My mom Cathy is an avid reader (as if you couldn’t tell). She’s also a dedicated library user. I’m not allowed in most library branches and I have no desire to go to the Central Library. Dogs are not made for revolving doors.

But my mom was infuriated by the new policy on holding books. She realizes the Seattle Public Library needs to cut back but she can’t understand their logic.

I don’t read, of course, and logic isn’t much of a dog’s specialty. But even I couldn’t miss the idiocy of a comment sent by the librarian to my mom. “We have trained librarians,” the librarian said, “who will help patrons find alternatives to the most popular books.”

In other words, this goes beyond, “Let ‘em eat cake.” It’s like saying, “When you go to the library, you want a book. Any book.”

So you say, “I want a book about dogs.”

Will the librarian say, “Well, Malcolm Gladwell’s book, What The Dog Saw, is already up to over 100 holds. But what about The Art of Racing In The Rain? That’s a great dog book.”

Here I’m standng on a street corner, waiting for my mom Cathy to lead me across the street. Notice I’m surrounded by wet leaves and I’ve got leaves caught between my two hind feet. Wet and slippery. Yuk.

I’m always alert to protect my mom from weird strangers. The problem is, I can’t share my definition of “weird” with my mom. Sometimes I’ll bark at a person who seems perfectly nice and respectable.

Recently we walked past a woman who looked like a street person. I barked assertively. But the woman stopped and politely asked permission fto pat me. “I used to train dogs,” she said. “This is a good one.”

She gave me a complete butt massage..aahh, that felt good. I snuggled up to show my appreciation. Then my mom reminded me, “Gracie, we are out here so you can do your business.” Oops…almost forgot. With a friendly wave (mom) and tail wag (me), we were on our way. What a great way to have a morning walk.

The closest a City Dog like me can ever get to heaven is to play in the dog park. My mom likes to say, “City dogs actually get more exercise than country dogs. After all, what dog plays in the yard? They certainly don’t play in the house!”

True. Who’s got a yard as big as this dog park?

Last Sunday I found a new friend – a cute little white dog who stole the show. He’s a young dog, filled with energy, and he wanted to wear me out. My mom and the dog’s owners were so pleased. “They found a friend!” my mom said happily. She asked the other dog’s name but she forgot. (Duh.) Well, in all fairness, she had other things on her mind. She had to get me home and get herself to the gym, which closes early on Sundays.

So now you get to watch me play and run! Please leave a comment so we know we are being watched.

This morning my mom was awakened when I bumped into her bed. I was trying to jump up and return to my assigned cushion without waking her. After all, I got down, didn’t I?

So my mom gets up, suspicious from the get-go.

“Gracie, you’re off the bed. The cat food dishes are empty. Totally clean! The cats never finish every crumb of their food. So Gracie, I conclude that you were eating cat food! Now I can’t give you breakfast. You’ll get sick from overeating.”

Come on, Mom. You’re a softie when it comes to human justice. You don’t believe in convicting criminals based on circumstantial evidence. So why me?

Mom’s always saying the justice system picks one suspect and ignores other possibles. Well, let’s consider Ophelia as the Prime Suspect. Ophelia’s been getting MUCH larger. She eats fast and furiously. She looks like a plate-cleaner to me. And who knows? Maybe I just thought you were ready to wake up and leapt off the bed two seconds before you woke up.

“Forget it, Gracie,” Mom said. “The only consequence to you is a very slight cutback on your rations. Everybody’s been commenting that you look bigger, too.”

Busted…or falsely accused. What do YOU readers think?

Well, my birthday was a non-event. My mom decided I need a rest day in between my most active exercise days. So Wednesday we went for a walk, only to find the dog park was closed. Not to worry: we walked most of the way home, which was about a mile. Thursday was my rest day. Then Friday I was off to Magnuson again with my Aunt Sara.

When Aunt Sara came to get me, she got a look at our portly housemate, Ophelia. “That cat has just about tripled in size!” she exclaimed. “She is huge! Not good for her joints.”

“Guess I’d better put her on a diet,” my mom said, sheepishly.

I was thrilled. I won’t be the only deprived creature in this household.

But later my mom picked up Ophelia. “Not that heavy,” she said. “Maybe your fur has just gotten fluffier with all the healthy food?”

Yeah, right. Come on, Mom. You eat carefully. You measure my rations. Creampuff has a metabolism that keeps her skinny. Let’s get Ophelia into the loop.

So what do YOU think? Please add some comments below. My mom says I need more interaction on this blog.

It doesn’t take much to make my mom’s day. Yesterday she took me out for a walk, then came home to this cozy domestic scene.

“Just a year ago, I was ready to hire a cat shrink,” she said. “And now…a picture of domestic bliss.”

As a dog, I understand the dynamics of my housemates. Creampuff actually initiated this little get-together. She waited till Ophelia was settled on her favorite cat cushion, then jumped up to join her. Ophelia wasn’t about to give up her territory, not to mention her comfortable cushion.

The cats are almost exactly the same age, if we can believe what their animal shelters told my mom. They’re about ten years old. That’s senior citizenship in human terms.

Today is my seventh birthday. My mom almost forgot: she’s got two teleseminars to deliver today plus she’s going out this evening. So we aren’t doing anything much to celebrate.

Besides, my mom said, “you’re going off to board at the Downtown Dog Lounge while I go out of town. You’ll be there 5 days. That’s plenty of time to celebrate with your buddies.”

And tomorrow I get to go to Magnuson Park with my Aunt Sara, just like every Friday.

Hey…I just figured it out. A city dog’s life means every day is like a birthday.

Turning seven isn’t a big deal. My mom thinks I’ve slowed down a little since she adopted me, almost four years ago.

“Thank goodness!” she says. “You aren’t chewing as much. And I don’t get all worn out trying to keep up.”

Earth to mom. When I was first adopted, I didn’t get twice a week excursions to Magnuson with my Aunt Sara. So of course I needed more exercise. Anyway, getting adopted can be very stressful for a dog, even someone as flexible as I am. Back then we had Tiger the cat, who totally ran the household. I had never seen a bus, let alone been a passenger.

“Graice, you’ve been with me longer than you’ve been wherever you were before,” my mom says. “You should totally have forgotten your pre-adoption life.”

Pre-adoption? What’s that? I can’t imagine life without my mom. Even that fat cat Ophelia has become part of my family. And I think I was born to be a CUPPIE.

Carry on, world. Being seven is pretty awesome.

On Sunday I’d rested from my trip to Magnuson with my Aunt Sara. Mom decided we needed exercise so she brought us to Regrade Dog Park. Some of my favorite dog buddies were there. Mom kept saying, “Gracie, go play!”

Sigh.

So I interrupted my friendly visits with the human park visitors and …

Our ceiling is leaking. It was leaking last winter. Mom reported it promptly. Then last week it REALLY came gushing down. The leak is just over the top of my crate in our living room.

“Luckily nothing valuable was harmed,” Mom told the building manager. “Gracie’s crate got wet. We had to move it because I can’t leave her in a crate with rain coming down and maybe getting inside.”

Yeah right. Now my crate is jammed up against a bookcase. I don’t have a view of the whole room. I get claustrophobia in there. And it’s farther from my window. And it’s my crate, for heaven’s sake. The most important piece of furniture we own.

No sympathy from Mom.

“It’s just for a little while,” she says. “You spend less time in your crate than most dogs. And let’s face it: you live a great life. We just went to the dog park yesterday. I have videos to prove it.”

Mom did have a moment of fantasy. Maybe we’ll move to Belltown.

But we won’t go unless we absolutely have to. I know my mom. She loves being near Metropolitan Market. We’re close to her pottery class. We have about 10 bus lines within a few blocks.

True, we’d like to be closer to her exercise class and one of the Downtown Dog Lounge locations. We could be closer to a dog park. But then we’d be farther from these other places. Belltown doesn’t have a decent place to buy food. There’s a great pet store but we get our dog and cat food delivered. Mom says she can’t carry those 25-pound bags any more.

Luckily they’re coming to look at our ceiling today. I’m keeping my paws crossed for a speedy resolution.

Being a dog in the Goodwin household can be tough. I have many responsibilities. It’s my job to keep the cats in line. When they focus on me, they don’t fight with each other. And I have to guard my mom while she’s sleeping. That means I have to lie on the end of her bed and can’t sneak off to steal the cat food.

Then it’s up to me to make sure my mom gets exercise. I keep her company on her walks. And twice a week I go off with my wonderful dog walker, Sara. That’s work too. I have to make sure my mom feels guilty about leaving me in my crate while she goes off to live her own life, so she’ll keep sending me out on dog walks with Sara.

I also have to keep my mom calm when she gets riled up about something she reads in the newspaper. I encourage her to keep working because she needs to make sure I get vet care and crunchies.

No wonder I’m tired. Here I’m sleeping off a tough day of dog-walking with my Aunt Sara. We went to the dog park on the lake. I had to run around and be sociable with all the other dogs. That’s what my mom expects me to do in a dog park.

And at the end of the day, I get to relax on my mom’s sofa, all curled up like a cat. My mom thinks I’m dreaming about my beautiful day on the lake. I’m not telling.