On Saturday I went off to Ewetopia with my best big sister, Summer from the Downtown Dog Lounge. My mom was supposed to go too, but she took one step outside and just about froze. She doesn’t do too well in the cold, especially cold and rain.

Just as well. I wanted some quality time with Summer.

Summer told Cathy that I am a natural. “Gracie knew what to do with the sheep,” she said. “She herded them into a circle.”

True. I don’t know how I knew this, but I did. Somewhere in my mix is a sheepherding breed.

My mom refuses to pay for DNA tests. “I’d rather spend the money on treats and extra time at the Dog Lounge,” she says. “Or extra walks with Aunt Sara.”

For once, Mom’s got her priorities straight. But I’m still getting over the day. Time for another nap.

Whew…we finally get to rest while Mom looks at the Seattle skyline.

I’m busy digging for something unmentionable.

My mom Cathy likes me to sit at the corner when we cross the street. Here we’re on our Big Walk and I’m demonstrating how obedient I can be.

Actually, that’s what my mom thinks I’m doing. In reality I’m looking proud and regal. I’m a proud pack member who’s guarding her owner. Nobody better mess with us.

From the back, I look a little bit like a retriever. What do you think?

Here’s another set of stairs.

I hope you’re impressed. Mom says, “This walk is so good for us, Gracie. Good for our quads and glutes.”

Earth to mom. Dogs don’t have quads and glutes. I’m just here to keep you out of trouble.

Mom wanted to include  the jonquils in this shot. “Maybe spring will be coming soon,” she said.

Come on, Mom. It’s cold.

Last week my mom said, “Gracie, we’re going for a walk! We will take a bus to the top of Queen Anne Hill and walk down.”

Then, as she got ready, she said, “Hmm. These jeans are a little snug. We’d better walk both ways.”

Great. Her jeans feel tight so we have to walk? She couldn’t even begin to fit into those jeans six months ago. What’s her problem?

As usual, the mom wins.

Queen Anne is so steep, you can get there by stairs. We climbed…

Do you see those stairs?

My mom still gets excited when Ophelia eats. I can’t imagine why. She eats everyday…and most of the night, while we’re asleep.

Oh well…here she is, digging into a plate of crunchies. The second plate is supposed to be for Creampuff, but nobody wants to get near Ophelia while she’s eating.

My mom has been busy all weekend, but she makes time for me to exercise. Yesterday we walked over a mile to a furniture store so she could buy a new bookcase. (She just gave away her old one on Craigslist. Too small, she said.)

“You need exercise,” she said. “I’m going out tonight.” And she did. She was off to the Symphony, humming the tune to the Idee Fixe of Berlioz’s Fantastique. (My mom is so proud of her new musical knowledge. She’s got a lot to learn, she says.)

Then today I played for two hours in the Dog Lounge with my best pal and adopted Big Sister, Summer. Summer wants to take Mom to the Ewetopia sheep-herding event next week.

Me? Herd sheep? My hair stands on end. I bet somewhere in my genes is a true sheep dog.

We’ll see. Mom says she’ll take off the time if we can work out the driving with Summer. I’m keeping my paws crossed. And very nice paws, too. Summer gave me a manicure. My mom says she’s long overdue for one herself.

“Just be glad I have so much work,” she said. “Somebody has to pay for your crunchies. And dog walks. And…” uh-oh, I know what’s coming… “your vet bills from eating JUNK.”

Time for a nap. And boy do I need one.

Look who’s taken up residence near Mom’s desktop computer. Mom’s favorite Computer Guru, the MacDaddy of Seattle, says cat hair won’t bother the desktop. Thank goodness!

Creampuff likes to sleep there. So we figure Ophelia just had to take over and establish dominance. Besides, it’s nice and warm.

We can’t figure out how she got up there. Ophelia’s not a jumper. She prefers hiding out in her cave.

This morning the weather was awful. My mom dropped me off in the Dog Lounge with instructions to, “Make sure she gets LOTS of exercise.” I did and I’m wiped.

So who’s daring to enter my turf on Cathy’s bed? This is where I get to take naps. Since when do cats share my space?

Ophelia doesn’t get it. She’s the Queen Mother and I’m just the Princess.

Cathy caught me in this awkward pose. She tried to get a more dignified picture but she was so happy to see Ophelia looking directly into the camera.

Notice how my mom’s priorities have shifted. My blog gets the photo where Ophelia looks best.

Ophelia was saying, “I’m being polite and dignified. I don’t know what’s going on over there.”

Nothing’s going on. I’m just scratching an ear, for heaven’s sake.

Cathy skimmed through Made For Each Other: The Biology of the Human–Animal Bond, by Meg Daley Olmert. She didn’t get into all the details about oxytocin.

But here’s what she read to me (p. 212):
“In 1995 Friedmann (a researcher at U of Maryland) …found that dog ownership was the big survival factor in the first year following a heart attack. Of the eighty-seven subjects who owned dogs, only three died; nineteen of the non-dog owning patients did. When weighed aginst the other top survival factors (strengths of heart, absence of diabetes, and regularity of heartbeat), owning a dog gave a heart attack victim a significantly greater chance of being alive one year later.”

Yaay! See, I’m not just a cute accessory.

Of course, my mom pointed out, people who own dogs tend to live in places where they have more control over their lives. Maybe that’s the reason.

But no. Another study randomly gave dogs to stressed-out stockbrokers. Those who got dogs were healthier and reported fewer stress symptoms than the non-dog group, my mom said.

Well, I’m certainly not stressed. Come on, mom: stop reading about all this stuff and let’s get some sleep.