So…who’s the good dog here?

Arf! Gracie here.

A few months ago Mom was sitting in her favorite coffee shop, Uptown Espresso in Belltown. She was working on her laptop. I was sleeping off a hard morning: we walked all the way from Lower Queen Anne (about 25 minutes) and then I played with a nice Rottweiler in the dog park for another ten minutes.


A nice lady came up to Cathy, my mom, holding out a napkin. Mom was so caught up in her computer she almost jumped out of her comfy chair (they have cool armchairs at the Uptown).

“Can I give your dog a muffin?” asked the nice lady. “She’s being so good. And she’s so beautiful.”

“You want her?” my mom asked. She always does that. I don’t think she’s serious. “And I’m afraid Gracie isn’t allowed to have muffins. She’s on a special diet.”

Hmmph. My mom can be so unreasonable! My “special diet” is premium dog food and dog treats (if I sit), and absolutely no people food unless I steal it from the kitchen counter. Who wouldn’t want a nice muffin now and then?

As my mom turned back to her computer, I heard her mutter, “Don’t they realize I’m the reason she’s such a good dog? It’s always the owner. How come they’re not offering me a muffin?”

A lot of good responses came to my sleepy canine mind. But, realizing Mom holds the scissors to my dog food bag, I decided it would be better to maintain silence and go back to dreaming about that cute Pomeranian I chased last week.

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