My mom is an exercise nut. She thinks I should be too. So today we went off to the park. I actually played with another dog for a few minutes.

My mom was so happy. It was pathetic. She gets so excited when I play with other dogs. “Good dog, Gracie! Keep playing!” she yells. How embarrassing.

My playmate was a beautiful friendly golden retriever, just like her friend Bill’s dogs. She really misses having a big fuzzy dog like the sainted Keesha.

Well, after about 40 minutes in the park, I was ready to go home. I headed purposefully for the gate. My mom reluctantly said we could go … and then she took us on another walk to the Vine Street garden area. “Hyacinths! Tulips! Forsythia!” she exclaimed happily.

We were home about an hour after we started. My mom was in good spirits. She had even been to zumba class this morning so I was waiting for her to grab me for a nap. Alas, no: she had to work, she said.

Fortunately for me, dogs don’t work. I am crashing. Gotta get rested for Tuesday’s adventure with Aunt Sara.

Hmm…my mom said she’s heard of people getting paid under the table but I’ve set a record for being a dog who’s under the table.

This coffee shop allows dogs. My mom’s visiting with her friend from improv. They’re talking about boring things. They’re not talking about food, treats, toys or dog parks.

Meanwhile I just had a long day with my Aunt Sara. I really hate sleeping on wooden floors. I’m a cushion sort of dog. But hey, there aren’t any pillows around here. We royal folk are flexible. Queen Elizabeth would keep her dignity. My mom says Jackie Kennedy used to sleep on long airplane flghts, right in the cabin. So I’ll be doing the same.

“She’s so good,” everybody says. “So well-behaved.”

My mom just rolls her eyes. She’s given up explaining that I’m actually a high-maintenance spoiled dog. And she knows the truth: no dog is perfect. I come close.

My mom was so impressed when she saw this small dog in a pink coat.

“That dog is SO cute!” she exclaimed. She insisted on taking a picture. As far as she remembers, the dog is Bella and the owner is Tasha.

Notice how Tasha has chosen a beautiful pink coat for her dog – very becoming in color and style. And Bella’s owner is so well-dressed. She’s wearing fashionable high-heeled boots, even in the dog park.

Needless to say, I’ll probably never get a pink coat trimmed in fake fur. My mom says I’d chew it up. She’s probably right. And of course I’m not as small and furry as Bella.

“You’re cute in a different way,” the mom says firmly. “And you don’t need a coat. You have adventure outings with your Aunt Sara. Be grateful!”

If my mom had human children, their therapy bills would cost more than care and feeding of a dozen large dogs.

To be fair, my mom hasn’t worn any shoes except sneakers as far back as she can remember. She wears her aging parka to the dog park … and also to the symphony, the ballet and her improv classes. “I couldn’t squeeze my feet into those beautiful boots,” she says wistfully. “It’s nice to see people in the park who can add a touch of class.”

When I first moved in with Cathy, she put a nice cushion in my crate. Then she realized the cushion would get yucky and hard to clean so she put down some nice blankets.

Alas, one day she left me alone with a couple of delicious towels … and I do mean delicious. See that big pile of green threads? That used to be a towel.

So now I go bare in my crate. Just me, a bowl of water and a kong toy. isn’t that pathetic? Shouldn’t I turn myself in as a poor miserable dog with an inadequate owner?

Okay, my mom reminds me, let’s get real. She usually adds some peanut butter to my kong toy before she goes out. I only get peanut butter when I’m in my crate so I’ve fallen for the old trick. Now I associate peanut butter with the crate and I jump right in, bare and all.

Oh yes, the water is fresh. And I’m rarely in the crate for more than 4 hours at a time, which means I’m rarely alone, ever.

My mom reminds me that I eat good food, get regular outings at Magnuson Park with my Aunt Sara, and go everywhere she’s allowed to take me. And when I sigh heavily as I enter my crate, she threatens to pin up this photo.

My mom just read me this article from the New York Times. Sit. Stay. Parse. Good Girl!

Apparently there’s a border collie on the East Coast who knows over 1000 words.

“See, Gracie?” she said. “I need to work with you on learning more things. So far you haven’t fully mastered coming when called. Don’t you feel a little…um, underachieving?”

Who’s kidding who? I never feel like an underachiever. I am a Canine Urban Princess – a CUPPIE in good standing. I don’t need to learn all those words. I just follow Cathy’s actions.

In fact, I am actually almost psychic.

Yesterday my mom was going out in the evening. She just signed up to take an improv class up at Jet City Improv. Fortunately I can’t go because I realize this is yet another activity at which my mom will fail to excel. So far, there’s been pottery, dancing and now…acting. She just doesn’t know when to quit.

But I digress. We went to the park around 3 PM. My mom urged me to run and play, even though there weren’t any other dogs worthy of my attention. And I’m not getting any younger. Even our good friend Lindsay noticed I’m getting more gray around the muzzle. Okay, I got in a few sprints. But I’m conserving my energy for tomorrow’s trip to the good park with my Aunt Sara and the nice dogs in my regular pack.

So we went home and my mom pretended to work at her computer. I can tell because while she works I sleep on my special cushion, right behind her. The fat Ophelia sleeps right next to me on a separate cushion.

Then the mom tried to fool me into a walk. She didn’t change her clothes. She made a big point of casually saying, “Want to go for a walk?”

I wasn’t fooled. I knew this was a Walk Before Gracie Goes Into The Crate. So as we walked home I dug in my paws and looked stubborn. Everybody passing by made a wisecrack, like, “Who’s walking who?” and “Doesn’t want to go home, does she?” Some people thought I was cold and didn’t want to be out walking.

Although I thoroughly embarrassed my mom, I still had to go home and yes, get stuffed in my crate. My mom put some peanut butter in my kong toy but I wasn’t fooled. I knew I was in for a few hours of serious crate time.

“Gracie, there’s no argument here!” my mom said. “The vet says you’ll get really sick if you keep chewing things. You’re hardly a deprived dog. Millions of dogs would trade places with you in a heartbeat. I bet those dogs from Michael Vick’s ranch would love to be in a nice crate with peanut butter instead of fighting with other dogs.”

Yeah, right. I think she’s reassuring herself. As soon as she closes the door, I scarf down the peanut butter and go to sleep. When she comes home, I’m out of the crate, tail wagging, ready to settle down for the night on my mom’s bed after our final, final walk, which I enjoy immensely and never argue about. See, I know? It’s a tough life but at least I can read between the lines.

A few days ago we were walking to the park when we heard someone calling us: “Gracie! How are you? You look great!”

Of course i look great. Why wouldn’t I?

It was our old friend Cynthia, from the old Downtown Dog Lounge on Bell Street. We loved going there. They always fussed over me. I never had to hang out in the pen with the other dogs; I was the assistant receptionist and my photo was on the wall as a staff member. Then the place closed.

Cynthia was one of the managers. Now she has another job and she’s probably doing well. But she remembers when Cathy first adopted me. “Gracie is so much more confident,” she said, giving me a scratch in that special spot on my tummy. That feels SO good. Can you tell I was thrilled to see Cynthia?

We went out for our walk Tuesday evening – yesterday. I wasn’t crazy about getting my paws into the snow so for once I did my business fast.

Usually my mom is thrilled – she’s ready for bed! But she couldn’t resist taking out her cell phone for a photo op. “Belltown is so beautiful in snow,” she said. Here’s the entrance to the freeway, usually affording a nice view of cruise ships. Not that I care much for ships: I’m more into what’s on the ground nearby than what’s out on the sea. Nevertheless…

It was a beautiful winter evening. Can you tell I’m *really* cold?

Helping Cynthia With Her Book

I decided Cynthia needed a dog fix so I wandered over. I can never get too many pats or too much attention. Cynthia kept on reading but people always make time for me.

As the resident dog, one of my official roles is driving my owner nuts. I excel in this area.

Since we moved I have demonstrated a new skill that dogs are not supposed to have. When we go for walks, I sometimes stop on the way back. I refuse to budge.

Peo0ple laugh at my mom. “Dog doesn’t want to move,” they say.

My mom gets so embarrassed. “Keesha never did this,” she sighs.Never mind that Keesha was 10 pounds heavier, three times as fuzzy and a different breed altogether.

My mom noticed that I tend to do this when we’re coming back after a walk just before she goes out. I am destined for some serious crate time and there’s no reason to rush back.

“How do you know?” my mom asks. “Maybe I change my clothes just before we walk. Or I fill your water dish.” So she doesn’t change her clothes or fill my water dish till we return. No dice. I still know.

My mom’s pretty smart about most things. She keeps trying to figure out how I know what’s happening.

I am not going to tell. A lady needs to keep her secrets.