MidlifeDog.com

A few days ago we went to the dog park. After going to Magnuson with my Aunt Sara, I’ve become quite spoiled. Regrade Park is okay if you’re desperate, but it’s just not Magnuson. No water. No beach. No grass trails. And definitely not the dogs I’m used to playing with in my own pack.

On this day, a dog named Sheba jumped on me when I was just entering the park. Sheba’s owner, Ed, recognized me. We hadn’t seen him for awhile. He was giving me a nice welcoming massage when Sheba got jealous.

Needless to say I was somewhat traumatized. I wanted to go home. But my tough mom insisted, “Gracie, you have to get over this. Hang in there awhile! Find a nice small dog to play with.”

Yeah, right. Instead I jumped up on the wall to join my best park friend, Lindsay. Lindsay understands me. She gives me treats and butt rubs. And she protects me. See how I’m sitting? I’m firmly here and not moving. Yeah, there’s a cute little dog here. Who cares? I won’t budge till my mom gives up and says we can go home.

Recently my mom read me a story from the Wall Street Journal. If you’re human you can read it here.

Apparently obesity is as serious for dogs and cats as smoking is for humans. The article had lots of stories about fat dogs and cats, including overweight dogs who were put on diets after they were adopted.

Frankly, I don’t worry about obesity. My mom watches my waist line, along with my sharp-eyed Aunt Sara. As soon as anybody says, “Getting a little chunky there, Gracie?” I’m in trouble. But I get tons of exercise and my mom doles out my crunchies with a measuring cup, just like the vet said.

Ophelia, on the other hand, is what we used to call a tubby tabby. She doesn’t eat that much. She only gets to eat when I’m out of the house or locked in my crate, because otherwise I steal her food. She can’t leap up to the counter the way Creampuff can.

My mom refuses to worry. “Remember Tiger?” she says. “For years everybody told me that cat was too fat. They warned me she’d die prematurely. When she finally headed for that great sandbox in the sky, she was a good 20 years old.”

Tiger was tough. My mom adopted her in Canada. “Probably a Saskatchewan barn cat,” she likes to say.

Ophelia, on the other hand, comes from a shelter in Seattle, where her family probably got tired of dealing with a spoiled rotten feline and dumped her off. After a whole month of living in a small cage, she is our most appreciative housemate. She actually grovels. Very undignified for a cat. For my mom’s sake I hope she lives a long time. We’ve given up trying to put her on a diet.

Almost done with the new dog park mural.

This wall used to be a handball court. It’s still a dog ball court. Dog owner still throw balls against it and the concrete is a play area for dogs to chase tennis balls.

Just a few years ago, before my mom came to Seattle, this park was notorious for drugs. Apparently nobody would enter the park. People hated to walk past it. The city tried different solutions but nothing worked till they added the dogs. As my mom likes to say, “Nobody’s gonna come in and deal drugs if they have to walk past a couple of big German shepherds.”

To be honest, most of the regulars in the dog park are not crazy about this mural. It’s a little too cutesy for us.But did you notice an important feature: names of the dogs are painted along the sides! We contributed to the mural so our names go up.

My name is just above the orange fencing, which will be long gone by the time you read this. It’s not really sideways. My mom just can’t hold a camera straight.

They squeeze themselves into boxes like this one.

Here’s our ditziest housemate Creampuff. When you don’t have a lot of brainpower, you have to go with cute. You gotta admit: she’s good at “cute.”

Ophelia, our plump and domineering housemate, refuses to drink water from a normal dish.

At first she would sit next to my mom and drink my mom’s water. My mom is pretty easygoing when it comes to animals but she balked at finding cat hair in her ice water.

So she set up two cups of water for the cats. She keeps them filled.

We think about getting a fountain for Ophelia. But my mom says she has to draw the line somewhere. For me, it’s a coat that I don’t need (but would add another twenty degrees of cuteness). And for now, Ophelia’s drinking from a glass that’s definitely not empty.

I love meeting other people’s dogs and demonstrating that I’m really a well-behaved model of a dog. My mom says it’s all fake.

“As soon as they turn away,” she points out, “you’re back to chewing and jumping and pulling.”

She exaggerates. Look how good I am. Our neighbor Janet has a wonderful big dog named Emma. I’m doing a good “sit” because sometimes Janet has treats. Seize the day. .. er, treat. That’s my motto!