A Dog’s Life – Page 12

Who needs a soccer mom when you’re a dog?

My mom Cathy just read me another article from the WSJ: Amerian Parents Going To THe Dogs After Human Kids Leave The Nest. Read it at http://bit.ly/2thedogs

It seems that when the kids go off to college, their human moms get bored. They drag the dogs around to classes: agility, sheep-herding and more. The article reports one poodle looking wistfully at her mom instead of herding sheep. Personally I am a natural sheep herder – I try to herd anything that’s moving, including skate boards and motorcycles. But poodles are not herding dogs. Hello!

My mom isn’t exactly the soccer mom type, so I don’t think I’ll ever spend my days going to doggie lessons. Anyway she won’t drive in Seattle so we don’t go anywhere unless we can walk or ride the bus. I like going for walks, running in the park, playing with my special dog friends, sleeping, and teasing the cats we live with. I live a full life. My mom lives a full life. No “empty-nest” syndrome here.

Anyway, what about all those poor dogs sitting in shelters, waiting to be adopted? If your dog gets bored and you have extra money, space and time, just adopt a new dog! Pay for extra obedience lessons for a stubborn critter who’s doing hard time in the pound for jumping and pulling.

On to the next story, mom. It’s time for another nap before the dog walker comes to take me to Magnuson. The mom has Pilates and massage today. My big sister Summer promised to come over and give me some extra playtime. I am not a substitute for a child. I am a real dog with a dog mom, not a soccer mom.

Good Dog Has A Bad Food Day

Uh oh. My mom was afraid she’d have to take me to the vet. My tummy was sore and I dragged her out an extra time to Do My Serious Business. Still, she let me go to Magnuson with Bob, who was replacing my vacationing Aunt Sara.

Bob isn’t clued in to my mom’s business so he interrupted her phone call while she was telling people about her new workshop for next week.

Of course I had to skip dinner. I was one hungry pooch. This morning the mom fixed me a big fluffy dish of rice. Just what I’ve always wanted, right? Doesn’t taste much like a treat. But I was so hungry I scarfed it down. Tonight I got rice and a tiny helping of bland dog food. Better. Then mom took me off to bed. We’re both tired this week. Too much fresh air and too much going on in our lives.

Dog rides the bus

My mom says, “We’re still in Seattle for one major reason. Dogs are allowed on buses!”

True. They have to be well-behaved. We ride free if we are service dogs or if we fit on the owner’s lap.

I’m pretty big for a lap dog, but I like riding on my mom’s lap. As a certified Canine Urban Princess, I do not want to ride on the floor.

Anyway, when I do ride on the floor, my mom worries that I will scarf up some chewing gum, ancient french fries or worse. She’s right. I am a canine vacuum cleaner as well as a Canine Urban Princess. My mom keeps telling me that royalty should be more dignified. I have to remind her that the British royal family have been caught in some totally undignified positions.

My mom snapped this photo as we were riding the bus, just before she had a techno meltdown with her phone camera and acccidentally erased all her pictures and videos. Did I tell you my mom was technologically challenged? It’s tough for a hard-working dog to keep up a blog under these conditions..

“Fat cats can jump.”

“Aha!” my mom cried, as she walked into her home office. “Ophelia can jump!”

Apparently there is an old movie, “White men can’t jump.” It’s about basketball so my mom likes it.

Ophelia is …well, a little plump. She has short legs. So we don’t expect to see her jump to counters. My mom feeds her on the kitchen floor, which means Ophelia gets to eat only while I’m in my crate or out. Theoretically that would mean she doesn’t eat as much, but when it comes to eating, Ophelia’s totally efficient. She absorbs every calorie she consumes and finds time to consume many calories at a rapid rate.

So my mom was astonished to see her on top of the computer desk, snuggling up to the desktop Mac.

Very funny, mom. First Ophelia displaces me from my couch. Now she’s taking Creampuff’s favorite spot next to the desktop computer. Ophelia is a big fat bully.

Alas, my mom adores her. Ophelia was designed to be spoiled, the mom says. She’s responding well. She purrs a lot. She clearly appreciates her life with us. And why shouldn’t she? Ophelia rules the house. She’s taking over my spots and she’s intruding on my blog. Doesn’t she look territorial – spreading herself all over Cathy’s desk?

Taking Time Off…Our “Dress for Un-Success” Way

My mom keeps bemoaning the fact that she will never be glamorous or gorgeous. She can’t walk across the room in most dress shoes. She’s seriously thinking of giving away most of her clothes when we move. She will keep just one emergency dress-up outfit and decline all invitations to anything where she can’t wear shorts, jeans or sweats. That’s my mom’s idea of going to heaven before she dies: never having to dress up again.

Last Sunday fit our description of “perfect way to take time off.” First my mom went to the gym where she did some Pilates and worked on her biceps. She likes George Sommerrock’s classes.

Then we got on the bus and headed out to West Seattle to see my Uncle Lance. He’ s my mom’s mysterious friend who refuses to let us use his real name…even his first name. My mom has a feeling we get invited just because of me. When my Uncle Lance gets his own dog, I will be invited to come over and play…and oh yes, my mom can tag along too.

My mom bought a couple of things at the Farmers Market (I had to stay outside and get fussed over). Then we went to the dog park. By then I was pretty tired but I managed to run around the grass and trees. It’s a great park: the real deal. No wood chips or cement with a fence. My mom suspects I used to be a country dog but I’m not telling. Like Uncle Lance, I guard my privacy.

Shortly after taking this photo, my Uncle Lance bundled us into his car to drive us home. He knows my mom’s navigation skills and sense of direction would get us home by way of Spokane. Even when he’s got GPS, she jinxes our journeys. We always get lost. No exception today.

We detoured about ten miles south. Ddon’t ask me how -I was stuffed in the back seat. Uncle Lance’s car is built like a space ship with doors that open and close. I have to jump in fast and get out of the way. Anyway, my mom said, we got a gorgeous view of Mount Rainier up close, just like a post card. I wouldn’t know. I was sound asleep by the time we left the park.

Dog Grooming Goes Wild

My mom just showed me this article from today’s New York Times: Where Creativity Wags Its Tail. Apparently there’s a contest to sculpt dogs fur into images…anything from a person to a dragon.

As a certified dog, I say, “Forget about it! No way!” My mom takes me to a groomer to get a bath and brushup. Period. No funny stuff in my fur. And I’ll keep the color I was born with, thank you very much.

According to these groomers, the dogs love all the attention. True. I love attention myself. When we go to the dog park, I always go over to people and ask for a rub or a hug. But stand still while somebody clips me? Getting dyed green or blue or yellow?

Not for me. Fortunately my mom is big on “simple and easy.” And we both value our nap time.

Dogs don’t do real estate,,,

Thank goodness! I have a small castle known as The Crate. I have a few vacation homes, otherwise known as dog beds. I also take over the cat bed since Ophelia has usurped my spot on the couch. That’s as far as we go.

My mom, on the other hand, seems determined to get herself into a condo. I had to listen to her swearing over the paperwork (which wasn’t too bad, thanks to her awesome dog-loving real esetate agent Sarah Odegaard). And I had to go along for the inspection. The inspectors immediately recognized my role.

“She gets to decide where you live,” they said seriously.

My mom went out for coffee with Sarah while they gave the place the once-over. It was a nice day, although a little warm. They had to sit outside because coffee shops don’t take dogs anymore. All this fresh air was too much. We were exhausted the next day.

My mom has started thinking about hiring a mover. “We’re very close,” she told me. “She muttered something about title and negotiating on items to be fixed. Fixed? You lost me there, mom.

We’re getting rid of a lot of stuff so the movers wll have a lighter load. I’m nominating a new home for our housemate, Ophelia. Mom put her on a diet but it’s not working. At this rate we will need to rent a whole truck just for her.

Do we need a separate truck to move this cat?

Uh oh…there may be a moving van in our future.

The mom has ruled. The condo looks beautiful. The price is excellent. Interest rates are still good. She’s been dreaming about the neighborhood ever since I’ve known her. So I may be getting a new identity as an official Belltown Dog.

Mom is already starting to worry about finding a moving company. She wants to get rid of a lot of our stuff. “I’m tired of living with clutter,” she says. However, she assures me, we will definitely take my crate and all the dog beds.

I heard her on the phone, saying, “It’s like being dealt a hand of aces. Great condo the owners have priced for a quick sale. Great interest rates. I’m eligible for a tax credit because we delayed buying a home all this time. The loan has been verbally approved.”

Personally, I plan to nap through the move. My mom says she will either put me in day care or hire someone to take care of me so I’ll be out of the way.

Great concept, although I’d like to stick around and supervise. Did we tell you I am a herding dog? I’d love to prod the moving people to move a little faster and go easy on the crate.

Real Estate Interferes With This Dog’s Life

My mom has got it into her head, “Maybe this is a good time to buy a condo.” Never mind that for years she swore, “Never buy a condo. It’s like having fifty landlords. All the other owners influence your life. The Board can be kooky. Who needs it?”

Well, now that condo prices have come down in Seattle, she’s looking. I think she’s 70-80% serious. She has a great real estate agent, Sarah Odegaard. We know she’s great because Cathy met her in the Regrade Dog Park.

Sarah has a big dog and lives in a high rise herself. She was single for a long time. So she understands the whole scoop (pardon the expression) on single urban living with dogs. She is remarkably patient with Cathy’s requirements. Must be on multiple bus lines because Cathy refuses to drive in Seattle. Must allow me and the two cats legally. Must have lots of sunlight. Must not be at street level. Must be in a neighborhood where our dog sitter, Sara Kimmel will come and take me for walks. (Sara said my mom is not the first client who refused to move outside her service area.)

The mom gets on Craigslist and emails a dozen suggestions to Sarah the real estate agent. (Never mind that Sarah has already promised to look through MLS, which is much more comprehensive and up to date than Craigslist.) Then she emails again to say she changed her mind or found more listings. Then she starts to feel like this is too much work and she says, “Let’s go for a walk, Gracie.”

Yes! Especially when she remembers to grab a handful of treats before we head out the door.

Just thinking about all this is enough to give a small dog a big headache. But it gets worse. My mom feels that I should be part of this experience. “After all, Gracie,” she says, “you have to live there too. And if somebody frowns at us when you’re with me, we know it’s the wrong place for us.”

Of course, just owning a dog has cut out many potential locations for my mom. That’s fine with her. “If they don’t allow dogs they’re probably uptight, nasty people,” she says. “Who needs them?”

She still loves living in this beautiful rental apartment, even with the ceiling that’s getting repaired. “People sneer at one bedroom apartments,” she says. “But this one is so well laid out. I even have a separate office alcove. There’s more than enough room. The location is phenomenal. It’s close to perfect.”

I agree. I have plenty of choices: cat bed, dog bed, Cathy’s bed and more. I would have the corner of the sofa but Ophelia has completed her takeover. I have been officially displaced.

And we really don’t want a huge space. “In New York, Philadelphia or Seattle, the city is your playground,” my mom says. “I don’t want to feel I have to spend all my time in my home because it cost so much. I want to spend money on ballet, symphony, Storm games, theatre, coffee shops and taxicabs.”

I agree. When Cathy’s not working, we should be in the dog park or walking around upper Queen Anne. Or I should be out playing with my Aunt Sara while Cathy goes to the gym or works in a coffee shop.

Meanwhile, I am exhausted. We looked at five places yesterday. Cathy didn’t get excited about any of them. However, she and Sarah the real estate agent were very impressed with my car manners. I sit in back very quietly, looking out the window. Well, why wouldn’t I? It’s better than being left behind. And Cathy needs to remember we need LOTS of room for my crate.

Makes me proud to be a dog

My mom just read me an artcle from the New York Times. Apparently dogs are being trained to help mlitary veterans deal with combat stress. For instance, if a vet is afraid to go into a crowded room, the dog can set up a barrier. Dogs even dial 911, although I can’t imagine how. My paws are too big for my mom’s phone.

Here’s the article.

Apparently dogs are so helpful these vets cut back on their medication or were able to stop medication entirely. Wow! I’ve always said dogs are better than doctors and my mom tends to agree. She drops tons more money at the veterinarian’s office than at her own medical services.

OK, I probably won’t be trained as a service dog. But I do my part. Yesteday my mom and I were walking to the bus stop. My mom was determined to comine a walk in Upper Queen Ane with a trip to pick up her books at the library.

As we were dashing along Mercer Street, a woman waiting for own bus called out, “Ma’am – hey!” My mom stopped dead in her tracks, wondering what she had done or dropped. Of course that meant I had to stop too. We both turned around.

“Can I pat your dog?” the woman asked. She looked normal to my mom and smelled normal to me. My mom had to say, “Sorry, we want to catch a bus.”

This happens all the time. When I’m sitting politely in my mm’s lap, all kinds of people pat and poke me for a dog fix . It’s a good thing I’m a patient, gentle sort of dog. But i know these people need something in their lives and for the moment, it’ s me.

Hey, how about barking out a message to President Obama. We could cut health care costs if everybody got issued a dog at birth. They’d get more exercise. They’d lower their blood pressure and have fewer heart attacks. They’d be kinder to others and our prison population would drop. Not to mention the thousands of nice mixed-breed dogs like me, who have secret ties to royalty….the list goes on.

Anyway, thanks to the New York Times for another good dog story. Makes me proud of my species. People go to war and it’s only right that dogs bring them peace.

And now back to my nap. I’m stuck with the cat bed since Ophelia commandeered my cushion on the couch. But hey, I’m not into fighting. No cat gets PTSD on my watch.