Dog-gone good Sundays

My mom Cathy keeps busy so she likes to combine her projects and errands. Yesterday she needed to go food shopping and take me for a walk, so we went to Pike Place Market. It’s a leading tourist attraction, especially in summer. Perfect or a CUPPIE: right downtown and dogs allowed.

I like Pike Place Market. All those tourists miss their dogs and they make a fuss over me. Usually I can scarf up some forbidden food. Yesterday I had a big piece of pizza crust in my mouth when my mom stopped and, right in front of everybody, yelled, “Drop!” She pulled that tasy tidbit right out of my mouth. Sigh.

But another reason I like Pike Place market is this: I can usually persuade my mom to stop by the dog park on the way home. On weekends she’s ready for some friendly conversation and there’s always at least one familiar face for her. I get extra running time.

And yesterday I got a bonus. Cathy was so tired she was falling asleep over her laptop. She didn’t notice I’d grabbed a hunk of cheese until it was almost gone. Yum! See, I’m saving her from all those calories.

Cathy doesn’t agree. Luckily it was the low-end cheddar. “If I’d bought Double Gloucester, you’d be in the dog house,” she told me firmly.

Good while it lasted. Off to another nap. Maybe next time we’ll stop by 3 Dog Bakery because I am named after the founder’s dog. The fact that they have awesome peanut buter treats is completely irrelevant.

We Show Off Seattle

Arf! Gracie here.

So Mom and I are walking around Upper Queen Anne(as opposed to Lower Queen Anne, where we live). We’re walking through¬† Kerry Park, which has one of the best views of the skyline
and Sound in all Seattle.

A professional guide is sharing the skyline with a limo full of eager tourists. I’m more interested in getting a drink of water. Just as I take a sip, the guide says, “Seattle is a city of dogs. In many of our parks you’ll see a water fountain, and just underneath you’ll see a bowl of water.”

My mom pipes up, “And here’s an example.” She points to me.

My mom can be such a ham. (Did you know she’s thinking of auditioning for some stand-up comedy? As if she didn’t embarrass me already.)

She goes on to tell everyone about how she rescued me¬† through a group in Bellingham, Washington. She uses the 4-letter “M” word but she explains that I’m really a princess (actually, she says, “Gracie thinks she’s a princess” but who should know better than me?).

The guide says, “Yes indeed.” He looks to be in his sixties or even older and very experienced. “Can she have a treat?”

“If she sits,” my mom says firmly.

We go into our act. I know the drill.

I graciously accept the treat. The crowd goes, “Awwww…”

As we stroll down the hill, my mom says, “You know, Gracie, that guide was really smart. He created a great moment for the crowd and signaled to us that we need to move on. We should have hung around and listened to his spiel about the skyline.”

Nope. That treat really hit the spot after a long walk on warm day. I’ll hit the cushion as soon as we get home.

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.