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.”

Since we moved to Belltown, we live near lots of good restaurants. My mom complains, “Every time I go out, I have to walk past one of the best bakeries in Seattle.” Today she bought a loaf of good healthy vegan bread and proceeded to make some toast.

“Soup and toast for lunch,” she said.

Being a dog, i don’t do lunch. I’m lucky to get breakfast and dinner. The sainted Keesha, my mom’s first dog, just got dinner, once a day. Period. And she slept on the floor, too.

So when Aunt Sara came to take me for my walk, I dashed back and grabbed a piece of my mom’s toast for me. Mmm…. delicious!

I got about two bites before my mom realized what I was doing. I didn’t even get to finish. Is that fair?

“Gracie is a high maintenance dog,” my mom sighed, as Aunt Sara finally got me leashed up and ready to go.

Well, as a royal canine princess I deserve some extra maintenance. Besides, my mom needs to stay on her diet. It’s my job to help. I know, it’s a tough sacrifice, but someone’s got to do it.

Pamela with Kaylee

And I am her muse and source of inspiration.

Now my mom has yet another reason to believe dogs are good for business. Her business friend Pamela Bruner just wrote a blog post about dogs as motivators.

It seems that Pamela’s dog Kaylee needed surgery to alleviate a painful knee. (You didn’t know dogs have knees? Now you know.) Pamela realized she had a motivation to keep earning higher levels of income, so she would always be able to say “yes” when a vet asked if she could afford the surgery.

Dog surgery doesn’t come cheap. In fact, my mom sighs, there’s nothing cheap about a dog. Walking. Boarding. Feeding. And more.

“If I didn’t have a dog, my life would be simpler,” she says.

My mom’s New York friend Bill always laughs when she says this. He knows she’d have less fun and “you’d be a little old lady who lives with cats.”

Good grief. Imagine life with Ophelia as the main pet. Be thankful for me, mom!

Is this scene getting old? I think so, but the mom remains enthusiastic.

“Gracie, you and Ophelia are getting along so well!” she exclaims. “We need to capture this moment.”

Fine, mom. You just interrupted our nap. Ophelia may be a spoiled fluffball, but she knows exactly how to hook our mom. She’s mastered “cute.”

“Hard to believe Ophelia was once a miserable kitty in a small cage,” my mom says. “When she first came she waged war on Creampuff. Her fur was a mess. And now…”

Right. After hundreds of dollars of vet bills and top quality food, we have a fat, furry housemate who clearly enjoys her life with us. She jumps up in my mom’s lap. She inherited Tiger’s position as dominant cat. Luckily Creampuff is too ditzy to care.

And I don’t care who runs the household, as long as Cathy’s schedule gets dictated by my treats, walks and naps.

Well, I guess my mom can relax a little more when I go out. The folks at dog.com sent us a new door for my crate, with a latch that closes nice and tight. I can feel secure!

My mom managed to unwrap the package. Then she looked at the old door.

“How the [blank] do I get this thing off?” she wondered. “Maybe I can bribe your Aunt Sara to help. And your Uncle Lance may be stopping by too.”

Fortunately my mom was out this morning when my Aunt Sara came to pick me up. When Cathy returned, she first thought I had escaped. The door was open and I was gone. Then she realized Aunt Sara had come a little early..and the new door was on the crate!

“I guess you know by now,” Mom said ruefully when Aunt Sara dropped me off this afternoon. “I’m totally challenged mechanically.”

“I figured I might as well get that door on,” Aunt Sara said tactfully.

My mom wants you to know it’s not age. Just the opposite. She’s much more dexterous now than she ever was. Now she knows what a Phillips screwdriver is, although I’m not sure I’d want to watch her try to use one.

My mom Cathy says she can tell when I am Up To Something. She’ll hear a rustle or a crunch and she leaps up from her desk: “Gracie? What are you doing? Stop it! Now!!!”

Usually she’s right. I’m chewing up a delicious camera cord (my favorite) or a paper plate or a brush with a plastic handle.

But sometimes she’ll find Creampuff happily chewing away on her food. Creampuff can leap to the kitchen counter for casual between-meal snacks. She eats heartily and never gains an ounce. Ophelia, whose short fat legs won’t give her the momentum for a Big Leap Forward, eats only a few times a day and tips the scale at fifteen pounds.

I love it when that happens. A clear Not Guilty verdict for the dog.

Leaning against a friendly person in the Dog Park

And I’m very affectionate. Here I am in Regrade Dog Park getting acquainted with someone we don’t know. She’s talking nonstop on her cell phone. She interrupts to say “yes” when my mom asks if we can use this photo in her blog.

Notice that my legs are angled so I can a good, deep lean Aahhhhhhhh……. That’s The Lean.

My mom has pointed out that I’m not exactly a one-person dog, like her first dog, the sainted Keesha. “Gracie would go home with anybody,” she says. “She barely knows who I am.”

Oh come on, mom. When you’re ready to go home, I follow you to the gate (unless somebody else gets my attention). When you pick me up from daycare, I recognize you.

But hey, I’m flexible. If a better owner came along… um, better change the subject. Let’s get out of the park and go home to dinner.

Isn’t this a great photo of me? “Portrait quality,” my mom says proudly.

William, one of the dog park regulars, took this photo. He’s got several photos of my mom, too, in her raggedy old shorts and her hair sticking out. She refuses to post them.

So what am I doing here? Worshiping my mom? Giving thanks to universal forces that saved me from a dog rescue group and brought me to a nice apartment in Seattle, with a mom who could be worse and a couple of cats who keep things from getting dull…not to mention an Aunt Sara who escorts me to a wonderful dog park twice a week?

No way.

Someone is holding out a TREAT. What could be more essential? See how I’m totally focused, 100%?

“That’s how I should be about my work,” the mom says ruefully. “Or my various self-improvement projects.”

Like most dogs, I know when it’s time to speak and time to be silent. The hand that holds the treat must be respected.

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:

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.