Yesterday my mom and I took a cab out to the Wedgewood neighborhood so she could have dinner with her friends and their assorted children and guests.

My mom has known this couple for years. She takes delight in telling their kids, “I knew your parents before they got married. Your mom was a single gal in San Francisco who had LOTS of dates.” Everybody winces.

Now our hosts are celebrating their 25th anniversary. Mom tries not to think about the passage of time. In those days she had just one solitary cat. Dogs? Fine for someone else. She had absolutely no intention of ever having a dog. Ancient history.

We hadn’t seen most of these folks for two whole years but several guests remembered me….”You’re the one with that wonderful dog.” They didn’t remember my mom nearly as much.

Before Mom went out there, the hosts said, “No dogs during dinner. We’ll shut them up in one of the bedrooms.”

Hah. I ran around with the host’s  dogs the entire tme. I snuck under the table and visited all the guests, one by one.

My mom announced, “If you give Gracie any food, she’s yours for the weekend, sensitive tummy and all.” So I didn’t get as much as a scrap of food. But I got heaps of affection: back, belly and butt rubs all day long.

Dogs aren’t like cats. Mostly we get along. The host’s dogs even let me borrow this chew toy. Do I look like I’m having fun?

We went home in a cab. I was sound asleep as soon as Mom gave directions to the driver. She insisted we get off a couple of blocks early for our evening walk. And then it was off to bed,  feeling great after all those hugs and rubs…like a 3-hour massage.

My mom, Cathy, wanted to write a blog post about being single on holidays. She’s a big fan of Singled Out, by Bella dePaolo: “the best book on being single – and it’s based on science, not silly superstition,” she says. “It’s about time society recognized that some of us are single by choice. We’re not feeling left out or missing out. We’re just … single!”

(Notice how my mom has taken over my blog post. She even added a book cover, knowing I can’t read. How about a photo of a treat instead? Or a new toy?)

My mom says we have to disclose that she was quoted in this book. She’s very proud! And she was quoted because of her success with Amazon book reviews

But here’s my mom’s major beef. She just got an email from a friend in Los Angeles. “When my partner was out of town last year,” he wrote, “I had a wonderful time spending the day alone. I read. I walked. And I took myself out to a movie that evening.”

A few years ago she heard from a colleague in New York. “I’m hiding out this Thanksgivin. Not even answering the phone.”

She wants people to get the message. Grown-up singles don’t want invitations. They don’t need to spend the day visiting other people’s families. They want solitude!

My mom wrote an article on “Being single on holidays,” way back before I came into her life. You can read it here. I think I’ve helped her become a better writer, but that’s another story.

My mom likes to take me to a dog park for the holidays. When she lived with Keesha in Florida, she spent Thanksgiving in a fabulous dog park, reading a book while Keesha played and curled up next to her. (Unlike Keesha, I do not curl up next to Cathy in dog parks. I roam around, looking for trouble. It drives her nuts. Yaay!)

Anyway, if you’re reading this post (and my mom hopes you will), just don’t get offended if single people say “No thanks” on holidays. It’s not about you or your hospitality (although my mom and I both resent the categorization of “waifs and strays” invited for dinner).

“My best Thanksgiving was in New Mexico,” my mom said. “I got to take Keesha for a hike. When we got home our next door neighbor brought over a heaping plate of food. She was an awesome cook. It lasted 3  days. Best of both worlds!”

So…is my mom a Scrooge or what?

My mom just read me an article from today’s New York Times. Apparently parents are beginning to recognize and heed the wisdom of the Dog Whisperer, Cesar Millan. Cesar says, “Be confident and assertive around your dog. Be consistent.”

Like, yeah. Children like structure. Dogs do too.

“Remember the Susan Conant murder mysteries about dogs?” my mom asked. “Conant’s heroine, Holly Winter, used to joke that Harvard was an inferior obedience school.”

Well, of course I don’t remember. My mom keeps forgetting that I can’t read.

As a dog, though, I have to say we’re pretty flexible. When Cathy adopted her First Dog, the saintly Keesha, she read that dogs need routine. So she took Keesha out morning and evening. Somehow Keesha managed to communicate the need for a noon walk.

Eventually Cathy caught on. (She was a lifetime cat owner, so Keesha gave her a break.) She realized that dogs don’t tell time. So when she comes home and we’ve been in our crate, we want to go out. When she goes out, we need to get that last walk before we retreat into our crates. I myself might need as many as five walks a day.

That’s dog training. Cathy is now a well-trained owner.

OK, to be fair, Cathy the mom has a lot of rules for me. When I’m on her bed, I to stay on my cushion. In the living room I have my spot. And we have rules for walking on leash, like “No pulling when we see a squirrel.” We’re still negotiating on that one.

My mom added her own commentary to this article. She watched a youtube video about prisoners who train dogs. One of the prisoners (who, she says, is wiser than the most legal systems in the world) pointed out the obvious.

“With dogs,” she said, “we show them what to do. We try to avoid correction in the first place, rather than wait till they do something wrong and then punish them. And when a dog misbehaves, a wise owner looks for physical health problems first. Why, asked this inmate, don’t we do the same for people?”

Like, duh. Humans aren’t always the superior species. I’m off for a new nap. While I’m sleeping away my Sunday, maybe you could leave a comment below?

Here’s one of my dog friends, Beau. He comes to the dog park with his owner. Notice how Beau is all dressed up in a little winter coat. He actually seems to like it, doesn’t he?

My mom started laughing out loud when she saw Beau in his little coat. “We’ve got to take a picture,” she said. So now I have to share my blog with this Pomeranian.

My mom won’t get me a winter coat. She just had her parka cleaned. “My parka is more than ten years old,” she says, “and it still keeps me warm. Now that it’s cleaned it looks like new.”

Well, if my mom’s not getting a new winter coat, you can bet I’m not either. The vet said I don’t need one since I’m not shivering. But I bet I’d look absolutely adorable, wouldn’t I?

This is Ophelia’s favorite spot. She likes to sit on the couch next to my mom, Cathy.

You’ll notice Ophelia spills over from armrest to couch. I think she’s the ultimate Couch Potato. My mom thinks she’s adorable.

My mom wants me to get LOTS of exercise. What’s a dog to do? I’m exhausted. And it’s pouring rain. So I’m on my mom’s bed, totally sprawled out. I’m supposed to be curled up on my dog cushion but who’s counting?

This is what being a princess is all about. Lying on a soft comforter, relaxed and asleep. My mom says she’s like to curl up next to me but she has to work so we can pay for these comforters, not to mention the dog walks, food and…time for another nap.

My mom just came across this article: 17 Things Worth Knowing About Cats.

The article said a cat can run up to 30 miles per hour. That’s an ordinary house cat, they said.

Whoever wrote that article has not met our Ophelia. However, I admit Ophelia can move pretty fast when Creampuff is chasing her.

ONE thing worth knowing about dogs. We are superior to cats. And we love to sleep.

Two things? I am a dog. Who says I can count?

My mom Cathy has a secret. Well, it’s not exactly a secret since she showed me clippings of published articles in newspapers, proudly presenting her views on holidays. She hates them. You can read her article here.

Cathy especially hates Thanksgiving. “Long dinners with small talk with people I barely know. A feast of food, mostly not healthy. Who needs this?” she asks. “Gracie, I could just take you to the dog park for an extra run.”

I like that idea.

Of course, as a dog, I enjoy going visiting. I love meeting new people. Everyone makes a fuss over me. Usually I can persuade a kind soul to slip me some turkey when my mom isn’t looking. (Don’t ask me what else they feed me. My mom would have a heart attack.)

What are you doing for the holidays?

My mom and I are bummed. Cathy wanted to take me for a good, long walk today. “I’m going out this evening,” she said last night. “So we’d better give you some exercise.”

Then we woke up to a cold, rainy morning. I hurried through out early “do your business” walk and my mom hustled me back home. “No strolling around today,” she said firmly. “Too bad the Dog Lounge had to close the Belltown location. You’d spend a few happy hours there.”

Yeah, I agree with that one. I miss seeing Summer, Cynthia and my other good buddies every week. It’s just too far to get to the new locations. My mom says she doesn’t know any other dog lounges that are convenient and anyway, she’s loyal to the Dog Lounge. So am I.

The really good news, she said, is our ceiling seems to have stopped leaking. The management company actually fixed it! That means we can move my crate back to where it belongs.

“Let’s just be sure,” my mom said. “I don’t want to leave you in your crate with water dripping like a torture chamber.”

Good thinking, Mom. I mostly like my crate. It’s cozy and the cats leave me alone. Let’s keep it that way.

My mom admires Connie Green, an Internet empire builder. So when Connie organized a pre-conference get-together, Mom flew in to join them. She left on a 6 AM flight and arrived on time in Las Vegas.

The group posed for a photo. Connie’s in back, wearing pink, with a big warm smile. Mom’s the one on the far right, wearing a hat. She’s crouching down just a little so people can see the folks behind her. Nobody dresses up because they all work from home on the Internet .Some of them don’t even have suits anymore.

“Do I look OK, Gracie?” she asked, showing me the photo. “Not too old or too fat?”

What do I know? I am a dog, remember? I think she looks fabulous when she’s got a hand out to give me my treats.