mom’s bed is that there are no cats around and not a lot of photo ops for my mom. Nothing much is happening. There are only so many ways a dog can sleep, even an adorable CUPPIE like me.

Mh mom feels good when she sees me sleeping. She says, “Good dog, Gracie! I’m glad you got enough exercise.” She worries that I don’t get  to run around enough. “A tired dog is a good dog,” she says, over and over.

Yeah, we heard it the first time.

Anyway, there’s not much to do around here when I’m not sleeping. There are only so many ways I can torture the cats. The fat Ophelia just runs and hides. The ditzy Creampuff just tries to play with me.

My mom says she feels sleepy just looking at this picture. She needs more sleep herself, I would say.

Yesterday (Sunday) my mom took me to Regrade Dog Park in Seattle. The park was pretty busy. My mom said, “Well, we had about ten minutes of blue sky, so everybody came out to take advantage.”

I found a human to play with. This nice young man chased me all over the park. Yaay! I tried to scarf some food because he had some cheese, but he refused. Instead, we ran…and ran. My mom didn’t run. She followed me with her camera.

A little jagged, she says. “Now I understand what film makers mean when they talk about hand-held cameras.” See for yourself.