A Dog’s Life – Page 16

City Dog’s Boring Day, continued: Watching My Owner

Well, after my mom picked up a few books from the library, we walked over to the Queen Anne Community Center. I had been in here briefly, when we went to the Farmers Market. But now we went into a room I’d never seen. It was horrible. I hate shiny, slick floors. Mom had to pull me along.

“We just want to see how the pottery turned out,” my mom said.

We ran into one of Mom’s classmates, who was really friendly. She said, “What a wonderful dog! Why don’t you stay and throw something?”

“Because Gracie could break something and I’d be responsible.”

“Just tie her up.”

Great. Just what I’ve always wanted. So here I am, waiting again. This is the part of a Dog’s Life that nobody wants.

Why dogs get bored…totally.

Last Saturday was one of the most boh-ring days an urban dog can have. My mom decided we would go to Upper Queen Anne. First she headed for the Queen Anne library to pick up some books. The staff is very strict about the no-dog rule. (Ridiculous! We’re cleaner than most of the humans.) So she had to tie me up outside. You see, I have a tendency to dash off as soon as I’m loose and leash-free.

Here I’m waiting patiently, trying to look pathetic. It’s tough because people are walking in and out and nearly all of them stop to pat me. When it comes to doing cute, I’m the champ.

It’s COLD out there!

Winter has come to Seattle. Yesterday my mom tried to take me to Regrade Dog Park in Belltown. “You need exercise,” she said.

Me? My mom is terrified that I’ll have trouble sleeping because I’m not tired enough. So we hopped a bus and arrived at the dog park to find just a few other dogs. The other owners were too sensible to be out there in the cold. After just a few minutes, I marched over to the gate with that unmistakeable look: Time to go home now.

“Gracie, we just got here!” my mom said. “Don’t you want to play some more?”

Nope. So we walked to our usual bus stop and just missed a bus.

“Let’s keep walking,” my mom said. We ended up walking all the way hone, just over a mile

My mom realized that along the way she was chilled, despite wearing her heavy-duty, newly-cleaned parka. She worked as long as she could that evening. Then she announced we were having an early bed time. She took me out for my last walk and it was COLD. I did my business fast, turned around and led us back inside.

A normal person would turn up the heat, but not my mom. She has three heavy comforters and she piles them up. I sleep on my cushion at the foot of her bed. As usual, my mom tried to impress me into heating pad duty. No way. I curled up in a tight ball on my cushion and wouldn’t budge.

Then my mom tried Ophelia, who’s nice and plump and furry. Ophelia has a really ugly growl when she chooses. I wish she would teach it to me.

Finally Creampuff stepped up. She’s so ditzy she thinks my mom is a big cushion. She’s small but she radiates heat. She just purrs so loud she keeps us all awake.

No problem, said my mom. “With all I do for this family, the least you could do is keep me warm on these cold nights.”

I pointed omy sharp little nose in the direction of my mom’s electric heating pad. Mom’s afraid the heating pad will catch on fire. Dogs are non-combustible, she says.

I say it serves her right. Next time we have a cold snap, we can skip the dog park. I have a feeling we’re headed for another long walk today. My mom goes a little wild when we see a glimpse of sun.

Holiday Gifts: Save my mom (and me, too)

My mom Cathy has been determined to declutter our humble home. We love living here. We don’t want to move to a bigger place. I think I once had a yard to hang out in and I hated it. I was born to be an indoor dog. Give me a bed anytime.

So as we get ready for the holiday season, my mom shudders at the thought of getting gifts from people. “More STUFF,” she says. My Uncle Lance reminded Cathy she has an Amazon Wish List, which she keeps forgetting to update. “That’s different,” she says. “It’s STUFF I want. Anyway, books are fine. They’re easy to sell or give away if I don’t want them.”

I have to admit she is right. It seems like every year we get junk. Calendars. Subscriptions to publications my mom doesn’t have time to read. Little statues of cute cats and dogs. Food we don’t eat. And more.

One year my mom spent $17 to ship an unwanted gift to her colleague in Canada. She had no use for the gift but didn’t want to give it away. “I think the people who gave me the gift really wanted it for themselves,” she says. “It’s sad.”

“This year,” my mom says, “I am hoping people will not give us gifts. They can make a nice donation in my name to an animal charity or cultural place. (NOT the US Humane Society, though). They can go to my Amazon gift list. They can give me gift certificates.”

Okay, mom, but don’t get too carried away. I need a new leash, remember? Something fit for a princess.

My mom read my mind. “Gracie, I’m giving just a few gifts this year. You get a leash. You don’t need a coat. Everybody else is getting pottery I made during my first term at the Community Center.”

That’ll teach ’em. My mom is the worst potter on the planet. They will never, ever reciprocate. And that’s good. We’re getting a little crowded here. I would like more space in front of my crate.

What’s your gift story?

Ahh, Fridays…

My mom and I agree on one thing. We LOVE Friday afternoons.

I go off with my Aunt Sara for yet another adventure in Magnuson Park. There’s something magical about these outings. Even total strangers say, “That dog really enjoys being here.” I have my pack of dog friends and keep running into people who know me. They don’t know my mom. Every so often we’re in Regrade Park and someone says, “Oh Gracie, it’s you!”

Don’t tell anybody, but I think my mom is jealous of my celebrity. How do I know? She was telling someone on the bus, “Being Gracie’s mom is a little like living with Paris Hilton.”

But my mom has no problems in the self-esteem department, especially as she gets older. (Uh-oh, I wrote the “o” word.) She takes off every Friday afternoon for a workout and (every other week) a massage with the best massage therapist in Seattle, she tells me, and maybe the world. On alternate Fridays she goes off to prowl around bookstores, museums or coffee shops.

My mom used to be baffled by massage therapy. “What’s the big deal?” she would say. Now she started about a year ago and she’s addicted.

I could have told her, “Massage is great.” Total strangers come up and give me back rubs, belly rubs and butt rubs. I love it. My mom would say that’s not exactly what she had in mind, but she doesn’t know what she’s missing.

Anyway, my mom’s got her priorities in place. “No matter what,” she tells me, “your dog walks and my massages come first.”

Guest Post From Lucy, A Lucky New Mexico Dog

Hi Gracie, I am Lucy. Thanks for inviting me to post on your blog.

I am almost 6 months old and almost 50 pounds. I am going to be a very big girl. My mom, Terri, thinks I am a Rhodesian Ridgeback and that I was bred to run down lions in Africa. We have no lions in the back yard, so I chase my housemate Buddy, another dog. I also chase two small, fat, slow lions otherwise known as “cats.” Mom Terri doesn’t like that very much.

We live in a house in New Mexico with my mom, Terri, who is an artist, and my uncle Arthur, who’s been my mom’s buddy and housemate for ages.

My mom never met you, Gracie. She knew your mom’s first dog, Keesha, from when your mom lived in Silver City, New Mexico. Terri says Keesha was so attached to your mom. She says you are a little more realistic.

I eat everything. So far I have yet to leave single bite of food on my dish. I will even eat raw veggies when mom is cooking. I eat shoes when I can find them. I am a growing girl who needs her food!

I moved in with Terri when my Uncle Arthur found me wandering around in Bisbee , Arizona, about three months ago. I was a stray with no collar. I was tired, hungry and thirsty. Uncle Arthur tried to drop me off at the Animal Shelter but they were full. So Uncle Arthur took me home, where he’s been sharing with Terri in Alburquerque, New Meixco. I sat in Uncle Arthur’s lap all the way home.

My mom thinks I’m beautiful, athletic and strong, although I’ve got a mind of my own. “Dinner plate sized paws,” she says.

My mom Terri and my uncle Arthur are warm, caring people. They will always make room for one more dog or cat. I am SO lucky to be here…um, was that a shoe left untended?

A dog’s Thanksgiving holiday

Yesterday my mom and I took a cab out to the Wedgewood neighborhood so she could have dinner with her friends and their assorted children and guests.

My mom has known this couple for years. She takes delight in telling their kids, “I knew your parents before they got married. Your mom was a single gal in San Francisco who had LOTS of dates.” Everybody winces.

Now our hosts are celebrating their 25th anniversary. Mom tries not to think about the passage of time. In those days she had just one solitary cat. Dogs? Fine for someone else. She had absolutely no intention of ever having a dog. Ancient history.

We hadn’t seen most of these folks for two whole years but several guests remembered me….”You’re the one with that wonderful dog.” They didn’t remember my mom nearly as much.

Before Mom went out there, the hosts said, “No dogs during dinner. We’ll shut them up in one of the bedrooms.”

Hah. I ran around with the host’s dogs the entire tme. I snuck under the table and visited all the guests, one by one.

My mom announced, “If you give Gracie any food, she’s yours for the weekend, sensitive tummy and all.” So I didn’t get as much as a scrap of food. But I got heaps of affection: back, belly and butt rubs all day long.

Dogs aren’t like cats. Mostly we get along. The host’s dogs even let me borrow this chew toy. Do I look like I’m having fun?

We went home in a cab. I was sound asleep as soon as Mom gave directions to the driver. She insisted we get off a couple of blocks early for our evening walk. And then it was off to bed, feeling great after all those hugs and rubs…like a 3-hour massage.

Being single on holidays: a dog owner’s perspective

My mom, Cathy, wanted to write a blog post about being single on holidays. She’s a big fan of Singled Out, by Bella dePaolo: “the best book on being single – and it’s based on science, not silly superstition,” she says. “It’s about time society recognized that some of us are single by choice. We’re not feeling left out or missing out. We’re just … single!”

(Notice how my mom has taken over my blog post. She even added a book cover, knowing I can’t read. How about a photo of a treat instead? Or a new toy?)

My mom says we have to disclose that she was quoted in this book. She’s very proud! And she was quoted because of her success with Amazon book reviews

But here’s my mom’s major beef. She just got an email from a friend in Los Angeles. “When my partner was out of town last year,” he wrote, “I had a wonderful time spending the day alone. I read. I walked. And I took myself out to a movie that evening.”

A few years ago she heard from a colleague in New York. “I’m hiding out this Thanksgivin. Not even answering the phone.”

She wants people to get the message. Grown-up singles don’t want invitations. They don’t need to spend the day visiting other people’s families. They want solitude!

My mom wrote an article on “Being single on holidays,” way back before I came into her life. You can read it here. I think I’ve helped her become a better writer, but that’s another story.

My mom likes to take me to a dog park for the holidays. When she lived with Keesha in Florida, she spent Thanksgiving in a fabulous dog park, reading a book while Keesha played and curled up next to her. (Unlike Keesha, I do not curl up next to Cathy in dog parks. I roam around, looking for trouble. It drives her nuts. Yaay!)

Anyway, if you’re reading this post (and my mom hopes you will), just don’t get offended if single people say “No thanks” on holidays. It’s not about you or your hospitality (although my mom and I both resent the categorization of “waifs and strays” invited for dinner).

“My best Thanksgiving was in New Mexico,” my mom said. “I got to take Keesha for a hike. When we got home our next door neighbor brought over a heaping plate of food. She was an awesome cook. It lasted 3 days. Best of both worlds!”

So…is my mom a Scrooge or what?

Dog training is the new parenting: we knew that!

dog obedience pic My mom just read me an article from today’s New York Times. Apparently parents are beginning to recognize and heed the wisdom of the Dog Whisperer, Cesar Millan. Cesar says, “Be confident and assertive around your dog. Be consistent.”

Like, yeah. Children like structure. Dogs do too.

“Remember the Susan Conant murder mysteries about dogs?” my mom asked. “Conant’s heroine, Holly Winter, used to joke that Harvard was an inferior obedience school.”

Well, of course I don’t remember. My mom keeps forgetting that I can’t read.

As a dog, though, I have to say we’re pretty flexible. When Cathy adopted her First Dog, the saintly Keesha, she read that dogs need routine. So she took Keesha out morning and evening. Somehow Keesha managed to communicate the need for a noon walk.

Eventually Cathy caught on. (She was a lifetime cat owner, so Keesha gave her a break.) She realized that dogs don’t tell time. So when she comes home and we’ve been in our crate, we want to go out. When she goes out, we need to get that last walk before we retreat into our crates. I myself might need as many as five walks a day.

That’s dog training. Cathy is now a well-trained owner.

OK, to be fair, Cathy the mom has a lot of rules for me. When I’m on her bed, I to stay on my cushion. In the living room I have my spot. And we have rules for walking on leash, like “No pulling when we see a squirrel.” We’re still negotiating on that one.

My mom added her own commentary to this article. She watched a youtube video about prisoners who train dogs. One of the prisoners (who, she says, is wiser than the most legal systems in the world) pointed out the obvious.

“With dogs,” she said, “we show them what to do. We try to avoid correction in the first place, rather than wait till they do something wrong and then punish them. And when a dog misbehaves, a wise owner looks for physical health problems first. Why, asked this inmate, don’t we do the same for people?”

Like, duh. Humans aren’t always the superior species. I’m off for a new nap. While I’m sleeping away my Sunday, maybe you could leave a comment below?

Another cute dog: I’m getting jealous

dog with winter coat Here’s one of my dog friends, Beau. He comes to the dog park with his owner. Notice how Beau is all dressed up in a little winter coat. He actually seems to like it, doesn’t he?

My mom started laughing out loud when she saw Beau in his little coat. “We’ve got to take a picture,” she said. So now I have to share my blog with this Pomeranian.

My mom won’t get me a winter coat. She just had her parka cleaned. “My parka is more than ten years old,” she says, “and it still keeps me warm. Now that it’s cleaned it looks like new.”

Well, if my mom’s not getting a new winter coat, you can bet I’m not either. The vet said I don’t need one since I’m not shivering. But I bet I’d look absolutely adorable, wouldn’t I?