A Dog’s Life – Page 13

A Non-Denominational Discussion of Easter Weekend

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:

http://www.flickr.com/photos/psd/ / CC BY 2.0

So what’s the big deal…

Of course I sleep. Dogs sleep most of the time. So do cats.

What’s unusual, my mom says, is that dogs and cats rarely sleep together. she keeps taking pictures of me with Ophelia on our own special corner of the couch.

This time I got to the couch first and Ophelia went into the dominant sleeping position that only a cat can take.

“What’s wrong with your dog bed?” my mom asks. “It’s nice and fuzzy and you would have room to stretch out.”

“Who cares?” I say. “The important thing is that Ophelia’s getting way too confident in this household. She’s the most recent acquisition. She started out as a timid, fearful feline and now…she’s taken over.”

Alas, my mom is the kind of person who roots for the underdog. She’s thrilled to see Ophelia making such great progress. She’d like to see Ophelia and Creampuff getting along, instead of this triangle where both cats adore the dog.

Well, what’s not to love? Total strangers come up to say, “Aww….what a cute dog.” Even a cat can recognize an adorable housemate when she sees one.

Meanwhile, back to the nap.

Uh oh…Does this dog need a good defense attorney?

I knew it was too good to last. My mom was so engrossed in what she was doing that she didn’t notice me. Ophelia was hogging my spot on the couch and the ditzy Creampuff was giving herself a bath across the room.

Then my mom heard chewing sounds.

“Good dog, Gracie. You’re chewing on your kong toy,” she called out. Then she stopped. “Wait a minute…”

Sure enough, there I was chewing on a delicious rubber handle attached to my own brush. Well, it’s mine, isn’t it? Mom uses it to brush my fur and also Ophelia’s, when she can catch us. Creampuff loves being brushed but Ophelia hates it.

But I digress. My mom grabbed her camera to take a picture. Then she whisked me unceremoniously into my crate for a time out. Shouldn’t I get an opportunity to present my case and appeal this verdict?

“It’s for your own good, Gracie,” she said. “So I won’t decide to send you back to the foster home where you came from. They didn’t warn me you were a champion chewer.”

As if. I’m here to stay and I know it. But for now, I think I’ll lie low in the crate. I won’t even ask to get out. And I’ll give my jaws a workout on my kong toy, which makes my mom very happy.

Ophelia tries to be a dog

My mom laughed out loud this evening. Ophelia came running into the living room with a pair of rolled-up gym socks in her mouth. Somehow she managed to meow while she carried them.

When I run around with socks, my mom yells, “NO! Gracie! Drop!”

But when Ophelia waddles around with a sock, it’s cute.

“Ophelia got the idea from you, Gracie,” my mom said. “Cats don’t carry things around.”

Once Ophelia realized what she was doing, she looked embarrassed. She washed herself thoroughly, which is what cats do when they’re embarrassed. My mom shuddered: “Hairballs.” But there wasn’t much she could do.

“Cats are made to be spoiled,” said my mom. “Dogs aren’t.”

Oh well. Back to my nap. Ophelia doesn’t have good taste in socks anyway. I like mine thick and woolly.

Dog in disgrace

My mom figures that, if I sleep on her bed, she’ll notice when I jump off. Then she will put me in my crate for the rest of the night.

Hah. I’ve become an expert stealth jumper. The Marines could hire me to sneak up on people. Or I could be a police dog, going undercover in drug dens.

“In your dreams!” my mom says. “What happens when I wake up and find two hungry cats and two empty plates of food without even a crumb? And you’re off the bed, licking your chops and looking very pleased with yourself?”

Circumstantial evidence, mom. You always said the justice system is too quick to convict with too few facts . You’re the one who says we should no longer criminalize normal behavior. So why am I in the dog house with no breakfast?

“If you eat more food, you will get sick,” my mom said. “And that means a sleepless night for me and maybe another big vet bill. We are not taking chances.”

A dog’s life iin the Goodwin household is not always an easy one.

“Yeah, right,” my mom says, as if she can hear my thoughts. “You get top quality food. You get the prime spot on the sofa, which you share with Ophelia. You get a magnificent dog bed. You run in a wonderful park twice a week. What more could you want?”

Well, more treats would be a good start. But I guess this isn’t the time to make new demands. It’s a good day to curl up on my cushion and look sweet, small and pathetic while I am sleeping.

dog park water bowl In the urban dog park, Regrade in Belltown. Taking a break to drink some water. My mom was desperate for some action for a photo. Doesn’t a dog get any privacy? Fortunately my mom’s a little squeamish. She draws the line at showing me in certain potentially awkward situations.

And now…Dog wins today’s battle of the couch

And now its’s my turn!

I grabbed the cushion and took over. Notice how i’m stretching as far as I can.

Well Ophelia’s not exactly tiny. She’s got her queen-sized self right next to me. She’s not sleeping. She’s waiting for me to make a move so she can move back in.

Alas, she’ll win. Soon my mom will say, “Gracie, time for a walk.” Then I’ll hop off the couch and my spot will be gone…till next time.

My mom says it’s like waiting to grab your spot at the local coffee house. Sometimes you get the window table. Sometimes you don’t. No sympathy from her.

Our own battle for dog and cat territory

My mom says people get into disputes over territory. She says wars are fought over occupied territories.

But right here in our home, we have a territorial dispute in full swing. My mom keeps taking pictures. She thinks it’s “cute” when Ophelia and I sit together on the corner of the couch. We’re each vying for position on the yucky old cushion that’s so comfortable.

Actually my mom thinks Ophelia has a crush on me. (Dare I blush?) Ophelia tries to sit on the bed…in the exact spot where I’m sitting. She sits on my cushion…because it smells like me.

This time Ophelia got to the cushion first. Here you’ll see me trying to crowd her out. Meanwhile, my mom gets stuck with a small corner at the other end of the couch.

Not to worry, she says. She doesn’t like being left alone in our living room. “Why do I pay for pets?” she asks. “I want you with me, in the same room.” Well, as humans say, be careful what you wished for. I was wishing for a nice indoor home where I’d get lots of attention and be spoiled rotten. And that’s exactly what I have.

And a ONE and a TWO…Dog Owner Seeks New Adventure

My mom goes in stages in her life. As the resident dog, I get to observe from a safe distance, mostly my crate, because her enthusiasms take her out of the house more often.

Last year my mom got into fitness in a big way. Declaring the Year of the Body, she went to all kinds of weight lifting classes. This year she found a trainer who taught her to be fit without all the weight lifting and anyway, her schedule is too crazy for classes.

So this year my mom declared the Year of Creativity or (more realistically) doing things for which she has no talent. As a dog, I feel it’s not my place to comment on the vast number of things my owner is not good at. I’m just happy she has marketable skills so we are never short of funds for crunchies and dog walks.

But the mom is determined to expand her horizons. In the fall she took up pottery. If you look in earlier posts in the “Pottery” category, you will see she is not going to be one of those aging potters who celebrates her eightieth birthday with a new designer vase. And just before Christmas she stopped by the gym one night and walked into a hip-hop class. She was hooked. Fortunately, I am not allowed in the gym, so I am not forced to watch her try to be coordinated, the way I have been roped (literally) into weekends at the pottery studio.

“It’s not very fast or furious,” she assures me. “It’s a workout class. The instructor offers three versions of everything: easy, realistic and impossible. We have to learn combinations and move to music. That’s supposed to be good for my aging brain.”

Yeah, right. My mom’s brain seems to be just fine when it comes to seeing through my repertoire of treat-seeking ploys.

“I’m getting better,” she told me last night as she fed me a late night snack of well-cooked rice (see previous post – let’s not go there). “At first I kept getting lost and now I can almost follow when she teaches us a new set of eight counts. And we can improvise. We’re not trying out for Chorus Line, after all.”

Not hardly. As we went on our evening walk, my mom was humming, “And a 5, 6, 7, 8 … and turn to the RIGHT!”

Whatever you say, mom. As a dog, I’d vote for, “And a 1, 2, 3, 4… and turn to the FOOD.”

The perfect spot

Every so often there’s a perfect harmony between dog and furniture. The people who designed this dog bed knew what they were doing. It’s perfect for a medium sized dog like me.

Okay, to be honest, I would rather have my spot on the couch. But Ophelia took over when we were out for a walk and she won’t give it up. Well, I have a perfect spot to set my chin and contemplate the action. Fortunately Ophelia hasn’t shown an interest in this bed and Creampuff doesn’t put up much resistance. Life is good.