A Dog’s Life – Page 27

Mom’s a dog-gone fitness fanatic

My mom is truly a fitness fanatic. She works out three or four times a week at the gym. When the weather’s decent, she takes me for walks.

In fact, that’s why she adopted me. When she took me for my first check-up at the vet, she wasn’t there for my health. She was there for her own benefit. “Will Gracie be able to go on long walks with me?” she asked the vet. “That’s why I want a dog.”

From the beginning, I was set up to be an accessory. I’m not loved for my self and my scintillating personality.

As if that weren’t enough. Cathy worries that I don’t get enough exercise. So every Sunday, while she works out at the gym, I’m in the Downtown Dog Lounge of Seattle. Fortunately the staff is not nearly as fanatical. They sneak me treats and let me snooze on the couch while Cathy thinks I’m running around chasing other dogs. I play with my special group of friends. I help out at the reception desk. They use me for temperament-testing when new dogs apply to join our pack.

This morning Cathy warned me, “Gracie, I’m off to the ballet this evening. I want to see my favorite female dancer, Kaori Nakamura, perform the lead in Swan Lake and this will be my last chance. So you’ll be crated up for at least for hours. Better be tired.”

No problem, Mom. I am zonked. I slept all afternoon. We’re both getting older. I don’t need to run marathons anymore. And a few more treats won’t wreck my midlife figure.

Good thing Mom didn’t have human kids. They’d be ready for boot camp by the time they reached college.

“

“When herding sheep, keep your cool.”

Here I’m striding across the field, getting ready to do some serious sheep herding. It’s a rare picture of me walking. People keep telling my mom, “Gracie looks so much more confident since you adopted her.”

True. I am feeling more and more at home as I assume my rightful role as a Canine Urban Princess. If you look carefully, you’ll see that I’m not crazy about getting my paws deep in the Big Muddy Area of the sheep herding ring. My mom and I both think the Magnuson Dog Park is about as wild as we want to get. I’m thinking of my cozy couch and the treats waiting for me when I get to come in out of the cold.

But when you herd sheep, you have to show them who’s in charge. And when you see me coming, you’ll recognize my regal bearing. The sheep will be so stunned they’ll obey me unquestioningly..

Rescue mutt turns sheep dog

Would you look at this? When Cathy adopted me, I figured we’d stay in our nice, clean city apartment. I’d sleep on the couch and rarely get my paws dirty. Okay, I go to Magnuson twice a week with my Aunt Sara. But we stay on the paths and on the beach.

Herding sheep: dont I look like a pro? — Herding sheep: don't I look like a pro?

But Summer from the Downtown Dog Lounge took me out for a day of sheep herding. We went to Ewetopia, a place that specializes in uniting dogs and sheep. Summer took a whole set of pictures of me working sheep.. Although I am a Canine Urban Princess (CUPPIE), it seems I may have descended from some common shepherd dogs.

I don’t know what came over me when I saw those sheep. Don’t I look like I know what I’m doing?

Now my mom wants to go out there. Personally, I think I’m getting a little old for this herding. I slept for 3 days afterward. It’s tougher than it looks.

Spring is here…

and we celebrated with a walk around the top of Queen Anne Hill. My mom enjoyed the cherry blossoms and the flowers. I sniffed around the grass.

On the downside, my mom has thrown herself into spring cleaning. She has been going through everything she owns and throwing things out. Her socks are hidden away where I can’t reach them.

Then she hired a cleaning team that made a frightful racket for over an hour. Mom took me out for a walk for part of the time. Thank goodness. My ears were not made for vacuum cleaners. Ophelia was totally stressed. She thought they were going to invade her hiding place.

No such luck. Tonight we’re all relaxing in our clean and tidy home…for awhile, anyway.

“Play hard, sleep hard…”

You’ve heard of work hard play hard? I don’t work that hard but I play a lot. After a day at the Dog Lounge on Sunday, I was zonked.

: Dog strikes pose even while sleeping

My mom likes to take pictures of me when I’m asleep. She points out that I can’t move and ruin her photo. And she thinks I’m “cute” when I sleep.

In reality, I think she’s jealous. I get to nap all day. She has to stay awake and work.

Downtown Dog Lounge: they appreciate me

On Sunday mornings my mom goes off to the gym for her workout. She used to do sculpt class and now she tells me she does Elliptical, machines and Pilates. As a dog, I have no idea what she’s doing. It all sounds so weird. Why can’t humans just chase tennis balls for exercise?

Getting a tummy rub from Big Sister Summer at the Dog Lounge

But I don’t care. While she works out I get to chill out at the Downtown Dog Lounge with Summer, who’s like my Big Sister. See, I’m getting a family: my Mom, the pack leader; my mysterious Uncle Lance, who refuses to have his picture taken with us; my Aunt Sara, who takes me to the dog park twice a week; and Summer, my Big Sister.

Summer is looking up at the camera and I’m telling her, “Ignore the camera. Mom’s going to exercise class. I want a tummy rub.” My mom Cathy took several pictures but only this one came out. In the other ones, I was wriggling with joy and all you can see is a blurry brown shape.

First Dog gets First Bowl? Gimme a break…

My mom was checking Twitter when she found this story about the Dog Bowl, tweeted by @Teriss.

Apparently the Czech president gave the dog some dishes so Bo can eat with pride from special china with the White House seal.

Here’s what I get. I have a plastic two-sided bowl, with water and food served together. I guess I should be grateful to have a bowl at all. The cats eat off paper plates.

What will the First Toy be? Forget politics, Bo. Train your owners to get you a kong toy. Maybe ex-Prez Jimmy Carter will donate some peanut butter. That’s the way to my heart, anyway. I only get the good stuff when I’m in my crate, out of the way while Mom talks on the phone. She talks a lot and it gets so boring I chew socks, pencils and even ball point pens.

“I hate interrupting my calls to yell, ‘No! Put that @&#@! down,” Mom says. “And you know how I feel about swearing around my clients. So…into the crate you go.”

Apparently loud slurping sounds don’t bother anybody. Yum!

First Dog Is Portuguese Water Dog

President Obama finally made the most important decision of his Presidency. The family adopted a Portuguese Water Dog newly named Bo. He is six months old and he’s a gift from Senator Ted Kennedy, no less. Apparently the dog had a home but the family couldn’t take care of him. My mom read the story to me while I was enjoying my Morning Nap.

My Morning Nap, in case you’re wondering, starts after my night time sleep gets interrupted by the Morning Walk. I wanted to sleep in but Mom said, “I don’t want to interrupt my breakfast because you need to go out. Off the bed – now!”

Hey, I’m conserving my energy for my weekly visit to the Downtown Dog Lounge. Hopefully the First Family will adapt their lives to their new dog’s schedule a little more successfully.

Join the club, Bo. All 3 of us in this household are adoptees. Presumably our original families couldn’t care for us because we ended up in rescue. We’re mixed breeds.

Purebred dogs who don’t make it the first time often get new homes by word of mouth, without ever going to shelters. They’re lucky.

We’re lucky too. Especially me. I couldn’t have gotten a better home anywhere. Well, I wouldn’t mind a few kids to play with but I get the dog park instead. Life could be worse.

My mom is so proud of giving us all a good home. It’s her only sign of domesticity. She still misses her own First Dog. But she’s getting used to me. And to be honest, I don’t remember my first homes. Seems like I’ve been here forever

Good grief…another cat picture

Here’s a rear view of Ophelia. Although my mom insists she’s a normal weight (“It’s all fur!”) there’s no denying she’s a Big Kitty. She weighed in at 15 pounds when Mom adopted her from the shelter.

Not to worry about the sofa. Ophelia was adopted as a senior, fixed, declawed cat, from a municipal animal shelter. You can’t get more politically correct than that. As my mom keeps reminding me, Ophelia spent 30 days in a small cage before we took her home.

“I refuse to get her any diet food,” says my Mom. “Half a dozen vets told me Tiger was too fat. They predicted she’d die young. Well, Tiger finally headed off to the Great Sandbox in the Sky last July. She must have been twenty years old.”

Yeah, right. So how come every time that nice Dr. Kira looks at me and says, “Gracie is getting fat!” my rations get cut? Life is not fair. I’m a solid, muscular, queen-sized canine. Ophelia is squishy and fuzzy.

Speaking of being in shape, isn’t it about time for our walk?

Cat takes over the sofa

So Creampuff has invaded my crate. And now look who’s perched on the edge of the sofa: Ophelia, our neweset housemate, posing like a model.

“Isn’t she beautiful?” my mom exclaims.

“Isn’t she useless?” I reply back.

But Cathy ignores me.

“She’s so healthy! After her trauma of moving and her battle with liver disease…I’m so proud of her.”

Earth to mom. Ophelia moved in here about 8 months ago. Lots of time to recover from her trauma. And as for liver disease, it’s more about force feeding and milk thistle than Ophelia’s own character.

But life could be worse. Mom needs her illusions. Ophelia’s pretty mellow, for a cat. As long as nobody eats my food, I’m happy.