Category: adopted dog

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.

City dogs should be spoiled. Totally.

My mom came across an article, Ten Ways To Spoil Your Dog. Naturally I sat up and listened when she read it to me. Let’s see how she rates on the “Spoil Your Dog” scale.

(1) Take your dog for walks. The article says we like to go to new places. Frankly, I don’t care. I’m always thrilled to go to Magnuson Park with my Aunt Sara and I enjoy my mom’s walks to Upper Queen Anne. I walk everywhere. And my mom is really good about taking me along. I’ll give her a “10” on this one.

(2) Go for a drive. Forget it. Mom doesn’t have a car. We love the buses. I sit on her lap and get tons of attention. “Very well-behaved.” “Beautiful dog.” “Seems like a nice dog.” Music to my floppy ears.

(3) Treats. Uh-oh. Mom’s a little weak in that department. She forgets to bring treats in her pockets when we walk. She’s gotten a little spooked because the vet warned her about my expanding waist line. Gotta work on this one.

(4) Time for playtime. Well, we don’t do much playing at home. That’s for the dog park. I do get to chase our feline hosemates around, but mostly I’m too tired to do anything but sleep…which brings us to:

(5) Naps. Yes. Say no more! The article suggests a “napping haven,” but give me mom’s bed anytime.

(6) Grooming. Yes: we go to the groomers regularly. I love my baths! Mom just had my teeth cleaned. She hasn’t been as good as she should have been about brushing my teeth. Maybe that’s because I resist so strongly.

(7) Fine dining. Well, I can’t complain about the quality of the food. Mom says, “Quality food will save on vet bills.” But thanks to the vet, she really rations the quantity…and my food bowl is older than I am. Of course, if I bring this up, mom will remind me how much she spends on dog walks. Okay: who need a new bowl? I haven’t worn out the old one.

(8) Time with Owner. Dogs hate to be alone. You bet! My mom is the best when it comes to time with me. She works at home and usually I’m just a few feet away. True, I do have some crate time, but my mom points out that she needs a life too. I have a big comfy crate with all the amenities…and I can catch up on my sleep. See “naps” above.

(9) The article refers to “doggy media experience.” I guess we could buy me some DVDs to watch when mom’s not home. I think my mom would put this in the same category as “doggy raincoat” and “doggy sweater:” over the top.

So all in all, my life isn’t bad. My mom’s a good dog owner and dog spoiler. But she has a LONG way to go. Her friend Bill in New York treats his dogs like royalty. I may be a princess, but around here, my mom says, I need to remember I am a CANINE Urban Princess. “Canine” and “Urban” come first.

Am I really spoiled? Please comment here.

It’s COLD out there!

Winter has come to Seattle. Yesterday my mom tried to take me to Regrade Dog Park in Belltown. “You need exercise,” she said.

Me? My mom is terrified that I’ll have trouble sleeping because I’m not tired enough. So we hopped a bus and arrived at the dog park to find just a few other dogs. The other owners were too sensible to be out there in the cold. After just a few minutes, I marched over to the gate with that unmistakeable look: Time to go home now.

“Gracie, we just got here!” my mom said. “Don’t you want to play some more?”

Nope. So we walked to our usual bus stop and just missed a bus.

“Let’s keep walking,” my mom said. We ended up walking all the way hone, just over a mile

My mom realized that along the way she was chilled, despite wearing her heavy-duty, newly-cleaned parka. She worked as long as she could that evening. Then she announced we were having an early bed time. She took me out for my last walk and it was COLD. I did my business fast, turned around and led us back inside.

A normal person would turn up the heat, but not my mom. She has three heavy comforters and she piles them up. I sleep on my cushion at the foot of her bed. As usual, my mom tried to impress me into heating pad duty. No way. I curled up in a tight ball on my cushion and wouldn’t budge.

Then my mom tried Ophelia, who’s nice and plump and furry.  Ophelia has a really ugly growl when she chooses. I wish she would teach it to me.

Finally Creampuff stepped up. She’s so ditzy she thinks my mom is a big cushion. She’s small but she radiates heat. She just purrs so loud she keeps us all awake.

No problem, said my mom. “With all I do for this family, the least you could do is keep me warm on these cold nights.”

I pointed omy sharp little nose in the direction of my mom’s electric heating pad. Mom’s afraid the heating pad will catch on fire. Dogs are non-combustible, she says.

I say it serves her right. Next time we have a cold snap, we can skip the dog park. I have a feeling we’re headed for another long walk today. My mom goes a little wild when we see a glimpse of sun.

Guest Post From Lucy, A Lucky New Mexico Dog

Hi Gracie, I am Lucy. Thanks for inviting me to post on your blog.

I am almost 6 months old and almost 50 pounds. I am going to be a very big girl. My mom, Terri,  thinks I am a Rhodesian Ridgeback and that I was bred to run down lions in Africa. We have no lions in the back yard, so I chase my housemate Buddy, another dog. I also chase two small, fat, slow lions otherwise known as “cats.”  Mom Terri  doesn’t like that very much.

We live in a house in New Mexico with my mom, Terri, who is an artist, and my uncle Arthur, who’s been my mom’s buddy and housemate for ages.

My mom never met you, Gracie. She knew your mom’s first dog, Keesha, from when your mom lived in Silver City, New Mexico. Terri says Keesha was so attached to your mom. She says you are a little more realistic.

I eat everything. So far I have yet to leave single bite of food on my dish. I will even eat raw veggies when mom is cooking. I eat shoes when I can find them.   I am a growing girl who needs her food!

I moved in with Terri when my Uncle Arthur found  me wandering around in Bisbee , Arizona, about three months ago. I was a stray with no collar. I was tired, hungry and thirsty. Uncle Arthur tried to drop me off at the Animal Shelter but they were full. So Uncle Arthur took me home, where he’s been sharing with Terri in Alburquerque, New Meixco.  I sat in Uncle Arthur’s lap all the way home.

My mom thinks I’m beautiful, athletic and strong, although I’ve got a mind of my own. “Dinner plate sized paws,” she says.

My mom Terri and my uncle Arthur are warm, caring people. They will always make room for one more dog or cat. I am SO lucky to be here…um, was that a shoe left untended?

Being single on holidays: a dog owner’s perspective

My mom, Cathy, wanted to write a blog post about being single on holidays. She’s a big fan of Singled Out, by Bella dePaolo: “the best book on being single – and it’s based on science, not silly superstition,” she says. “It’s about time society recognized that some of us are single by choice. We’re not feeling left out or missing out. We’re just … single!”

(Notice how my mom has taken over my blog post. She even added a book cover, knowing I can’t read. How about a photo of a treat instead? Or a new toy?)

My mom says we have to disclose that she was quoted in this book. She’s very proud! And she was quoted because of her success with Amazon book reviews

But here’s my mom’s major beef. She just got an email from a friend in Los Angeles. “When my partner was out of town last year,” he wrote, “I had a wonderful time spending the day alone. I read. I walked. And I took myself out to a movie that evening.”

A few years ago she heard from a colleague in New York. “I’m hiding out this Thanksgivin. Not even answering the phone.”

She wants people to get the message. Grown-up singles don’t want invitations. They don’t need to spend the day visiting other people’s families. They want solitude!

My mom wrote an article on “Being single on holidays,” way back before I came into her life. You can read it here. I think I’ve helped her become a better writer, but that’s another story.

My mom likes to take me to a dog park for the holidays. When she lived with Keesha in Florida, she spent Thanksgiving in a fabulous dog park, reading a book while Keesha played and curled up next to her. (Unlike Keesha, I do not curl up next to Cathy in dog parks. I roam around, looking for trouble. It drives her nuts. Yaay!)

Anyway, if you’re reading this post (and my mom hopes you will), just don’t get offended if single people say “No thanks” on holidays. It’s not about you or your hospitality (although my mom and I both resent the categorization of “waifs and strays” invited for dinner).

“My best Thanksgiving was in New Mexico,” my mom said. “I got to take Keesha for a hike. When we got home our next door neighbor brought over a heaping plate of food. She was an awesome cook. It lasted 3  days. Best of both worlds!”

So…is my mom a Scrooge or what?

One Fact Not Worth Knowing About OUR Cat

My mom just came across this article: 17 Things Worth Knowing About Cats. cat sleeping on sofa

The article said a cat can run up to 30 miles per hour. That’s an ordinary house cat, they said.

Whoever wrote that article has not met our Ophelia. However, I admit Ophelia can move pretty fast when Creampuff is chasing her.

ONE thing worth knowing about dogs. We are superior to cats. And we love to sleep.

Two things? I am a dog. Who says I can count?

Dog plans low-key birthday celebration

Today is my seventh birthday. My mom almost forgot: she’s got two teleseminars to deliver today plus she’s going out this evening. So we aren’t doing anything much to celebrate.

Besides, my mom said, “you’re going off to board at the Downtown Dog Lounge while I go out of town. You’ll be there 5 days. That’s plenty of time to celebrate with your buddies.”

And tomorrow I get to go to Magnuson Park with my Aunt Sara, just like every Friday.

Hey…I just figured it out. A city dog’s life means every day is like a birthday.

Turning seven isn’t a big deal. My mom thinks I’ve slowed down a little since she adopted me, almost four years ago.

“Thank goodness!” she says. “You aren’t chewing as much. And I don’t get all worn out trying to keep up.”

Earth to mom. When I was first adopted, I didn’t get twice a week excursions to Magnuson with my Aunt Sara. So of course I needed more exercise. Anyway, getting adopted can be very stressful for a dog, even someone as flexible as I am. Back then we had Tiger the cat, who totally ran the household. I had never seen a bus, let alone been a passenger.

“Graice, you’ve been with me longer than you’ve been wherever you were before,” my mom says. “You should totally have forgotten your pre-adoption life.”

Pre-adoption? What’s that? I can’t imagine life without my mom. Even that fat cat Ophelia has become part of my family. And I think I was born to be a CUPPIE.

Carry on, world. Being seven is pretty awesome.

Why some people do not deserve to be dog owners

My mom Cathy woke me up from my nap today. “Look what I just read in an Examiner column,” she yelled, pointing to her laptop. I refused to budge so she told me what she read. And then I see why she got so mad.

You can read the whole thing for yourself, right here.

Accoding to my mom, some Examiner.com columnist praised the best Craiglist Ad of the Week. The  ad was headlined: “Wanted: Someone To Make My Kids Cry.” Here’s the story:

A single dad was looking for an actor to pretend to be a dog walker. The dad had found a new home for the dog which was a “terror” who couldn’t be trained. This actor would take their cocker spaniel for a walk and return, pretending the dog had run away. In fact the dog would supposedly go to a new home. The actor would be there when the kids started crying. The actor would be pad $500 for about two hours of work.

Can you believe this? A cocker spaniel who’s terrorizing the family?

I’m a dog and I can tell this whole thing is sick. No wonder nice dogs like me end up in rescue.

Here’s what my mom wrote as a comment:

  • Sorry, I don’t think this ad is funny. If the dad would invest the $500 in a dog trainer, the kids would have their dog and no reason to cry. Has the dog been tested for health problems? Was it abused? If the kids grow up into terrors (not surprising, with this parenting) will he give them away too?

Adopted Dog in New York Gets Warm Welcome

My mom has a friend named Bill who lives in New York. They’ve only met once or twice but they talk on the phone a lot.

Bill has lived with dogs all his life so he has become my mom’s advisor on dog care. I wish she’d listen more. My mom cuts my rations when the vet or the dog walker says, “Gracie’s getting a little chunky around the middle.”

Bill would just laugh. His dogs get LOTS of treats. They get lots of company because Bill works at home two or three days a week. They share his blueberry muffins. They get visits to the doggie cardiologist, doggie neurologist, doggie ophthalmologist and (I suspect) doggie psychiatrist.

My mom says if she dies unexpectedly, I can go live with Bill if Summer doesn’t take me. I’m not complaining, even though Bill says, “I really like big fuzzy dogs.” From a certain angle, with enough treats in sight, I can look big and fuzzy.

Bill adopts elderly golden retrievers. He just adopted Murray, a 9-year-old who was pulled out of a shelter by a retriever rescue group. Murray joins another golden retriever of the same age. Murray’s settling in fine. Who wouldn’t? Bill’s house is Dog Heaven.

Am I a cattle dog?

My mom and I went to the Farmers Market in Upper Queen Anne today. As we were getting close to the market, we were stopped by a couple around Mom’s age who exclaimed over me.

“She looks just like my friend’s dog!” they said. “Looks like a cattle dog.”

“Well, she knows how to herd sheep,” my mom said, peering at me.

We were interrupted as a large brown dog  of uncertain breed passed by. I had to jump over to see what was going on.

“No!” my mom yelled. “Where did I put my squirt bottle?” She dug into her big Farmers Market bag.

“She’s protecting you.” The nice stranger patted my head and rubbed my back. “Now Gracie,” she said in soothing tones, “you don’t have to protect your mom. Your mom can take care of herself.”

Obviously she doesn’t know my mom very well.

“But isn’t she part German Shepherd?” my mom said after I calmed down. “Look at that tail!”

“Could be part dingo.”

“And she’s from Snohomish County,” my mom said, puzzled. “What’s a cattle dog doing up there?”

“Cows are everywhere,” that nice couple said, getting into their car. “Have a nice day.”

And off we went to the market. Lots of goodies on the floor for me to gobble up, while the squirt bottle got buried under a bunch of Walla Walla onions. Saved from an identity crisis by distraction. You people could learn something here.