Mom says today was the ultimate in urban living for a canine — and for her, too. She was behind schedule so we flagged down a Yellow Cab to take me to the Dog Lounge.

We CUPPIEs know how to ride in a cab. I sat straight on my mom’s lap, looking out the window, and didn’t budge. The driver likes dogs (otherwise he wouldn’t have stopped for us). I started to help him by licking the window, but my mom was horrified. “Gracie,” she said, “you don’t need to wash the windows.”

I spent a delightful morning being pampered with a workout in the Big Dog area, followed by a bath, pedicure and ear trim. Summer gave me a beautiful red and white bandanna to wear home. Everybody on the bus made a fuss over me. “Such a well-behaved dog,” they said. “So beautiful.” It was a community of urban bus riders. And all created by me.

“What’s her name?”

“Gracie. Amazing Gracie. Or Princess Gracie.”

“What’s her breed?”

“All American Mutt,” my mom says proudly.

Come on, Mom. You’re a copywriter. Can’t you come up with something more…regal?

Yeah, right.

Yesterday my mom Cathy decided to seize the day.

“Tomorrow is supposed to be awful,” she said. “There’s a good class at the gym at noon. You, Gracie, need exercise.”

So we trooped out the door, leaving the cats to their own devices and big plates of crunchies. Ophelia complained but Mom ignored her. Thank goodness! Ophelia is taking over our household.

The streets were pretty good. “Dry, packed snow, almost like Alaska,” Mom said. “But Gracie, after this snow goes away, we are scheduling several sessions with a trainer. You are pulling on your leash. And it’s slippery.”

I ignored her. I was eating snow. Delicious.

Mom dropped me off at the Dog Lounge where I had a joyous reunion with Summer. My mom took off for the gym.

She was in a good mood when she picked me up a few hours later. The weather was so pleasant she decided to run a few errands and walk around enjoying the outdoors.

The downtown streets were nice and clear, she said. “But a young guy took my arm when I was crossing the street on Stewart and then on Fifth. I guess I look old. But these days I’m more into practicality than pride.

“So,” she continued proudly, “I let them help me scoot across the street, so I got to the gym in time for my Survivor class, where I proceeded to kick some butt. Everybody else in the class looks at least 20 years younger than I am. And I hold my own.”

Our fitness was tested on the way home. Two buses were too full to take us. We ended up walking…and walking. My mom’s feet got wet in the slush and she worried about frostbite. My paws were getting a little chilly, too.

But we both felt great: all that fresh air and exercise. We were so tired we could barely move. And we both went to bed early, dreaming of blue skies and winter sunlight on a city day.

OK, it’s cold out there! Aunt Sara took me to the park yesterday and I came home exhausted. I’ve been sleeping…and sleeping. When Cathy takes me for walks, we’re both in a hurry.

Last night my mom was feeling really cold. It didn’t help that I managed to sit on one of her quilts and refused to budge. So finally Cathy grabbed me and said, “Gracie, time to earn your crunchies. You are now a heating pad.”

Good grief. That wasn’t in our adoption contract, was it? What about Ophelia? She should put her long hair to good use besides shedding all over the place.

But before I could protest, I found myself getting warm and drowsy. And then I was dreaming about running in the park with my buddies Bailey and Violet and that new puppy who just joined our pack. And getting hugs from Summer at the dog lounge. And walking out in the snow with my mom first thing in the morning. And then…

“Gracie! Ready for your walk?”

That’s not a dream. It’s for real. We go downstairs for our walk. Hey — the snow is all gone! Must be getting warmer.

No more heating pad. But I’m sure mom will come up with another ridiculous idea for me. Why should I have to earn my crunchies, anyway? Royal princesses aren’t supposed to work.

Yesterday evening my mom came home from the symphony, humming bits of Tchaikovsky’s 1st Symphony. Winter Dreams.

No, I didn’t recognize the tune. I am a dog, remember? She told me and the cats all about her latest musical adventure.

But then she took me out for my Late Night Walk. Winter Dreams? More like a Bad Dream. We were attacked by big fat wet snowflakes. And my mom was freezing, even in her parka with two sweaters. We walked half a block and Mom said, “Gracie, we aren’t going anywhere.”

OK, I have to admit it. I took care of business with haste and led the trek back to our apartment.

This morning all the buses were screwed up on account of snow. Mom was late getting to the gym and dropping me off at the Dog Lounge. She was irked.

I didn’t care. I spent an hour playing with the other dogs. Then I moved up front and helped my Big Sister Summer run the front desk. My job is to entertain everybody and pose for PR photos. It’s a tough life.

Summer sent my mom home with 2 sample packets of my favorite treats. Thank goodness. Since my mom went on her new diet, she’s been watching mine a little too enthusiastically.

My mom has been getting compliments on her new svelte self. Back in August, she declared 2008-2009 the Year of the Body. I must admit, I’m surprised. She keeps to her self-imposed diet (based on a combo of the Food Ranger and a couple of books she read). She goes to exercise classes.

She won’t get on a scale, but the other day she said, “I can’t wear these shorts anymore. They’re falling off! I can’t hold them up when I’m holding your leash.” She gave me a look that said, “Somebody needs to walk better on leash.” Who, me?

She’s always complaining about sore muscles but I have no sympathy. Mom’s got me on a good behavior program. That means I go to Magnuson Park twice a week and the Dog Lounge at least once a week. I’m tired too. Mom says, “Dogs are supposed to feel a little sleepy all the time.”

Great idea in theory, but I seem to be in a one-down position when it comes to the cats.

Here I am at the Downtown Dog Lounge, greeting my faithful subjects, Summer and Cynthia.

As a CUPPIE, I don’t spend much time in the big play area with the other dogs. I sit on the couch and get the respect I so richly deserve.

My mom says this picture makes me look like a Secret Agent. Well, no one is better at sniffing out food.

But I’m a celebrity. Didn’t Jackie-O have big sunglasses?

Yesterday Cathy decided she should drop by her gym for a quick workout. She was having withdrawal symptoms after her nearby gym branch closed, along with her killer Sunday workout.

Great idea, mom. But why did you drop me off at the dog lounge? I was ready for a nap.

Fortunately for me, I found some nice dogs whose owners had gone away for the weekend. Some of us are old friends by now. Even more fortunately, Summer brought me up front to hang out with her at the reception desk. So I got a good rest while my mom did her thing.

After she picked me up, Cathy took me across the street to the dog park. I connected with a rowdy French bulldog who let me chase him for a good half hour.

Cathy didn’t budge. She sat in the sun. I could have got away with anything.

Soon my tongue was hanging and even my dim-witted fanatical owner got the message. Time to go home and eat. Crunchies for me, carrots for my Mom.

Hopefully we’ll get a day of rest on Labor Day, but I doubt it.

My mom Cathy finally recognized her limits as a caregiver. She advertised on craigslist for a special needs pet sitter who could help give Tiger fluids. Sure enough, a delightful former vet tech named Jen answered her plea.

Jen came over Wednesday and walked Cathy through the process. She came back today and said Cathy’s doing much better. She even complimented Cathy’s ability to shove a big pill down Tiger’s throat.

Cathy was so excited because Tiger jumped up on the counter and ate a few mouthfuls of food without being prompted. What’s the big deal? I eat all the time, don’t I?

But I absolutely adore Jen. While she was talking to my mom, she gave me a full body massage. She rubbed my tummy and talked to me in soothing tones, clearly recognizing my royal stature.

Cathy offered to help Jen develop her website when Jen gets ready to expand her practice. My mom has a one-track mind.

Jen did offer a parting shot as she headed out.

“You could give Gracie low-calorie carrots instead of her usual treats,” she said. “Dogs don’t know the difference.”

Who said the f-word? I’m not fat. I’m just becoming royally queen-sized.

Saturday was so beautiful. Mom was thrilled to be wearing shorts. I liked feeling sun on my fur .

So after my bath and some play time at the Dog Lounge, we just had to go to the Dog Park across the street.

Look at all those rules! The only one I care about is, “Bring food at your own risk.” One day some wonderful person (my word) or idiot (my mom’s view) brought her lunch and left a whole bagel untended for all of 10 seconds. I grabbed a half and raced around the park, competing with half a dozen other dogs. Great exercise and I was the big winner.

“If Gracie steals food in the park, I’m not paying anyone a dime,” my mom says. This time she’s right.

Here’s a photo of Ed, one of the park regulars, with Sheba, one of his two dogs.

Ed likes to fuss over me (who doesn’t?), but Sheba gets jealous and knocks me down. When that happens I go over to Cathy and say, “It’s time to go home.”

We met a new dog on Saturday: Jack, newly adopted by Melissa and Jeremy.

They found Jack on Craigslist. He’s shaved because his fur was matted and he came with a digestive disorder. Apparently he’s allergic to corn and wheat so he’s on a special diet and doing fine. He was already house trained and very polite but they weren’t sure how he’d deal with other dogs and people.

Of course I checked him out and I’m so mellow, few dogs can resist. They even use me for temperament tests in the Dog Lounge. Within minutes Jack was sniffing out new friends all over the park.

We were waiting at the bus stop when they hailed a cab. I had to laugh. The driver seemed to be asking about the dog but Melissa was firm. “He’ll just sit on the seat and he’s very good in cars.” No room for discussion.

My mom needs to do that when we hail our own cabs. She usually brings something for me to sit on so I won’t get fur on the seats. She doesn’t argue: if they won’t take us, she’ll get another cab. I prefer the bus, myself. Some drivers welcome me and I love being the center of attention.

After a day of getting a bath, playing in the dog lounge and then catching up with my dog park friends, I was exhausted. Cathy wants me to sleep on my cushion but I’m too tired to care. Here I am dreaming about springtime in Seattle.

Yesterday Cathy dropped me off at the Dog Lounge for a bath.

Thank goodness…I was beginning to feel itchy.

Don’t tell anyone but I go to the groomer more than she goes to the hairdresser. “More bang for the buck,” my mom says. “Gracie looks gorgeous after her grooming session. I look…marginally improved.”

I’m not saying a word and if I were you, I wouldn’t either.

Here I am right after my bath with Terri, the trainer who’s trying to teach me some manners. When she says “No,” I listen. If she weren’t so nice…

And here’s Summer, who gave me my wonderful bath, trying to figure out what to charge Cathy. I should get a discount because I’m such a good advertisement for the place.

I suspect the staff thinks Cathy should pay a surcharge. When she picks me up, she asks a dozen times, “How was Gracie? Was she a good dog? Everything okay? Did she get to exercise? Will she be good and tired when we get home?”

My mom needs to get a life. But at least she makes sure I have a good one.