Category: A Dog’s Life

Dog is a great actor

Uh oh…busted again.

Mom was talking to Aunt Sara when I was dropped off this afternoon. They were talking about ME.

“Gracie’s usually good,” Aunt Sara said. “But when you drop your guard for even a minute, she’ll try something.”

“Exactly,” my mom said. “Sometimes when we are walking along, she’ll stop suddenly. She’ll get that look like, ‘Why are you making me go on?'”

True. We have two kinds of walks. Sometimes we go on a real walk where I get exercise and Mom does her errands. But often these days I get a mini-walk so I can do my business before my mom stuffs me in my crate and goes off on her own outings.

“I think Gracie knows,” the mom said, “because I fill up her crate’s water dish just before we go on our walk. She’s a very smart dog. When we come home, she doesn’t want to go inside. People feel so sorry for her. It’s like, ‘Poor thing. She doesn’t want to go in.'”

“I know just what you mean,” my Aunt Sara said. “Gracie does a good pout. You’d think we were beating her.”

“Yeah, and she’s spoiled rotten,” the mom said. “Uh oh – what was that? Gracie, are you eating the cat food? I’d better go pick it up. See you next time.”

Okay, okay. I just decided we needed a distraction from all this talk about spoiled dogs. Now I’ll move on to my nap.

Dog sniffs the leaves

Ahh…finally we get some country in the city!

My Uncle Lance told my mom about the P-patch garden here in Belltown. These gardens are set up all over Seattle. Anyone can get on a waiting list to get a plot assigned for organic gardening. They grow all kinds of fruits, vegetables and flowers. And they rake leaves into a big pile that’s perfect for sniffing.

My mom takes me over there on nice days. It’s like a little park oasis in the city, she says. She smells the flowers and sighs wistfully at the plump tomatoes. I am not allowed to enter the gardening beds (like, why would I want to? nothing interesting there). But I’m sniffing some dried l leaves.

It’s a beautiful sunny day, my mom says. Let’s enjoy the weather.

It’s a nice pile of dead stuff, I say. What could be better?

Now this is life in the dog park: spa treatment

Lindsay gives dog a massage.
Lindsay gives dog the spa treatment.

My mom is relieved. I no longer seem nervous when we go to the dog park, although I go out of my way to avoid certain dogs. A 70-pound dog jumping on me? No thanks. Not at my age. I am almost eight years old and it’s time for me to settle down, although my jaws will always be ready to take on a chewing challenge.

One reason I like the park is that I get to sit on the wall while people admire me. Lindsay is one of the park regulars. She’s sitting here giving me a butt rub. See that tiny bundle of fur in her lap? That’s Ruby, her new puppy. Apparently Ruby is trying to set chewing records in Lindsay’s home. She chewed up a computer cord, something I’ve never tried.

“Don’t even think about it!” my mom said to me when Lindsay told us the story. “And it’s so unfair: I have to pay for my massages! You get yours free.”

Yes. That’s what life should be. A dog park should include spa treatment.

“Dog is guilty with mitigating circumstances”

My mom was telling my Aunt Sara, “Gracie’s slowed down a little. She sleeps more. Do you think her hearing is going?”

“No way,” my Aunt Sara laughed. “She hears just what she wants to hear.”

“And she’s even chewing less,” my mom continued. “Definitely she’s getting older.”

So are you, mom, but let’s not go there.

Shortly afterward my mom decided to clean up the living room. Under the coffee table she found the evidence pictured here: Exhibit A. Yes. A chewed-up leather watchband.

“Gracie! Did you do this?!” she exclaimed.

Hey, I was trying to help my mom. First, she was saying she needs a new watch band. This one was falling apart. Knowing how much my mom hates buying things, I figured I’d help her along. And second, she was worried about my age. So I wanted to let her know I’m still in top chewing form.

To my amazement, the mom was not amused. “Gracie, it is SO hard to get a watchband. It’s more expensive than buying a watch. This one still had some life.”

Right! I’ll wait till we see my Uncle Lance. He’s a lawyer and he adores me. I’d bet he’ll represent me pro bono and persuade my mom to drop the whole case. Even she admits, “At least you haven’t chewed up any computer accessories yet.”

WNBA season is over: more time for the dog!

Whew…Cathy went off on Thursday to watch the Storm game at a sports bar. We don’t own a television set anymore and besides, it’s much more fun in a group, she says. Sort of like playing alone in a yard versus playing with a group at the dog park or doggie day care.

Well, as I age I’m getting fussier about my playmates. My mom, on the other hand, becomes more gregarious with each passing year. She’s always stuffing me in my crate while she dashes off to happy hours, networking breakfasts and now sports events.

“I’ve never done this before,” she told me, donning her Seattle Storm fan gear for the occasion. “People cheer as if the team could hear them. We must be crazy.”

No comment.

Fortunately the Storm won. That means, my mom says, basketball season is over and her team got a championship…sort of like Best in Show at the American Kennel Club.

Frankly, I could care less about clubs, shows and trophies. Give me a nice soft bed and a handful of treats any day.

But the mom was really getting into it. She even went to the celebration last night. “Why not? I might not get this opportunity again in my lifetime,” she explained.

Today she sadly packed away her Storm sweatshirt, t-shirts and hat.

“Not till next year,” she said. “On the other hand, it’s nice to have my life back. For awhile my scheduled revolved around watching those games.”

Mine too. I was hoping for more quality time with the mom but alas, her calendar’s getting packed.

This morning she grabbed one of her old non-Storm sweatshirts to wear when she escorted me to the dog park. She randomly chose a bright red Nebraska shirt, souvenir of a visit she made before she became a dog owner. She rarely wears it so it’s still in great condition and she figured she could be anonymous.

To our amazement, someone greeted us on the street. “Cornhuskers fan? In town for the game?”

Turns out University of Washington played Nebraska today.

My mom opted for a more neutral sweatshirt next time we went out. Needless to say, I continue to go naked. But I bet if the Storm came out with cute little doggie coats, I’d be wearing one in no time. Green’s a good color for me, too.

Another dog gets rescued: score one for my species!

My mom’s copywriting mentor, Lorrie Morgan-Ferrero, has been considering adding a new dog to her California household. As far as we can tell, they have just one dog and one cat. Apparently a pit bull entered their lives, complete with snarly personality, kennel cough and a complete set of …er…male equipment.

When last reported (via Facebook), Bandit was caged in an isolation ward with no balls and the cone of shame. My mom couldn’t help it; she laughed out loud. Then she read Lorrie’s next post, about dropping a few grand on this dog before he was even a member of the household. She laughed even harder.

It wasn’t a “This is funny laugh.” It was like, “Isn’t this what happens with ALL those free animals?”

“Remember Ophelia?” she asked me. “I got that cat for $11 because she’s so old. Some bargain! She had huge vet bills for liver disease and dental surgery. And we thought she’d never adjust to life with you and Creampuff.”

Ophelia has chosen this moment to sit on her favorite chair and shed a few more bushels of fur. Mom has a special chair she’s turned over to the cats in hopes of saving her other furniture, like her beautiful new recliner. Did we tell you Ophelia is a beautiful long-haired cat? She looks like the cat in the Fancy Feast commercials, my mom says. “And she’s so sweet!”

Yuk. If I were a cat I’d toss up a hairball to express my true feelings. Since I’m not, I’ll remind Mom that she got off easy with me, especially now that I’m older and no longer chew up everything I see. I’ll distract her from thoughts of my wonderful Aunt Sara, who takes me to the park twice a week, giving the whole family a much needed break.

Bandit is literally one lucky dog. If I lived in Los Angeles I’d want Lorrie to adopt me too. Umm…does Bandit need a new chew toy? I’d suggest sending down one of our useless feline housemates but my mom just added a bag of my favorite treats to the dog food delivery order.

“A tired dog…”

My mom says, “A tired dog is a good dog, but I’m not sure an exhausted dog is a great dog.”

Yesterday I played in the big park with my Aunt Sara and today I’m into big sleeping. My mom dragged me to the local downtown park. She’s still trying to get me to enjoy going there. The good part is, she kept giving me treats. Lots of treats! Eventually, though, she realized I wasn’t going to play. So she took me for a walk. And now I’m back on the cushion again.

“You need to be tired, Gracie,” the mom said, preparing to head off for bed herself. Tomorrow you’ve got lots of time alone in the crate. I’m off to Game 1 of the WNBA championship series, but first I’d like to join at least part of the Zumba class.”

That’s the mom for you: dedicated as ever. I’m even more tired just thinking about her bopping around at Zumba. Frankly, a little crate time might not be a bad thing. Besides, if her team wins, she’ll be in a terrific mood. We know what that means, don’t we? More treats!

Let’s stay focused on what’s important, shall we?

Isn’t this a great photo of me? “Portrait quality,” my mom says proudly.

William, one of the dog park regulars, took this photo. He’s got several photos of my mom, too, in her raggedy old shorts and her hair sticking out. She refuses to post them.

So what am I doing here? Worshiping my mom? Giving thanks to universal forces that saved me from a dog rescue group and brought me to a nice apartment in Seattle, with a mom who could be worse and a couple of cats who keep things from getting dull…not to mention an Aunt Sara who escorts me to a wonderful dog park twice a week?

No way.

Someone is holding out a TREAT. What could be more essential? See how I’m totally focused, 100%?

“That’s how I should be about my work,” the mom says ruefully. “Or my various self-improvement projects.”

Like most dogs, I know when it’s time to speak and time to be silent. The hand that holds the treat must be respected.

Do animals communicate with their owners? We do!

My mom just posted a note to Facebook about my Regrade Park problem. I  no longer want to hang around the park these days. Almost as soon as we arrive, I’m ready to go home. Of course, Cathy gets frustrated. She likes to chat with the park regulars and watch me run around.

All sorts of people suggested she talk to an animal communicator – someone who can read my mind.

Get real. Remember when we hired the cat shrink? My mom had to get her money back.

We already talk to the mom.

Ophelia speaks loudest. The fat fuzzball is deeply grateful for being adopted. She loves living here. She adores my mom. She’s always coming over for a pat. She doesn’t even mind being brushed as long as it doesn’t go on too long.  She never complains and she waits patiently till the coast is clear so she can gobble up her crunchies. She looks adoringly at my mom with those big round eyes and she commandeered the best spot on my mom’s bed.

Creampuff is more like, “Hey, I’d rather be an outdoor jungle cat. But every so often I’ll favor you with a rub or a yowl. Just keep my dish full at all times.” Creampuff can jump to the kitchen counter and eat anytime she wants. She explores closets and has a tendency to get shut up behind closed doors.  Ophelia’s too big to do any of those things.

Me? I still think I should have taken a better picture for the Internet. If I’d held out a little longer, maybe Bill Gates would have adopted me. Unconditional love? That’s just fine for other dogs. Mine is conditional on the quality of my treats, my walks and my place on the mom’s bed.

Guest Post: Where to Locate a Dog Crate in Your Home

Guest Post by Jaime Simpkins: My mom doesn’t usually allow me to run guest posts from commercial ventures unless there’s an affiliate link. where she earns money for my treats if somebody buys. We made an exception because this topic is of special interest to me.

We don’t know anything about this crate company. But we can relate to the challenge. Remember my earlier posts on locating my crate in our new home?

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Where to Locate a Crate in your Home by Jaime Simpkins

If you are thinking about owning a dog crate, you are probably wondering where in the house to put it. Your dog, being a pack animal, would prefer the part of the house where the family spends the most time while he is in the crate.

[Gracie says: “You got that right! Remember when we first moved here? My crate was in a hallway. I hated it.”]

If you have more than one dog sharing the crate, it may not be so important to keep all of the family together, as crate time can still be spent with a companion.

[Gracie says:”I’m the only dog here. The cats stop by to say hello sometimes. But share a crate with a crate? No way!”]

The makers of some dog crates have gone to great lengths to make their crates look like furniture with wooden slats that can be styled to look like other furniture items. The  wood dog crate allows you to dye, lacquer, or paint the crate so that it blends in with the rest of the room. If that style of crate doesn’t particularly suit your taste or budget, try using a conventional wire crate as a shelf by putting a hard surface on top of it.

[Gracie says: “Great idea, mom! Maybe I’ll get a wooden crate someday. Meanwhile, we just cover my crate with a blanket when I’m not using it and when we’re home.”]

Young dogs that aren’t used to spending the night crated may whimper and whine while you are trying to get your beauty sleep. If that’s the case in your household, then you may want to bring your pup’s crate into your bedroom just for one or two nights. This will give him companionship while he is becoming accustomed to his new bed. If the crate is beside your bed, you can reach down and stroke your pup if he becomes unsettled. When he is spending the night in his crate without distress, you can move the crate out of your bedroom.

[Gracie says: “My mom doesn’t adopt puppies. As a senior dog, I can see why. But for my first few months with mom, I had to sleep in my crate at night. My mom wanted to be sure I was house trained. She gave me a peanut butter kong every night so I knew I was being rewarded for being a great dog. Now I sleep on the mom’s bed, along with the ditzy Creampuff who jumps on and off and the fat Ophelia who takes up a LOT of room. Sometimes I’d rather be back in that crate with my peanut butter.”]

Don’t forget to look around the crate when you have put it in its permanent position. Check for power cables or electrical wires, and make sure there aren’t any curtain tassels dangling into the crate. These can hurt your dog if he chews them.

Keep an eye on whether or not the crate is in direct sunlight from a nearby window, because this will be hot and uncomfortable for your dog. Similarly, avoid drafts so he doesn’t get cold.

[Gracie says: “Never fear. My mom is a fanatic. I always have a bowl of fresh water and my tough rubber toy – nothing I can destroy.”]

There is no “one size fits all” perfect spot for a dog crate. You don’t want the crate in the way of your family, and you don’t want it to negatively affect your home décor. Your dog wants to be where the action is, and don’t want to feel left out. Take the time to work out a position for the crate that suits both you and your dog.

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Gracie: Thanks for the tips, Jaime! Thanks to my mom’s friend Pam Ellis, I have a great place for my crate: right in the living room where it belongs.