Lindsay, who was Dog Park Steward until recently, is exempt from the “No Treats” ban imposed by my mom. Lindsay likes to sit on the wall surrounded by a bunch of dogs. That’s her big black lab, Jasper, on the right. Jasper is an official service dog. He’s all trained and he looks awfully impressive when he’s wearing his tags.
Hmm…have you noticed a pattern to the recent pictures in this blog? All about treats. Is my mom trying to tell me something?
My mom’s just getting around to posting all the photos she took of Linday’s birthday on Thursday, August 27th. Here’s Lindsay eating a piece of her own birthday cake, carefully ignoring the dogs who have their Eye on the Prize.
See the red arrow pointing to me? Yes. There I am, right next to Lindsay’s official service dog, Jasper, the black lab. See, mom, it’s not about the cake. We’re just wishing Lindsay a Happy Birthday. Anyway, don’t the rules say, “Bring food at your own risk?” Well, we’re the risk.
Yesterday my mom’s friend Bob was still visiting from Florida. Mom’s known Bob for years, since they were both professor at U of Alaska in Fairbanks.
“So what do you want to do today?” Mom asked Bob. “I have a brilliant idea. Let’s take Gracie to Magnuson Dog Park!”
They were a little worried that the skies would be gray. Maybe we’d even get some rain. Humans are ridiculous. They run at the sight of just one raindrop.
Luckily for all of us, we had a magnificent day. Mom’s camera batteries died so she didn’t get the photos she wanted but otherwise I got to go wading. I became special friends with an Australian something-or-other that looks like a border collie.
Bob is an outdoors kind of guy and Mom is the ultimate city gal. So Magnuson was a good compromise. And since Bob doesn’t have a dog, Mom wanted to make sure he got a great dog experience while visiting. I sat on Bob’s lap on the bus to Magnuson and most of the way home.
Then Bob treated Mom to dinner at an Indian restaurant since Mom had treated him to the basketball game on Saturday night. Mom had a glass of wine and she was SO tired we ended up falling asleep early. Around midnight we woke up and Mom finally took me out for a walk. Whew…what a relief! But I’m glad we waited. I don’t want to lose my mom to a DWWI: Dog-Walking-While-Impaired.
We’re having record heat in Seattle. Since we rarely get hot weather, my mom says, nobody has air conditioning. I was restless last night and even the Momster had trouble sleeping. That’s rare for her.
The cats are stretched out, looking miserable, but not too tired to scarf up their crunchies and some canned food. Mom felt sorry for them and opened a can. Ophelia adores canned food. She’s the ultimate food fuss.
Mom is going out tonight so she says she’ll probably put me in the Dog Lounge overnight, so we can all get some rest and I won’t be caged in the heat while she’s gone. “If I didn’t have teleseminars to attend, as participant and speaker,” she says, “I’d head for the air conditioniong myself.”
Yaay…if this works out, I’ll get to spend time with my buddies. When mom suffers, there’s usually a silver lining…for me.
My mom Cathy just discovered a pet food delivery service. She was getting pretty desperate because we don’t have a car and she’s not supposed to pick up those big bags for awhile…maybe ever.
Sounds good to me! Running out of my food would be a major crisis.
But what did my mom do? She ordered samples of cat food for Ophelia.
“Ophelia’s such a fuss and I want her to learn to eat healthy food,” she explained on the phone. “Gracie? No problem. Gracie eats everything.”
Huh? What about samples of treats for me?
“Gracie’s never met a treat she didn’t like,” my mom said. Notice how she talks about me? Alas, it’s all too true.
Yesterday my mom dragged me to the Pride festival parade. She just loves parades and she was hoping to see some really outrageous floats. This year, she said, it was pretty banal. Nothing really new.
I, on the other hand, had a marvelous time. So many people would ask, “Can I pat your dog?” Of course Cathy always said yes. One guy gave me a really nice butt scratch for about fifteen minutes while he sat on a curb and watched the floats go by. Some nice woman didn’t get upset when I leaned up against her and got golden hairs on her nice black sweater. “No big deal,” she said, as I snuggled closer. Who wouldn’t want to cuddle with a princess?
After the parade we walked around the booths at Seattle Center. Cathy’s always hoping to learn about some new service she’ll want to try. Of course several people wanted to pat me. One of the people at Pacific Health Center’s booth insisted on rubbing my ears.
Cathy spent some time at the PAWS rescue booth, telling the volunteer all about how she rescued Ophelia from the Seattle Animal Shelter. How boring is that? She talked about Ophelia’s eye infection and how she saved Ophelia who was all yellow with liver disease. Even the volunteer had to stifle a yawn.
As far as I’m concerned, our day was a HUGE success. Cathy found a booth for Smiley Dog…a service she’s been hoping to get since she adopted me. “I can’t carry big bags of dog food,” she said. “We need delivery!” Smiley Dog delivers all over Seattle without charge. We just pay for my food, which, of course, is not cheap. Princesses must feast on royal fare.
Today Cathy told me we won a five-pound bag of dog food! I’m so excited. Maybe she’ll be motivated to increase my portion size?
A dog can dream. And that’s exactly what I’m doing today as I recover from our long day in the outdoors, under the coffee table where the cats leave me alone.
My mom Cathy refuwses to drive in Seattle. As a result, she gets LOTS of deliveries. I can always tell when someone is coming to deliver something good for us. I stand by the door and wait to greet them in my own special way.
“No jumping!” Mom says firmly. “Sit!”
It’s SO much fun to jump. Why does she have to spoil my fun?
A few days ago the Safeway people brought us water, cat litter and more heavy stuff. Who cares? I drink whatever water is in my dish. My fave water is the muddy version from the dog park, whenever I can sneak past my mom’s eagle eye.
Today was wonderful. My mom asked the people at All The Best pet food in Upper Queen Anne if they could deliver a couple of 30-pound bags of dog food. “I like to buy locally,” she said. “Up to now I’ve been buying from Amazon.”
Sure enough, this morning a nice person showed up with the dog food my mom deems appropriate for a Canine Urban Princess. I eat California Natural and Avoderm. Since the vet cut back my rations, I figure that’s good for…six months? Maybe more. Who’s complaining?
My mom just pointed to a computer picture of Michelle Obama walking Bo on the White House lawn. The headline blared, “Michelle Obama Walks Bo in Madras Shorts.” Story and photo here.
Oh come on. Who cares what Michelle Obama is wearing? What I noticed is the way the First Lady holds Bo’s leash. Bo is walking on the right, the leash loosely held in the First Lady’s hand, behind her back.
My mom likes me to walk on the left. She keeps working with me. Keesha, my saintly predecessor, was well trained to walk on the left. But here in the city, my mom sometimes gives in and lets me walk on her right. For instance, if the patch of grass is on our right, that’s where I go.
“The important thing is consistency,” she says. Show dogs have to walk on the left. Recreational dogs like me can go either way.
I don’t know how the Royal Family does it especially the Queen and Princess Anne. They have to wear shoes, hats and skirts.
Me? I am a CUPPIE, a Canine Urban Princess. I don’t even own a tiara, thank goodness. Occasionally my mom ties a bandanna around my neck. I have to wear my collar and tags because Mom says she doesn’t want to pay a $75 fine. But otherwise, I get to go barefoot and naked.
When we get home I get to collapse on my bed or my favorite spot on the floor under the coffee table. Mom lets me stay there because she realizes I’m too tired to chew anything and run up a vet bill.
“Maybe the cats could use a dog fix,” she suggests with her sarcastic little smile.
No way. I won’t rise to the bait. I’d like to give that fat Ophelia a fix, but I don’t think it’s what my mom has in mind. And besides I have to think of my position. We princesses always look calm, smug and superior, even when a cat tries to steal our food.
Michelle Obama described the First Dog as “crazy.” Apparently Bo, the Portuguese Water Dog, likes to chew on people’s feet, according to this story.
One night Bo woke the president and First Lady at 10 AM, playing with his ball. Michelle said they thought they heard a person out in the hallway, but there was Bo.
See, they didn’t listen to me. When my mom read stories of Obama’s new dog, I said they should get an adult dog, preferably a rescue mutt like me. Puppies are a nuisance. They never stop playing. I’m much more restrained. I go out with my Aunt Sara twice a week and the rest of time time I am happy to sleep on the sofa.
Then again, I’m getting on in years. “You’ll be seven in October,” my mom keeps reminding me. “That’s getting into the senior dog category.”
Don’t remind me, mom. Pretty soon you’ll be getting the senior discount when we ride the Metro bus system together.