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.

Chef Scott Carsberg of Bisato adores me. My mom adores the restaurant and she goes there whenever she can find a special occasion. They serve nouvelle cuisine – very healthy and delicious. In summer I am allowed to sit outside at one of the small tables in front of the restaurant.

Sometimes my job is to give people a dog fix. That’s what I’m doing now. See, mom? I earn my keep. When she goes to the restaurant I bet she gets great service because of me.

Since we moved we are just next door to my mom’s bank. My mom always takes me along. She likes to combine her errands with lots of dog walks.
“So you get exercise, Gracie,” she says, “and I get everything done.”

So while she deposits her checks, I get to scarf some treats from the Relationship Manager, Jessica. Hey – we’re relating, right?

We don’t have a television so we don’t watch commercials. However, my mom was watching a show on Hulu.com when she caught a flash of a Subaru commercial, where dogs drive the car.

“You didn’t know my first dog, Keesha,” she told Ophelia and me. Creampuff knew Keesha of course but she was off hiding and being ditzy as usual.

“Keesha used to wait for me in my car,” she said, sounding a little sad. “I’d come back from the store or the gym and she’d be sitting behind the steering wheel. People would make jokes like, ‘That dog wants to drive.’”

Uh… mom, you had a car?! Ophelia and I have been strictly buses and cabs.

“And,” she continued, “I would say, ‘Keesha, you know better! Get in back.’ And Keesha would give me that look – ‘You caught me!’ – and jump to the back seat.”

That’s a trick? My mom was clearly besotted.

She went off to Youtube to look up more videos of dogs driving Subarus. Her favorite is (naturally) the parking commercial where the dogs get beat out by a large fuzzy cat.

I have to watch over Mom’s shoulder because my paws don’t fit the keys. You can just click the play button.

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.”

My mom couldn’t resist reading a new book, Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother by Amy Chua. This book has drawn all sorts of controversy from major media, including the New York Times and Wall Street Journal.

Amy Chua, a professor at Yale Law School, was determined to raise her daughters the Chinese way. That meant getting all A’s in school, no sleepovers, no participating in activities that wouldn’t lead to gold medals (or the equivalent) and generally no fun. Amy’s daughters excelled at music, one on violin and the other on piano. Well, they had no choice: Amy stood over them and watched as they practiced.

A lot of readers and reviewers were critical of Amy’s mothering style. My mom was a little wistful. “I wish I’d had a mom who was more like that,” she says. “Maybe I’d be more accomplished. I could play an instrument. For sure I’d have a cleaner, more orderly household.”

True. As the resident dog, I know when it’s time to avoid certain sensitive subjects. When it comes to me, she’s reasonably strict. If I refuse to walk, she drags me. She even carries me from the elevator to our own condo door. I rather enjoy that. But she’s a softie, too. When I first moved in, she said, “Dogs don’t sleep with people.” From the vantage point of my own cushion on the foot of her bed, in close proximity to the fat Ophelia, I try to look respectful as we drift off to sleep every evening. Ophelia just looks smug.

My mom has directed my attention to page 108 of this book, where Amy Chua writes about their dog, Coco, a white Samoyed.

Coco, Amy writes, “got cuter by the day. She had the same strange effect on all four of us. Just looking at her lifted our spirits. This was true even though all my ambitions for her had been replaced by a single dynamic. She would look at me with her pleading chocolate almond eyes — and I would do whatever she wanted…”

Well, why not?

Amy adds on page 109, “It didn’t upset me that I had revised my dreams for Coco - I just wanted her to be happy. I had finlly come to see that Coco was an animal, with intrinsically far less potential than [my daughers]. Although it is true that some dogs are on bomb squads or drug-sniffing teams, it is perfectly fine for most dogs not to have a profession or even any special skills.”

Well, that shows Amy does have a sense of humor, contrary to the comments of some reviewers, my mom says. But I am a little indignant. What dog doesn’t have special skills? My skills are looking cute, prancing, and snuggling.

And although I may not have a formal profession, my life does have a purpose. I am responsible for giving many people a much-needed “dog fix” in their lives. Our building security guard says, “She makes my day.” The restaurant owner next door spends several minutes giving me a good massage whenever he sees me. And every so often a total stranger will ask to pat me, thanking my mom for the privilege.

“Gracie, I think your life has more meaning than most people’s,” my mom likes to say, a little wistfully. She’s not known for being warm and fuzzy herself. That’s my cue to look up at her adoringly and try to be on good behavior for at least three minutes. See? Who says I don’t have a job?

A few days ago we went to the dog park. After going to Magnuson with my Aunt Sara, I’ve become quite spoiled. Regrade Park is okay if you’re desperate, but it’s just not Magnuson. No water. No beach. No grass trails. And definitely not the dogs I’m used to playing with in my own pack.

On this day, a dog named Sheba jumped on me when I was just entering the park. Sheba’s owner, Ed, recognized me. We hadn’t seen him for awhile. He was giving me a nice welcoming massage when Sheba got jealous.

Needless to say I was somewhat traumatized. I wanted to go home. But my tough mom insisted, “Gracie, you have to get over this. Hang in there awhile! Find a nice small dog to play with.”

Yeah, right. Instead I jumped up on the wall to join my best park friend, Lindsay. Lindsay understands me. She gives me treats and butt rubs. And she protects me. See how I’m sitting? I’m firmly here and not moving. Yeah, there’s a cute little dog here. Who cares? I won’t budge till my mom gives up and says we can go home.

My mom had a contractor come do some work on her kitchen and bathroom. Since he was connected to two people she knows and trusts, she left him alone while she went off to one of her events this evening.

And since he’s been a dog owner, she said, “Just put Gracie in her crate when you leave.” She figured if he can remodel a home he can figure out how to put a dog into a crate.

Wrong.

He decided to show some initiative. He left me alone with one of our favorite cat cushions. I loved it.

When my mom came home the crate was filled with this cottony stuff. “I hope you didn’t eat it,” she said to me in a very stern tone.

Then she took this photo.

I guess I’ll be going commando again next time, as discussed in this earlier post.

Recently my mom read me a story from the Wall Street Journal. If you’re human you can read it here.

Apparently obesity is as serious for dogs and cats as smoking is for humans. The article had lots of stories about fat dogs and cats, including overweight dogs who were put on diets after they were adopted.

Frankly, I don’t worry about obesity. My mom watches my waist line, along with my sharp-eyed Aunt Sara. As soon as anybody says, “Getting a little chunky there, Gracie?” I’m in trouble. But I get tons of exercise and my mom doles out my crunchies with a measuring cup, just like the vet said.

Ophelia, on the other hand, is what we used to call a tubby tabby. She doesn’t eat that much. She only gets to eat when I’m out of the house or locked in my crate, because otherwise I steal her food. She can’t leap up to the counter the way Creampuff can.

My mom refuses to worry. “Remember Tiger?” she says. “For years everybody told me that cat was too fat. They warned me she’d die prematurely. When she finally headed for that great sandbox in the sky, she was a good 20 years old.”

Tiger was tough. My mom adopted her in Canada. “Probably a Saskatchewan barn cat,” she likes to say.

Ophelia, on the other hand, comes from a shelter in Seattle, where her family probably got tired of dealing with a spoiled rotten feline and dumped her off. After a whole month of living in a small cage, she is our most appreciative housemate. She actually grovels. Very undignified for a cat. For my mom’s sake I hope she lives a long time. We’ve given up trying to put her on a diet.

Almost done with the new dog park mural.

This wall used to be a handball court. It’s still a dog ball court. Dog owner still throw balls against it and the concrete is a play area for dogs to chase tennis balls.

Just a few years ago, before my mom came to Seattle, this park was notorious for drugs. Apparently nobody would enter the park. People hated to walk past it. The city tried different solutions but nothing worked till they added the dogs. As my mom likes to say, “Nobody’s gonna come in and deal drugs if they have to walk past a couple of big German shepherds.”

To be honest, most of the regulars in the dog park are not crazy about this mural. It’s a little too cutesy for us.But did you notice an important feature: names of the dogs are painted along the sides! We contributed to the mural so our names go up.

My name is just above the orange fencing, which will be long gone by the time you read this. It’s not really sideways. My mom just can’t hold a camera straight.