My mom has begun to enjoy the New York TImes, especially on Sundays, especially in hard copy. But yesterday’s Magazine left both of us feeling sad. My mom read me an article about how animal cruelty is related to human cruelty. You can read it online here.

We were all feeling sad. Apparently kids who feel angry want to take things out on animals. Cats really suffer because they tend to be less obedient.

“Okay,” my mom says, “you guys can be exasperating. It is easy to forget that you don’t think logically. Especially when you – Gracie – eat all kinds of things after I spend a fortune on vet bills and special food.”

Me? I’m the one who should complain about bland tasteless food, not to mention sharing a household with two selfish, self-centered cats.

But I’m glad to hear that law enforcement people are cracking down on animal abuse because, my mom says, people who are mean to animals are just as mean to people. I could have told them that, if I could talk.

The article also said that kids can turn around fast if they learn to care for an animal in a positive way. Yes! Every family should adopt a pet from a shelter. The whole world would be a better place.

Of course, the world would also be better if we all took more naps. I’m off to set a good example.

Every so often I allow nice dogs to post in my blog. My mom says I have to allow cats to post too, but so far nobody’s asked, thank goodness. Do you have a dog with a story? Tell it to the mom and she’ll pass it along to me. — Gracie
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Molly, the 10 1/2 year old Australian Shep, is who I am.

My mom, Carol Giambri, is a health nut who refuses drugs.

I went to one local vet for a drip in my eye, and mom came out told I had lupus possibility and a bad tooth I never complained about. Well, I never complain about anything! Just don’t know how.

My mom tried a holistic vet who actually pushed drugs on us. Well, going from active on an acre of land daily – running my paws off – to almost dead, depressed, constant 24/7 itch, infant socks for a month, taking tons of pills… That was a challenge.

I can relate to what your pill-pushing mom has to go through, but since I am on your side, I can help make the sour taste leave fast. My mom takes pricey grass-fed meat (buffalo, lamb, turkey-hater, beef). She sticks my pill in the middle of the patty. Every so often I can pick out the pill but usually I’m fooled.

My mom is radical so she fusses when she hears the word drugs addressed to anyone in our family. I am now eating veggies grated in my patty too. She fools me. I am taking pricey yogurt (6 ou. $2.39) daily-1 TABlespoon. I don’t know what a pill pocket is but my mom’s way tricks me good.

My mom said I will never take any more meds or do any form of surgery. I’ll be 11 years old next month. I was adopted at 1 from a shelter. My real name was “Lucky,” but the shelter told them I was “Molly.” I was slow to respond. Can you see why? No I jump high when my mom calls “Molly!”

I am finally back outside lots now and I am RECOVERED from Lupus.

My mom is going to write a book about my story. Okay – 3 books maybe: My story, her story tied into relationships, her other story about me and business talk. See how popular I am becoming. Hope we talk soon. I don’t have a site for you to write me a love note, but mom is feeling led to believe it’s coming.

Oh, you are a beautiful dog, Gracie! I see you get on the Seattle Metro Bus. Did you have to pay for a seat?

Bye and with love, Molly, the recovered 10 1/2 year old Lupus dog
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From Gracie: Wow, thanks, Molly! You wrote a great post for us. I don’t have to pay for a seat on the bus because I fit in my mom’s lap. I am not allowed to have my own seat and I do not ride on the floor. I am a princess and we don’t do floors.

You have a great mom. I can’t have meat patties because I’m on a special diet for my sensitive tummy. But your mom sounds great. I will tell Cathy to listen. She needs all the help she can get.

Thanks for reminding me I am beautiful. I’m a Canine Urban Princess and my mom is not allowed to forget.

Thank goodness! I have a small castle known as The Crate. I have a few vacation homes, otherwise known as dog beds. I also take over the cat bed since Ophelia has usurped my spot on the couch. That’s as far as we go.

My mom, on the other hand, seems determined to get herself into a condo. I had to listen to her swearing over the paperwork (which wasn’t too bad, thanks to her awesome dog-loving real esetate agent Sarah Odegaard). And I had to go along for the inspection. The inspectors immediately recognized my role.

“She gets to decide where you live,” they said seriously.

My mom went out for coffee with Sarah while they gave the place the once-over. It was a nice day, although a little warm. They had to sit outside because coffee shops don’t take dogs anymore. All this fresh air was too much. We were exhausted the next day.

My mom has started thinking about hiring a mover. “We’re very close,” she told me. “She muttered something about title and negotiating on items to be fixed. Fixed? You lost me there, mom.

We’re getting rid of a lot of stuff so the movers wll have a lighter load. I’m nominating a new home for our housemate, Ophelia. Mom put her on a diet but it’s not working. At this rate we will need to rent a whole truck just for her.

Do we need a separate truck to move this cat?

A Hot Cross Bun

Yesterday my mom decreed that we should go for a walk. I see more walks in my future as my mom has been indulging in hot cross buns from Dahlia bakery, sinfully delicious and made just once a year, on Easter weekend. Now she wants to go on extra walks to compensate.

As usual, there is no justice in this world for dogs. Did I get even one bite of a bun? No way. Muffins and treats are off limits to dogs in our house. To be fair, they’re usually off limits to the mom, but she believes in species-appropriate treats, judiciously shared.

My mom won’t allow me to discuss religion or politics on my blog. But isn’t there some church out there that believes it’s sinful to refuse to share with your dog? If so, I have a mom who could use some conversion. I suspect her friend Bill from New York would belong to such a church, if it exists.

“Forget it, Gracie,” my mom said.

Memo to self: If you ever get adopted again, choose an owner who can’t read dog minds.

“Gracie,” my mom continued, “if you eat even a few bites of this bun, you will get sick. You will keep us both awake all night. You might have to miss your run with your Aunt Sara — and that is the highlight of your week.d”

Memo to self: Never choose an owner who studied logic.

It’s a moot issue, of course. I doubt I’ll ever be in a position to choose another owner (although if I steal a hot cross bun the question — and some voices — may be raised). And if anything happens to Cathy, she wants me to go to her friend Bill, who believes spoiling your dogs should not be reserved for Sundays and holidays. No argument from this dog.

Photo credit:

Last night my mom Cathy went to a meeting for her neighborhood, Queen Anne in Seattle. I had to stay home in my crate but when she came back, I could tell she had been talking to my good pal Lindsay, the Regrade Park Dog Steward.

The meeting was about changes to Kinnear Park, a magnificent natural park that’s a short walk from where we live.  My mom loves the views of the Sound but I like the smells of the squirrels.  The only problem is, I am not allowed to run around loose and chase those wonderful squirrels. My mom says there’s a movement afoot to install a dog park and  I, for one, can’t wait.

Our small group was led by an architect from Vancouver, BC. He said, “In Vancouver, dogs don’t have separate parks. They can run loose on the trails for certain times of the day.”

My mom was puzzled. “Don’t the dogs escape?” she asked. I wasn’t there but I can just imagine.

“Canadians train their dogs,” the man said. “They don’t run away.”

Oops. My mom has been eying me ever since she came home. Training? I’m the ultimate escape artist. Good thing I wasn’t adopted by a Canadian family.

And what have we here? It looks like a very small, very spoiled dog. A pug, to be exact.

Pugs are very popular in Seattle, my mom says. We once met a pug when we were out walking. The owner told my mom, “I knew someone who worked in the shelter. They called when this pug came in. I had to get down there in an hour because so many people wanted a rescue pug.”

Hmm. Not many people were seeking a royal mixed breed like me. My foster home actually gave my mom a sales pitch. “Great dog. I’d keep her myself if I didn’t already have three dogs. She looked so cute playing with the puppies. She sits on the couch and chews on her chew toys.”

Uh-oh. My mom got suspicious. “Chews on her chew toys? And what else?”

“No way,” they lied. “Just her toys.”

By the time my mom found out about my Power Teeth, it was way too late.

This pug seems fairly useless. He just sits on his blankie and waits for people to come worship him. Even Ophelia moves around more than that. But you can tell he’s a sweet dog in his own way. I tried to get him to play, since I love small dogs. No dice.

Here we are exchanging pleasantries about our respective owners. My mom is much stricter than his mom. His mom has left him in the care of Lindsay, the dog park steward, so he will continue to be spoiled rotten.

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 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.

Good grief…I was napping away on my favorite spot on my mom’s couch. All of a sudden my mom was running around, grabbing her trusty camera and snapping one photo after another.

“Oh no…that shows too much of the rug,” she said. “And that’s probably blurred. Just one more…hold it!”

What was all the fuss about?

“Gracie and Ophelia, you’re friends!” my mom exclaimed happily as she dashed around capturing our images over and over again.

Sigh. As usual, my mom overreacts. And she doesn’t get dog language.

See, here’s what really happened. I was on the couch, enjoying my peaceful sleep, on my couch cushion. It’s actually one of my mom’s very old pillows that finally gave up. So mom pulled off the pillowcase and gave it to me to protect her couch. It’s my cushion. Before I entered this household, the cats had their own cushion, decorated with paw prints, on top of the couch. We’re very territorial around here.

Well, Ophelia decided she likes my pillow cushion. Ophelia has not caught on to the hierarchy of this household. She arrived in July of 2008. I arrived in January of 2006. I have seniority. This cushion was there for me.

So while I was sleeping, Ophelia crept up and sat near me. She’s not snuggling. See how she’s sitting up straight? She’s sending a message.

Who would’ve thought life would turn out this way? Ophelia was officially declared “skittish” by the cat shrink my mom hired to help her get adjusted. (For the record, my mom got her money back…as well she should.) There was talk of having her “re-homed,” a fancy term for giving up on the old gal.

Well, Ophelia doesn’t lack in self-esteem. My mom wrote an ebook called Bragging101, to help humans who need to get comfortable about selling themselves. Ophelia could have been her co-author.

My mom came across an article, Ten Ways To Spoil Your Dog. Naturally I sat up and listened when she read it to me. Let’s see how she rates on the “Spoil Your Dog” scale.

(1) Take your dog for walks. The article says we like to go to new places. Frankly, I don’t care. I’m always thrilled to go to Magnuson Park with my Aunt Sara and I enjoy my mom’s walks to Upper Queen Anne. I walk everywhere. And my mom is really good about taking me along. I’ll give her a “10″ on this one.

(2) Go for a drive. Forget it. Mom doesn’t have a car. We love the buses. I sit on her lap and get tons of attention. “Very well-behaved.” “Beautiful dog.” “Seems like a nice dog.” Music to my floppy ears.

(3) Treats. Uh-oh. Mom’s a little weak in that department. She forgets to bring treats in her pockets when we walk. She’s gotten a little spooked because the vet warned her about my expanding waist line. Gotta work on this one.

(4) Time for playtime. Well, we don’t do much playing at home. That’s for the dog park. I do get to chase our feline hosemates around, but mostly I’m too tired to do anything but sleep…which brings us to:

(5) Naps. Yes. Say no more! The article suggests a “napping haven,” but give me mom’s bed anytime.

(6) Grooming. Yes: we go to the groomers regularly. I love my baths! Mom just had my teeth cleaned. She hasn’t been as good as she should have been about brushing my teeth. Maybe that’s because I resist so strongly.

(7) Fine dining. Well, I can’t complain about the quality of the food. Mom says, “Quality food will save on vet bills.” But thanks to the vet, she really rations the quantity…and my food bowl is older than I am. Of course, if I bring this up, mom will remind me how much she spends on dog walks. Okay: who need a new bowl? I haven’t worn out the old one.

(8) Time with Owner. Dogs hate to be alone. You bet! My mom is the best when it comes to time with me. She works at home and usually I’m just a few feet away. True, I do have some crate time, but my mom points out that she needs a life too. I have a big comfy crate with all the amenities…and I can catch up on my sleep. See “naps” above.

(9) The article refers to “doggy media experience.” I guess we could buy me some DVDs to watch when mom’s not home. I think my mom would put this in the same category as “doggy raincoat” and “doggy sweater:” over the top.

So all in all, my life isn’t bad. My mom’s a good dog owner and dog spoiler. But she has a LONG way to go. Her friend Bill in New York treats his dogs like royalty. I may be a princess, but around here, my mom says, I need to remember I am a CANINE Urban Princess. “Canine” and “Urban” come first.

Am I really spoiled? Please comment here.