My mom Cathy finally caught on. I hate fireworks and loud noises. Last year I was shaking so hard she had to pick me up.

Well, I’m not quite the slender Princess I was a year ago. At midlife, my figure has become more Queenly, even though my mom watches my diet and I get tons of exercise. My mom isn’t getting any younger either (but don’t tell her - it’s a sensitive topic). So she said, “If I pick you up, Gracie, I might pull my back. So we are staying home.”

Mom goes out Saturday to hear Beethoven’s First and Ninth Symphonies at Benaroya Hall. So she played them for me, loud enough to drown out the firecrackers. I slept. And slept. After all, I went out with Aunt Sara on Tuesday and spent a few hours in the Dog Lounge on Wednesday. I’m wiped.

Mom is too but she was so excited about her updated blog she was up till 3 AM. Who cares what time she goes to bed? When I’m sleepy, I sleep. My bed is anywhere in this apartment.

My mom Cathy used to travel a lot. She has spent Christmas holidays in London (England), Madrid, Edinburgh, Paris, New York and Chicago…and more. But since 9/11, she says, she hates to travel. She’s served her time on planes waiting to be de-iced at O’Hare. She’s driven (very nervously) on icy roads.

“There’s so much to do here,” she says. “Symphony. Ballet. Theatre. Movies.”

Dog parks? I give Mom a nudge with my very cold nose.

“And dog parks,” she says. Sometimes she reads my mind.

My mom has a guilty secret. She hates Thanksgiving. She’s not exactly warm and fuzzy (duh - have you noticed?) so she doesn’t Get It. Why do people want to hang around, eat too much and pretend to be having fun? OK, maybe some people really have fun.

Not my mom. Cathy hates small talk. She actually detests parties.
“I’d rather stay home and read a good murder mystery. Or maybe watch a video and take Gracie to the dog park.”

I admit I enjoy visiting families on holidays. Everybody makes a big fuss over me. If the host has a dog, I can usually find a dish of dog food that’s tastier than what I get at home. By the end of the day, I am exhausted.

But my mom is less than thrilled. When I eat strange food, my tummy starts doing the tango. So I wake my mom at 3 AM to Go Out — Immediately — to Do My Business.

My mom gets very upset. “Why did I ever adopt another dog?” she asks me. At 3 AM, I must admit, I don’t have a very good answer.

So in the end, I guess I am better off when we just stay home. My mom sticks to her diet and I stick to mine. My mom buried her nose in a new mystery by an author she just discovered - Roberta Isleib - where the heroine is a clinical psychologist. My mom loves to second-guess therapists and she lives for a good mystery novel. She even approves of the author’s website (except for the W-word: Welcome, but let’s not go there. This is my blog, okay?)

Anyway, I have a lot to be thankful for. My dog beds. My dog walks. Food. Treats. The Dog Lounge for daycare. My raving fans all over Seattle. Our wonderful bus system, Seattle Metro, where I get to ride on my mom’s lap and get tons of attention from total strangers.

My mom celebrated her birthday this weekend. She discovered she was eligible for a free concert on her birthday so off she went to Benaroya Hall. They featured Sibelius’s 2nd (which she enjoyed immensely, she said, much better than the other Sibelius symphonies). Of course she also went to her exercise class. And we stopped by the dog park on our way home.

Unlike me, my mom did not get a treat for her birthday. She stuck to her lifetime eating plan. I’m so proud of her. I want her to stick around till I get old and cross the bridge. After that, she’s on her own.

My birthday was last month. I got to spend the day in the lounge, which was much more fun than going to a concert. And I got to spend my mom’s birthday there too. I played hard all day and I’m still tired. Gotta rest up: tomorrow’s my day to go to the park with Aunt Sara.

Cathy was hoping our fuzzy housemate Ophelia would give her the ultimate present: eating by herself. But no…Ophelia sniffs at food and says, “No thanks.” How can she turn up her nose at chicken and tuna? Meanwhile, the ditzy Creampuff is in heaven. She’s getting everything Ophelia won’t eat.

Me? I get my usual dry, boring crunchies. No big deal. I’d still rather be a dog.

New President-Elect Barack Obama has shown good sense already. He promised his daughters a puppy. My mom read this article aloud to me.

Frankly, I think Obama should forget about getting a puppy. The White House is no place for house training, crying and mess. He should do what my mom Cathy does: get a nice full-grown, mixed-breed dog from a shelter.

At least he’s not getting a cat, like the Ford administration. There’s hope for the country.

Last night we were honored with a visit from Mom’s friend and copywriting client, Ellen. Mom wrote the copy for Ellen’s website, Faces and Fortunes, back when she was charging about half of what she does now. Ellen’s site was very successful and they became phone friends. They met for the first time on Sunday. I went along to the Marqueen, where Ellen was staying. They wouldn’t let me go upstairs but the desk people fussed over me in the lobby.

Mom took advantage of the gift certificate she won at the Dog Park party last August (how appropriate!). She took Ellen to dinner at The Waterfront, an upscale seafood place in Seattle.

The waiter took this photo. After Mom downloaded it to Photoshop, she said she should have left a smaller tip. It was all blurry. She touched it up to get the photo. That’s my mom Cathy on the right. See, she does own some Real Clothes.

Did they bring home a treat for me? Hah. Such gratitude. I mean, if she didn’t own me, she wouldn’t have been at the dog park for the party. She’d have taken Ellen to the little Thai place around the corner.

“I wouldn’t mind,” Ellen said. “I like Thai food.”

Maybe next time.

Yesterday we went to the dog park. The weather was nice and my mom wanted a break. So I got to take one too.

I was kind of roaming around, looking for trouble and collecting lots of butt scratches from the humans. Not much was happening when we were there.

Then a man came with a nice dog, just about the right size and temperament for me. I went over, following dog etiquette, and introduced myself with a friendly sniff. I said hello. I went into play posture. The other dog did too. We were on the same wavelength.

Soon we were happily chasing each other. My mom walked over and told the dog’s owner, “They’re playing so well together. Isn’t that great?”

To her amazemenet, the other dog’s owner wasn’t happy. “Keep your dog away from my dog,” he snarled, snapping on a leash.

“Huh?” my mom said. “This is a dog park. If you bring your dog here, other dogs will play.”

The man huffily took his dog out of the park.

“Weird,” was the consensus among the humans…and me too. We were having fun! That poor dog needs some playtime.

“Some people shouldn’t own dogs,” said the owner of a brown dog of unknown breed.

“I agree,” my mom shuddered.

Me too. Sometimes I wonder:  If I’d waited longer, would I have had a better owner? Maybe Bill Gates would have come along and adopted me.

But on days like today, I realize things ccould be a lot worse. Almost every day I get to visit the dog park or the dog lounge. I get to play with anybody I want.

I bet that dog would trade places with me anytime.

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 has declared 2008-2009 the Year of the Body. Hers. She downloaded a book on healthy eating. She bought grains and leafy green stuff. She started back to meditating at least once a day. And she’s working out more than ever.

“By Christmas,” she says, “I want to have a whole new body.”

Of course, after setting all this in motion, she found something on the Internet about the danger of losing weight once you get past a certain age. She decided to ignore it.

Mom also cancelled her Cable TV. She has been so busy going to exercise class, she says, she has no more time to watch. And she wants to send me off on more walks with my Aunt Sara, since she’s going out more. That’s fine with me.

Our new housemate, Ophelia, is also on a diet. She refuses to eat dry food so she survives on a small amount of canned. She licks her wet food off each dry morsel.

Creampuff and I are the voices of normalcy, although Creampuff likes to eat my crunchies. I eat what my mom feeds me, plus treats, plus whatever disgusting stuff I find in the dog park.

And I’m the perfect size and shape.

My mom Cathy was discussing Richard Florida’s book, Who is Your City.

“Florida’s right about home ownership,” she was saying. “He says home ownership restricts mobility. He’s got some good ideas about revising rentals.

“But,” she went on, “he missed some other factors that keep us from being mobile. Health insurance is a biggie.”

Right. But what was his greatest omission?

Richard Florida says that communities who welcome gay and lesbian couples enjoy greater economic prosperity than those who don’t.

But what about cities who welcome Canine Urban Princes and Princesses? Seattle would rank Number 1 - and it’s one of the most prosperous cities in the United States. Lots of jobs. Ridiculous property values.

When Mom wanted to move from New Mexico, she chose Seattle because the city is more dog-friendly than her other choices. She’s never been crazy about the rain. But she loves the dog parks and the fact that I’m welcome in all sorts of places. She loves taking me on buses.

And when dogs are welcome, owners spend more discretionary income.

At one time, our favorite coffee shop, Uptown Espresso in Belltown, allowed dogs. You’d see me and my canine friends, snoozing away under the tables. One lady even brought me a muffin because I was so good. (My mom refused to let me eat it, of course.)

Then the Health Department stepped in. No more dogs! Now Cathy makes her own coffee at home most of the time.

It’s not exactly scientific. After all, I’m a dog. What do you expect - controlled experiments?

Maybe Richard Florida’s next book will have a place for dogs. If they need cover art, I’m prepared to pose naked, with or without a moving van.