Category: dog owner

Dog and cat keep getting along

Is this scene getting old? I think so, but the mom remains enthusiastic.

“Gracie, you and Ophelia are getting along so well!” she exclaims. “We need to capture this moment.”

Fine, mom. You just interrupted our nap. Ophelia may be a spoiled fluffball, but she knows exactly how to hook our mom. She’s mastered “cute.”

“Hard to believe Ophelia was once a miserable kitty in a small cage,” my mom says. “When she first came she waged war on Creampuff. Her fur was a mess. And now…”

Right. After hundreds of dollars of vet bills and top quality food, we have a fat, furry housemate who clearly enjoys her life with us. She jumps up in my mom’s lap. She inherited Tiger’s position as dominant cat. Luckily Creampuff is too ditzy to care.

And I don’t care who runs the household, as long as Cathy’s schedule gets dictated by my treats, walks and naps.

The crate is back

Well, I guess my mom can relax a little more when I go out. The folks at dog.com sent us a new door for my crate, with a latch that closes nice and tight. I can feel secure!

My mom managed to unwrap the package. Then she looked at the old door.

“How the [blank] do I get this thing off?” she wondered. “Maybe I can bribe your Aunt Sara to help. And your Uncle Lance may be stopping by too.”

Fortunately my mom was out this morning when my Aunt Sara came to pick me up. When Cathy returned, she first thought I had escaped. The door was open and I was gone. Then she realized Aunt Sara had come a little early..and the new door was on the crate!

“I guess you know by now,” Mom said ruefully when Aunt Sara dropped me off this afternoon. “I’m totally challenged mechanically.”

“I figured I might as well get that door on,” Aunt Sara said tactfully.

My mom wants you to know it’s not age. Just the opposite. She’s much more dexterous now than she ever was. Now she knows what a Phillips screwdriver is, although I’m not sure I’d want to watch her try to use one.

Do moms develop ESP?

My mom Cathy says she can tell when I am Up To Something. She’ll hear a rustle or a crunch and she leaps up from her desk: “Gracie? What are you doing? Stop it! Now!!!”

Usually she’s right. I’m chewing up a delicious camera cord (my favorite) or a paper plate or a brush with a plastic handle.

But sometimes she’ll find Creampuff happily chewing away on her food. Creampuff can leap to the kitchen counter for casual between-meal snacks. She eats heartily and never gains an ounce. Ophelia, whose short fat legs won’t give her the momentum for a Big Leap Forward, eats only a few times a day and tips the scale at fifteen pounds.

I love it when that happens. A clear Not Guilty verdict for the dog.

Dog Loves Strangers: Doing “The Lean” With A Total Stranger

Leaning against a friendly person in the Dog Park
Leaning against a friendly person in the Dog Park
I admit it: I love people…well, most people anyway. I can usually tell when someone’s up to no good.

And I’m very affectionate. Here I am in Regrade Dog Park getting acquainted with someone we don’t know. She’s talking nonstop on her cell phone. She interrupts to say “yes” when my mom asks if we can use this photo in her blog.

Notice that my legs are angled so I can a good, deep lean Aahhhhhhhh……. That’s The Lean.

My mom has pointed out that I’m not exactly a one-person dog, like her first dog, the sainted Keesha. “Gracie would go home with anybody,” she says. “She barely knows who I am.”

Oh come on, mom. When you’re ready to go home, I follow you to the gate (unless somebody else gets my attention). When you pick me up from daycare, I recognize you.

But hey, I’m flexible. If a better owner came along… um, better change the subject. Let’s get out of the park and go home to dinner.

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.

A Non-Denominational Discussion of Easter Weekend

A Hot Cross Bun
A Hot Cross Bun

Yesterday my mom decreed that we should go for a walk. I see more walks in my future as my mom has been indulging in hot cross buns from Dahlia bakery, sinfully delicious and made just once a year, on Easter weekend. Now she wants to go on extra walks to compensate.

As usual, there is no justice in this world for dogs. Did I get even one bite of a bun? No way. Muffins and treats are off limits to dogs in our house. To be fair, they’re usually off limits to the mom, but she believes in species-appropriate treats, judiciously shared.

My mom won’t allow me to discuss religion or politics on my blog. But isn’t there some church out there that believes it’s sinful to refuse to share with your dog? If so, I have a mom who could use some conversion. I suspect her friend Bill from New York would belong to such a church, if it exists.

“Forget it, Gracie,” my mom said.

Memo to self: If you ever get adopted again, choose an owner who can’t read dog minds.

“Gracie,” my mom continued, “if you eat even a few bites of this bun, you will get sick. You will keep us both awake all night. You might have to miss your run with your Aunt Sara — and that is the highlight of your week.d”

Memo to self: Never choose an owner who studied logic.

It’s a moot issue, of course. I doubt I’ll ever be in a position to choose another owner (although if I steal a hot cross bun the question — and some voices — may be raised). And if anything happens to Cathy, she wants me to go to her friend Bill, who believes spoiling your dogs should not be reserved for Sundays and holidays. No argument from this dog.

Photo credit:

City Dog Meets Rescued Cat (and loses place in family hierarchy)

Good grief…I was napping away on my favorite spot on my mom’s couch. All of a sudden my mom was running around, grabbing her trusty camera and snapping one photo after another.

“Oh no…that shows too much of the rug,” she said. “And that’s probably blurred. Just one more…hold it!”

What was all the fuss about?

“Gracie and Ophelia, you’re friends!” my mom exclaimed happily as she dashed around capturing our images over and over again.

Sigh. As usual, my mom overreacts. And she doesn’t get dog language.

See, here’s what really happened. I was on the couch, enjoying my peaceful sleep, on my couch cushion. It’s actually one of my mom’s very old pillows that finally gave up. So mom pulled off the pillowcase and gave it to me to protect her couch. It’s my cushion. Before I entered this household, the cats had their own cushion, decorated with paw prints, on top of the couch. We’re very territorial around here.

Well, Ophelia decided she likes my pillow cushion. Ophelia has not caught on to the hierarchy of this household. She arrived in July of 2008. I arrived in January of 2006. I have seniority. This cushion was there for me.

So while I was sleeping, Ophelia crept up and sat near me. She’s not snuggling. See how she’s sitting up straight? She’s sending a message.

Who would’ve thought life would turn out this way? Ophelia was officially declared “skittish” by the cat shrink my mom hired to help her get adjusted. (For the record, my mom got her money back…as well she should.) There was talk of having her “re-homed,” a fancy term for giving up on the old gal.

Well, Ophelia doesn’t lack in self-esteem. My mom wrote an ebook called Bragging101, to help humans who need to get comfortable about selling themselves. Ophelia could have been her co-author.

Dog Owner at Internet Marketing Conference

My mom admires Connie Green, an Internet empire builder. So when Connie organized a pre-conference get-together, Mom flew in to join them. She left on a 6 AM flight and arrived on time in Las Vegas.

The group posed for a photo. Connie’s in back, wearing pink, with a big warm smile. Mom’s the one on the far right, wearing a hat. She’s crouching down just a little so people can see the folks behind her. Nobody dresses up because they all work from home on the Internet .Some of them don’t even have suits anymore.

“Do I look OK, Gracie?” she asked, showing me the photo. “Not too old or too fat?”

What do I know? I am a dog, remember? I think she looks fabulous when she’s got a hand out to give me my treats.

Smart Dogs? Hah. I could do that.

The New York Times ran a story today about a Labradoodle who serves as combination service dog and psychiatric aide. They said the Veterans Admin will spend $300 to study the impact of service dogs.

Save your money, Dogs are natural psychiatrists. I personally keep my owner, Cathy Goodwin, sane and motivated. Without me, who knows how she’d spend her time? Would she get out of the house and do things if she didn’t have to walk me? Would she go to bed early if I weren’t waiting for her?

I am a natural social worker. I go up to strangers on buses. I snuggle up to strangers sitting on benches on the street. People pat me when they want a dog fix.

And while I may be a princess, I’m not a high-priced breed by any means. The government can save its money. There are dozens of wonderful mutts like me. If I can keep my owner in line, any dog can do anything.

Seattle Public Library to Mom: “One book is just like another”

My mom Cathy is an avid reader (as if you couldn’t tell). She’s also a dedicated library user. I’m not allowed in most library branches and I have no desire to go to the Central Library. Dogs are not made for revolving doors.

But my mom was infuriated by the new policy on holding books. She realizes the Seattle Public Library needs to cut back but she can’t understand their logic.

I don’t read, of course, and logic isn’t much of a dog’s specialty. But even I couldn’t miss the idiocy of a comment sent by the librarian to my mom. “We have trained librarians,” the librarian said, “who will help patrons find alternatives to the most popular books.”

In other words, this goes beyond, “Let ’em eat cake.” It’s like saying, “When you go to the library, you want a book. Any book.”

So you say, “I want a book about dogs.”

Will the librarian say, “Well, Malcolm Gladwell’s book, What The Dog Saw, is already up to over 100 holds. But what about The Art of Racing In The Rain? That’s a great dog book.”