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.