Tag: dog park

Dog begging for treats in dog park

Here I am in Regrade Dog Park in Belltown, right in the heart of Seattle. It’s a warm Saturday afternoon. My mom wants me to get some exercise so I’ll be tired when she goes out tonight. So we walked over here. That’s over a mile, Mom. More like a mile and a half.  I thought I was getting adopted, not joining a hiking club.

This nice man had a box of  treats. I tried…and tried. But mom said, “No way. I don’t want Gracie begging for food in the dog park. We came here so she could get some exercise.”

I can be very persistent when it comes to treats. Mom thinks I’ll stop begging if I never get any reward. We all know: it’s an uphill battle.

Dog Park hosts birthday party

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.

Dog park on a busy day

My mom tells me people spend a lot of time and money learning to focus their energies. Dogs do this naturally.

For example, it’s a gorgeous day. Humans are trying to decide if they should go get coffee, go to the Farmers Market, or maybe visit the Sculpture Garden.

As a dog, I face no such decisions. I vote for the Dog Park every time. What could be better?

Here’s a scene from a couple of weeks ago. I’m behind the shaggy guy getting a bath.

Finally…dog park in spring!

As a Canine Urban Princess (a CUPPIE), I need access to the great outdoors. Here in the city we are SO luck to have this pocket park, right near downtown. It’s just over a mile from where we live, my mom says. That’s just enough distance for my paws to feel they’re getting a workout.

We have gravel and grass chips instead of grass but we have flowers and sculpture. But who cares? I’m the kind of dog who’s into sniffing the landscape, not admiring it from afar.

Why We’re Home For The Holidays

My mom Cathy used to travel a lot. She has spent Christmas holidays in London (England), Madrid, Edinburgh, Paris, New York and Chicago…and more. But since 9/11, she says, she hates to travel. She’s served her time on planes waiting to be de-iced at O’Hare. She’s driven (very nervously) on icy roads. airport in snow

“There’s so much to do here,” she says. “Symphony. Ballet. Theatre. Movies.”

Dog parks? I give Mom a nudge with my very cold nose.

“And dog parks,” she says. Sometimes she reads my mind.

Visitor from Philadelphia

Last night we were honored with a visit from Mom’s friend and copywriting client, Ellen. Mom wrote the copy for Ellen’s website, Faces and Fortunes, back when she was charging about half of what she does now. Ellen’s site was very successful and they became phone friends. They met for the first time on Sunday. I went along to the Marqueen, where Ellen was staying. They wouldn’t let me go upstairs but the desk people fussed over me in the lobby.

Mom took advantage of the gift certificate she won at the Dog Park party last August (how appropriate!). She took Ellen to dinner at The Waterfront, an upscale seafood place in Seattle.

The waiter took thisdog park gift certificate was used photo. After Mom downloaded it to Photoshop, she said she should have left a smaller tip. It was all blurry. She touched it up to get the photo. That’s my mom Cathy on the right. See, she does own some Real Clothes.

Did they bring home a treat for me? Hah. Such gratitude. I mean, if she didn’t own me, she wouldn’t have been at the dog park for the party. She’d have taken Ellen to the little Thai place around the corner.

“I wouldn’t mind,” Ellen said. “I like Thai food.”

Maybe next time.

Dog park attracts weird people

Yesterday we went to the dog park. The weather was nice and my mom wanted a break. So I got to take one too.

I was kind of roaming around, looking for trouble and collecting lots of butt scratches from the humans. Not much was happening when we were there.

Then a man came with a nice dog, just about the right size and temperament for me. I went over, following dog etiquette, and introduced myself with a friendly sniff. I said hello. I went into play posture. The other dog did too. We were on the same wavelength.

Soon we were happily chasing each other. My mom walked over and told the dog’s owner, “They’re playing so well together. Isn’t that great?”

To her amazemenet, the other dog’s owner wasn’t happy. “Keep your dog away from my dog,” he snarled, snapping on a leash.

“Huh?” my mom said. “This is a dog park. If you bring your dog here, other dogs will play.”

The man huffily took his dog out of the park.

“Weird,” was the consensus among the humans…and me too. We were having fun! That poor dog needs some playtime.

“Some people shouldn’t own dogs,” said the owner of a brown dog of unknown breed.

“I agree,” my mom shuddered.

Me too. Sometimes I wonder:  If I’d waited longer, would I have had a better owner? Maybe Bill Gates would have come along and adopted me.

But on days like today, I realize things ccould be a lot worse. Almost every day I get to visit the dog park or the dog lounge. I get to play with anybody I want.

I bet that dog would trade places with me anytime.

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.