Category: dog owner

My owner needs the exercise…so why do I get involved?

Yesterday Cathy decided she should drop by her gym for a quick workout. She was having withdrawal symptoms after her nearby gym branch closed, along with her killer Sunday workout.

Great idea, mom. But why did you drop me off at the dog lounge? I was ready for a nap.

Fortunately for me, I found some nice dogs whose owners had gone away for the weekend. Some of us are old friends by now. Even more fortunately, Summer brought me up front to hang out with her at the reception desk. So I got a good rest while my mom did her thing.

After she picked me up, Cathy took me across the street to the dog park. I connected with a rowdy French bulldog who let me chase him for a good half hour.

Cathy didn’t budge. She sat in the sun. I could have got away with anything.

Soon my tongue was hanging and even my dim-witted fanatical owner got the message. Time to go home and eat. Crunchies for me, carrots for my Mom.

Hopefully we’ll get a day of rest on Labor Day, but I doubt it.

Year of the Body (yeah, but whose…)

My mom has declared 2008-2009 the Year of the Body. Hers. She downloaded a book on healthy eating. She bought grains and leafy green stuff. She started back to meditating at least once a day. And she’s working out more than ever.

“By Christmas,” she says, “I want to have a whole new body.”weights for new body

Of course, after setting all this in motion, she found something on the Internet about the danger of losing weight once you get past a certain age. She decided to ignore it.

Mom also cancelled her Cable TV. She has been so busy going to exercise class, she says, she has no more time to watch. And she wants to send me off on more walks with my Aunt Sara, since she’s going out more. That’s fine with me.

Our new housemate, Ophelia, is also on a diet. She refuses to eat dry food so she survives on a small amount of canned. She licks her wet food off each dry morsel.

Creampuff and I are the voices of normalcy, although Creampuff likes to eat my crunchies. I eat what my mom feeds me, plus treats, plus whatever disgusting stuff I find in the dog park.

And I’m the perfect size and shape.

Economics of Dog Ownership

My mom Cathy was discussing Richard Florida’s book, Who is Your City.

“Florida’s right about home ownership,” she was saying. “He says home ownership restricts mobility. He’s got some good ideas about revising rentals.

“But,” she went on, “he missed some other factors that keep us from being mobile. Health insurance is a biggie.”

Right. But what was his greatest omission?

Richard Florida says that communities who welcome gay and lesbian couples enjoy greater economic prosperity than those who don’t.

But what about cities who welcome Canine Urban Princes and Princesses? Seattle would rank Number 1 – and it’s one of the most prosperous cities in the United States. Lots of jobs. Ridiculous property values.

When Mom wanted to move from New Mexico, she chose Seattle because the city is more dog-friendly than her other choices. She’s never been crazy about the rain. But she loves the dog parks and the fact that I’m welcome in all sorts of places. She loves taking me on buses.

And when dogs are welcome, owners spend more discretionary income.

At one time, our favorite coffee shop, Uptown Espresso in Belltown, allowed dogs. You’d see me and my canine friends, snoozing away under the tables. One lady even brought me a muffin because I was so good. (My mom refused to let me eat it, of course.)

Then the Health Department stepped in. No more dogs! Now Cathy makes her own coffee at home most of the time.

It’s not exactly scientific. After all, I’m a dog. What do you expect – controlled experiments?

Maybe Richard Florida’s next book will have a place for dogs. If they need cover art, I’m prepared to pose naked, with or without a moving van.

A royal workout at the dog park

Saturday (yesterday) was supposed to be a one-day heat wave. So my mom got up at the crack of dawn (ouch) and we ambled off to the dog park. I made some new friends and played for almost 40 minutes.

My mom was enjoying herself, talking to a whole new crowd. She tells everyone she used to be shy. Hah.

My tongue was hanging out and I couldn’t wait to get home to my castle. From the outside my castle looks like an ordinary large-size dog crate, but it’s my inner sanctum and private retreat. I love it…especially my kong toy, which smells like peanut butter and gives me hours of blissful chewing.

Happy Mother’s Day

Yesterday my mom Cathy dropped me off in the Dog Lounge while she ran a couple of errands. Yaay! I played happily for a few hours, graciously accepting adoration from the staff. They know a CUPPIE when they see one (Canine Urban Princess, if you haven’t read the earlier posts).

The weather was cold and Cathy didn’t feel like hanging around the dog park. “At this rate we’ll be wearing our parkas to the Fourth of July celebration,” she muttered.

She exaggerates. She was running around in a sweatshirt and shorts…a far cry from her parka and woolly hats, which I have pretty much destroyed anyway.

As we’re returning home, the nice female bus driver says, “What a nice dog. She’s your baby, isn’t she? You’re her mom.”

What a perceptive bus driver!

Cathy: “Well, I won’t be getting a Mother’s Day gift from her.”

Bus driver: “What do you mean? She’ll give you love and kisses!

Cathy: “More likely I’ll get presented with a chewed-up sock.”

Driver (laughing): “Yeah, that too.”

Hmm. Too bad I can’t go home with that nice bus driver.

Oh well. This morning I’m sleeping angelically on the couch, tummy filled with gourmet crunchies. Life is good.

Cathy should be grateful. Her aging tabby cat defines a hairball as the perfect gift, Mother’s Day or otherwise.

Forget Wife Swap…Let’s do Dog Swap

My mom Cathy likes to watch Wife Swap on ABC. Actually she doesn’t watch…she multi-tasks when she has to something boring. Every show has a Super-Neat Wife and a Super-Sloppy Wife. Cathy loves seeing someone who’s a worse housekeeper than she is.

Here’s how it works. The wives swap homes. (They do get their own room in the new house: totally G-rated.) For the first week, each wife follows the home’s original rules. Then in Week 2, they try to get their new families to follow their rules. Chaos ensues. And at least one family emerges changed by the experience.

So…how about a new show: Dog Swap. I’ll swap homes with an upscale dog somewhere in a mansion on Lake Washington. Maybe for a week I could be Bill Gates’s dog. But of course I could end up with some workaholic who would be gone all day. Or a neat freak who would make me stay in a crate or even outside. Yuk.

For the first week, I’d go along with the program. I’d sleep in the crate. I’d eat the generic food. I’d give the resident cats a wide berth. And I’d chew everything in sight.

But then we’d come to my rules. I’d sleep on the bed. I’d ask for top quality food with extra treats and chewies. I’d teach thedog on sofa cats how to play some new games. And I’d offer them the deal I have with my mom: no chewing if I can sleep on the sofa.

Hey, what’s the big deal? This is how dogs operate naturally. First we go along with their rules. We wait for just the right moment. Then we announce the new rules.

We train our owners. We change their lives forever. We show them a whole new way to live.

And we don’t get a show. Has anybody talked to ABC yet? All I need is an agent. I’m a natural.

Dog owner to eye doctor, dog to park

gracie the dog getting treat at vetOn the right you’ll see a photo of Ruth, Office Manager of UrbanVet. She knows how a vet visit should be concluded: with me, the VIP client, getting a special treat. So I look forward to going to the vet.

My mom, Cathy, avoids the human equivalent of vets – the MDs. “Mostly arrogant jerks,” she says.

But on Monday she got busy on the Internet. I heard her telling someone on the phone, “I keep seeing this black shape…like a large bug floating in front of my left eye. Yuk. I really hate doctors…maybe I’ll wait.”

Oh no. I am too old to be trained as a Seeing Eye dog. I gave her The Look. She gave in, canceled her afternoon appointments and turned me over to Aunt Sara for a trip to the park.

When it comes to doctors, my mom is a wuss. I try to set a good example for her when I go to the vet, but no luck. Fortunately I wasn’t allowed to accompany her to the eye doctor. I would have been so embarrassed.

First, every time she meets a doctor (even socially), she clenches a fist, points to her bicep and says, ”How many women my age have muscles like this?” Usually they cave in and agree: she’s in awesome shape. She never used to tell her age but now she loves to brag (not to mention being the miserly type who grabs all the senior discounts).

And then she pitched her services…to the eye doctor. True, they really need a website and she’s pretty good. And we can use the money to buy me treats, manicures, dog lounge visits and trips to the park.

Anyway my mom got a clean bill of health. She wasn’t really surprised. But she was surprised with the service. “They were so nice,” she said. ‘Not at all arrogant. No talking down to me. I was amazed.”

But she didn’t get a treat, did she? Hah. They’ll be sending her a big bill.

“I bet it’s bigger than the bill we got for your eye infection,” she sighed when we were back home together on the couch.

Good. Nice to keep things in perspective here.

Great heart-warming dog story from Lisa Scottoline

Lisa Scottoline is on my mom’s Top Five list of mystery authors. That means when a new book comes out, Mom drops everything (well, almost everything) and reads it cover to cover.

Lisa’s got a great story about her own golden retriever:

http://tinyurl.com/5cuz87

sent to me by Ellen Zucker of FacesandFortunes.com

Just doing my job…

My mom was crazy-busy all day today. She was in one of her rare bad moods. I heard her mutter about juggling copywriting jobs, missing connections, losing things and a bunch of other stuff.

Here’s where I really earn my overpriced crunchies.

If Cathy doesn’t take me out, I’ll drive her nuts. I need exercise or I’ll be so hyper she won’t be able to hear herself talk on the phone, let alone write decent copy.

So we go to the dog park. Cathy always enjoys chatting with Lindsay, the volunteer park steward. “Sort of like the mayor of the dog park,” she says.

We haven’t seen Lindsay in awhile so I greet her enthusiastically while Nathan, a young man with a cell phone camera, recognizes a photo op. That’s Lindsay in her red hat, green sweatshirt and sardonic smile.Dog park with Lindsay

Later, as we walk by Macrina Bakery, we are greeted by a 30-something guy sitting outside in the sun. Cathy recognizes a dog lover so she asks if he’ll watch me for a minute while she goes inside to get something sinful to have with her coffee this afternoon. Naturally he thanks her for sharing me. Everybody does.

“I need a treat today,” Cathy tells me, as we head for the bus stop.

Hey, what about me? Who got her out, into the bright spring sunshine that brought her mood back to normal (more or less)? Who got her into friendly conversations with live people? Isn’t this why Cathy adopted me?

I deserve a treat too. Yesterday’s chewy is history. I’m going on strike…but first, it’s dinner and a nap.

“Our Housemates”

My mom Cathy is about the least mechanical person on the planet. She finally figured out how to use her camera and what did she do? She took pictures of the cats.

As far as I’m concerned, these creatures are useless parasites. Creampuff likes to sleep on top of the DVR. Sometimes shecreampuff the cat dangles a paw in front of the remote control cell so Cathy can’t change channels. It gets pretty hot but Creampuff is too ditzy to notice. She practically lives there.

tiger the tabby

Cathy always says, “Gracie is a mutt but she thinks she’s a princess.” She really ought to say, “Tiger is a fat old tabby cat who thinks she’s the Queen of England.”