With the cold and snow we aren’t going anywhere.
My mom wrote a poem about Christmas after she moved into her house in South Florida. She was overwhelmed with boxes. And it was just a few days before she got her first dog, so she had a lot more time. You can read it here.
“Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, just the Mac and the mouse…”
Still true.
Go visit: http://www.copy-cat-copywriting.com/santasouthflorida.html
Cathy took these photos of Lower Queen Anne, our “hood.”
It’s beautiful but Cathy is getting frustrated! She wants to run around downtown, go to the gym and take
me to the Dog Lounge!
My mom Cathy took me out to play in the snow today. Seattle is buried under many inches and we’re stuck at home.
We spent about 40 minutes walking around the neighborhood. Can you tell I am starting to feel a little chilly?
Luckily Cathy was afraid my paws would get frostbitten. So soon afterward, we went back in. I headed straight for my bed. A cold dog is a a tired dog.
OK, it’s cold out there! Aunt Sara took me to the park yesterday and I came home exhausted. I’ve been sleeping…and sleeping. When Cathy takes me for walks, we’re both in a hurry.
Last night my mom was feeling really cold. It didn’t help that I managed to sit on one of her quilts and refused to budge. So finally Cathy grabbed me and said, “Gracie, time to earn your crunchies. You are now a heating pad.”
Good grief. That wasn’t in our adoption contract, was it? What about Ophelia? She should put her long hair to good use besides shedding all over the place.
But before I could protest, I found myself getting warm and drowsy. And then I was dreaming about running in the park with my buddies Bailey and Violet and that new puppy who just joined our pack. And getting hugs from Summer at the dog lounge. And walking out in the snow with my mom first thing in the morning. And then…
“Gracie! Ready for your walk?”
That’s not a dream. It’s for real. We go downstairs for our walk. Hey — the snow is all gone! Must be getting warmer.
No more heating pad. But I’m sure mom will come up with another ridiculous idea for me. Why should I have to earn my crunchies, anyway? Royal princesses aren’t supposed to work.
Yesterday evening my mom came home from the symphony, humming bits of Tchaikovsky’s 1st Symphony. Winter Dreams.
No, I didn’t recognize the tune. I am a dog, remember? She told me and the cats all about her latest musical adventure.
But then she took me out for my Late Night Walk. Winter Dreams? More like a Bad Dream. We were attacked by big fat wet snowflakes. And my mom was freezing, even in her parka with two sweaters. We walked half a block and Mom said, “Gracie, we aren’t going anywhere.”
OK, I have to admit it. I took care of business with haste and led the trek back to our apartment.
This morning all the buses were screwed up on account of snow. Mom was late getting to the gym and dropping me off at the Dog Lounge. She was irked.
I didn’t care. I spent an hour playing with the other dogs. Then I moved up front and helped my Big Sister Summer run the front desk. My job is to entertain everybody and pose for PR photos. It’s a tough life.
Summer sent my mom home with 2 sample packets of my favorite treats. Thank goodness. Since my mom went on her new diet, she’s been watching mine a little too enthusiastically.
I love my crate!
Which is good, because last night my mom got exasperated with me. I was curled up at the foot of her bed as usual and I was getting restless. So I was licking my paws and other parts of my anatomy that a lady should never discuss on her blog.
“That’s enough!” my mom shrieked as I woke her up from a terrific dream she was having. “It’s the crate for you!”
Uh oh. What did I do? Since when is scratching an itch considered a major crime?
But Mom tossed in my kong toy with a nice big chunk of peanut butter. Ah….who cares about the bed anyway? I can protect the household while I slurp.
My mom Cathy never gets sick. She’s tough! But Saturday evening she started feeling wretched. We all went to bed and slept…and slept.
She woke up Sunday morning and thought, “Time for exercise class.” Then she took me out for a walk (thank goodness!) and staggered home.
“Not today,” she told me, shaking out a few crunchies so I wouldn’t starve.
Here’s where I earned a year’s supply of crunchies and treats. I snuggled up next to my mom and didn’t budge. She felt safe and cozy with me there, stretched out, solid as a rock.
Of course our new housemate, Ophelia, stayed close by. She has her cushion and I have mine. We have an
unspoken agreement and we joined forces to support our ailing owner.
Creampuff disappeared. She probably took advantage of the opportunity to snuggle up to her best friend, Cathy’s desktop computer. The modem is nice and warm.
By Monday Mom was back to normal. By noon she was drinking her coffee. At 2 PM she took me on a 40-minute walk. By evening she was off to exercise class.
And tomorrow I go to the park with Aunt Sara. Life is good.
My mom has been getting compliments on her new svelte self. Back in August, she declared 2008-2009 the Year of the Body. I must admit, I’m surprised. She keeps to her self-imposed diet (based on a combo of the Food Ranger and a couple of books she read). She goes to exercise classes.
She won’t get on a scale, but the other day she said, “I can’t wear these shorts anymore. They’re falling
off! I can’t hold them up when I’m holding your leash.” She gave me a look that said, “Somebody needs to walk better on leash.” Who, me?
She’s always complaining about sore muscles but I have no sympathy. Mom’s got me on a good behavior program. That means I go to Magnuson Park twice a week and the Dog Lounge at least once a week. I’m tired too. Mom says, “Dogs are supposed to feel a little sleepy all the time.”
Great idea in theory, but I seem to be in a one-down position when it comes to the cats.
My mom has a guilty secret. She hates Thanksgiving. She’s not exactly warm and fuzzy (duh – have you noticed?) so she doesn’t Get It. Why do people want to hang around, eat too much and pretend to be having fun? OK, maybe some people really have fun.
Not my mom. Cathy hates small talk. She actually detests parties.
“I’d rather stay home and read a good murder mystery. Or maybe watch a video and take Gracie to the dog park.”
I admit I enjoy visiting families on holidays. Everybody makes a big fuss over me. If the host has a dog, I can usually find a dish of dog food that’s tastier than what I get at home. By the end of the day, I am exhausted.
But my mom is less than thrilled. When I eat strange food, my tummy starts doing the tango. So I wake my mom at 3 AM to Go Out — Immediately — to Do My Business.
My mom gets very upset. “Why did I ever adopt another dog?” she asks me. At 3 AM, I must admit, I don’t have a very good answer.
So in the end, I guess I am better off when we just stay home. My mom sticks to her diet and I stick to mine. My mom buried her nose in a new mystery by an author she just discovered – Roberta Isleib – where the heroine is a clinical psychologist. My mom loves to second-guess therapists and she lives for a good mystery novel. She even approves of the author’s website (except for the W-word: Welcome, but let’s not go there. This is my blog, okay?)
Anyway, I have a lot to be thankful for. My dog beds. My dog walks. Food. Treats. The Dog Lounge for daycare. My raving fans all over Seattle. Our wonderful bus system, Seattle Metro, where I get to ride on my mom’s lap and get tons of attention from total strangers.
My mom celebrated her birthday this weekend. She discovered she was eligible for a free concert on her birthday so off she went to Benaroya Hall. They featured Sibelius’s 2nd (which she enjoyed immensely, she said, much better than
the other Sibelius symphonies). Of course she also went to her exercise class. And we stopped by the dog park on our way home.
Unlike me, my mom did not get a treat for her birthday. She stuck to her lifetime eating plan. I’m so proud of her. I want her to stick around till I get old and cross the bridge. After that, she’s on her own.
My birthday was last month. I got to spend the day in the lounge, which was much more fun than going to a concert. And I got to spend my mom’s birthday there too. I played hard all day and I’m still tired. Gotta rest up: tomorrow’s my day to go to the park with Aunt Sara.
Cathy was hoping our fuzzy housemate Ophelia would give her the ultimate present: eating by herself. But no…Ophelia sniffs at food and says, “No thanks.” How can she turn up her nose at chicken and tuna? Meanwhile, the ditzy Creampuff is in heaven. She’s getting everything Ophelia won’t eat.
Me? I get my usual dry, boring crunchies. No big deal. I’d still rather be a dog.