Category: adopted dog

Identity Crisis?

Yesterday I wrote about my mom’s trip to Elliott Bay Bookstore to hear Arden Moore, expert on cat and dog behavior. My mom learned a lot…too much, in my opinion.

But she couldn’t understand why Arden kept saying cat and dogs were different.

In our household, the cats are extremely sociable. Somehow they skipped the chapter in the kitty handbook that says, “Cats should be aloof.” They shamelesly run to greet Cathy when she comes home. I don’t. I am either with Cathy or else waiting patiently in my crate with my favorite kong toy.

Last year my mom bought the cats a wonderful round bed when she visited a cat show. (My mom needs to get a life. Dog parks? Cat shows?) I took over the bed. When I curl up in a round ball, I just fit.

Oh yes, I chew the catnip toy too. But don’t tell anyone.

P.S. My mom wants me to add that she knows the other folks mentioned in the Arden Moore article, Sally Deneen and Robert McClure. They lived across the street from Cathy when she lived in Florida with Keesha, her first dog, before I was even born. It’s hard to believe but my mom actually has a few human friends too.

We Don’t Go To The Parade

Yesterday my mom took off for a few hours. She wanted to go a few places where I am not allowed. I don’t mind being left in my crate. For one thing, I have my favorite kong toy. I’m near a window so I catch a breeze. Best of all, my mom feels so guilty after leaving me, she takes me on a long walk when she comes home.

Sure enough, yesterday afternoon, we walked over a mile to the dog park. By evening, the weather was cool and we both enjoyed the breeze from the sea. I ran around the park for awhile, until Mom realized a big parade was happening a block away.

I hate parades. All that buzzing and honking and shouting. Last year at Seafair they shot off a cannon and I almost shot through the roof. (Back then, I was still allowed in coffee shops. Another story.)

So I sat on my furry little butt and refused to budge.

We tried one block. Even Mom decided: “Too crowded! OK, Gracie, I’ve seen a high school band before.”

She began to have second thoughts, but I won that round.

We came to a bus stop. “Good! Now we can ride home,” I said, settling down to wait.

“Oh no,” Mom said. “The schedules are all screwed up with parade. We’ll get home faster if we walk.”

“Rrr.” No way.

Some nice people came by and said, “Oh look…The dog wants to wait for a bus! Isn’t that cute? The poor dog…”

I tried to look sad and pathetic. Such a mean owner! But it was hard to look sad when my fur is all shiny and fluffy from my professional bath (not to mention the gourmet food my mom orders).

We walked. And we walked. We were exhausted. But I still had energy to chase the cats around Cathy’s living room… especially that fat tabby who thinks she owns the place. If she were human, she would be old enough to vote. And she never lets us forget.

Gracie : The Dog is the Star

Awhile back we were heading home from the dog park. As usual, I sat in my mom’s lap. Who wants to si on the yucky floor?

Everyone around us asked, “What’s her breed?”

Answer: “Anything but a Rottweiler.”

Then we had a guessing game. Beagle? Corgi? Shepherd? Chihuahua? Australian ridgeback (doubtful)?

Everybody wants to touch me. I think people feel disconnected on a bus, in the city. Often people will pat my head, as if I were a good luck charm, as they leave the bus.

Occasionally someone’s scared of dogs. One guy said, “It’s against my religion to touch a dog.”

But usually I get compliments on “such a well-behaved dog!” “Looks so sweet!”

My mom threatens to buy me a pair of sunglasses.