Dog Loves Strangers: Doing “The Lean” With A Total Stranger

Leaning against a friendly person in the Dog Park
Leaning against a friendly person in the Dog Park
I admit it: I love people…well, most people anyway. I can usually tell when someone’s up to no good.

And I’m very affectionate. Here I am in Regrade Dog Park getting acquainted with someone we don’t know. She’s talking nonstop on her cell phone. She interrupts to say “yes” when my mom asks if we can use this photo in her blog.

Notice that my legs are angled so I can a good, deep lean Aahhhhhhhh……. That’s The Lean.

My mom has pointed out that I’m not exactly a one-person dog, like her first dog, the sainted Keesha. “Gracie would go home with anybody,” she says. “She barely knows who I am.”

Oh come on, mom. When you’re ready to go home, I follow you to the gate (unless somebody else gets my attention). When you pick me up from daycare, I recognize you.

But hey, I’m flexible. If a better owner came along… um, better change the subject. Let’s get out of the park and go home to dinner.

Dog is a great actor

Uh oh…busted again.

Mom was talking to Aunt Sara when I was dropped off this afternoon. They were talking about ME.

“Gracie’s usually good,” Aunt Sara said. “But when you drop your guard for even a minute, she’ll try something.”

“Exactly,” my mom said. “Sometimes when we are walking along, she’ll stop suddenly. She’ll get that look like, ‘Why are you making me go on?'”

True. We have two kinds of walks. Sometimes we go on a real walk where I get exercise and Mom does her errands. But often these days I get a mini-walk so I can do my business before my mom stuffs me in my crate and goes off on her own outings.

“I think Gracie knows,” the mom said, “because I fill up her crate’s water dish just before we go on our walk. She’s a very smart dog. When we come home, she doesn’t want to go inside. People feel so sorry for her. It’s like, ‘Poor thing. She doesn’t want to go in.'”

“I know just what you mean,” my Aunt Sara said. “Gracie does a good pout. You’d think we were beating her.”

“Yeah, and she’s spoiled rotten,” the mom said. “Uh oh – what was that? Gracie, are you eating the cat food? I’d better go pick it up. See you next time.”

Okay, okay. I just decided we needed a distraction from all this talk about spoiled dogs. Now I’ll move on to my nap.

Dog sniffs the leaves

Ahh…finally we get some country in the city!

My Uncle Lance told my mom about the P-patch garden here in Belltown. These gardens are set up all over Seattle. Anyone can get on a waiting list to get a plot assigned for organic gardening. They grow all kinds of fruits, vegetables and flowers. And they rake leaves into a big pile that’s perfect for sniffing.

My mom takes me over there on nice days. It’s like a little park oasis in the city, she says. She smells the flowers and sighs wistfully at the plump tomatoes. I am not allowed to enter the gardening beds (like, why would I want to? nothing interesting there). But I’m sniffing some dried l leaves.

It’s a beautiful sunny day, my mom says. Let’s enjoy the weather.

It’s a nice pile of dead stuff, I say. What could be better?

New pup in town at the Regrade Dog Park

As a senior dog, I need to keep an eye on things at the dog park. These days I don’t enjoy rough play the way I used to. I don’t care for being knocked down and pawed over. I like to sit on the wall and snuggle up to people. And of course I like to meet and greet all the new dogs.

Ruby is a new pup adopted by Lindsay, the former steward and ongoing mayor of the dog park. Lindsay sits on the wall with her faithful guide dog, Jasper, and keeps an eye on things. Ruby is a brand new pup – probably a pit bull – who is extremely sweet and gentle. She’s getting socialized to other dogs and people. She’s awfully small. Ophelia would eat her for breakfast.

She’s growing fast. By the time you read this post, she will be bigger. Meanwhile, it’s nice having a kid around…as long as she doesn’t try to make me play like a pup again.

Marine Corps Dog With PTSD Helps Family of Marine Hero

My mom likes to share stories about dog heroes. She says I should find some role models so I will appreciate what a great home I’ve got.

“Here’s a story about a bomb-sniffing dog who served with the Marines,” she said, holding up the newspaper article. “Now there’s a dog who’s got good reason to be scared.”

Gunner, a sweet-looking German shepherd, had PTSD. He was going to be discharged from the Marine Corps as “excess property.” Meanwhile the family of a war hero heard about Gunner. They had lost their son and wanted to help this veteran dog. They drove from upstate New York to South Carolina, after signing papers saying they wouldn’t sue the government if anything happened.

Apparently Gunner still needs a lot of extra love. He’s terrified of thunderstorms. He likes to sleep in his crate. Well, our housemate Ophelia still likes to escape and I prefer to be in my crate when Cathy goes out. I don’t know what to do with myself so I stand and wait for the door to open.

Gunner and I both started new lives. I must have been a country dog once, since my mom adopted me from a shelter near Bellingham. I was born to be a city dog and never looked back. And Gunther seems more suited to being a house dog, although he probably served well before getting PTSD.

“Gunner’s probably grateful to have a good home,” the mom says. “You should be too. You’ve never even served in the Marines and look at your great life.”

C’mon, mom. Marines don’t take mutts. Otherwise who knows? I think I’d be perfect in combat. The action would have to stop while everyone turned to me and said, “Oh she’s so cute.”

Fortunately both the mom and I are too old to be drafted, although my mom says, “Drafting old people would make more sense than drafting kids. I’d rather die in combat than end up in a nursing home.”

I see her point but I also see it’s past time for my walk.  Ahem.

Two cats, doing what they do best…

Okay, here are our two feline housemates. They’re engaged in their favorite activity: eating. Ophelia may be the champion but Creampuff isn’t exactly holding back. They’re both so absorbed in feeding their furry faces. They don’t even notice they’re co-existing peacefully, side by side.

My mom loves these scenes. “See?” she says. “Even full grown cats can learn to get along.”

Yeah, yeah…so what’s the big deal? Ophelia’s been here for over 2 years now. Nobody’s gotten killed. No blood has been shed. Occasionally we hear a yowl…very rarely these days. They’re settled.

But I have a feeling we’ll be seeing more photos of these cats. Ten years from now, we will see two senior cats, side by side, and my mom will be reaching for the camera. “Oh look, Gracie! They’re getting along!” she will exclaim. Picture #1000 ready to roll.

Now this is life in the dog park: spa treatment

Lindsay gives dog a massage.
Lindsay gives dog the spa treatment.

My mom is relieved. I no longer seem nervous when we go to the dog park, although I go out of my way to avoid certain dogs. A 70-pound dog jumping on me? No thanks. Not at my age. I am almost eight years old and it’s time for me to settle down, although my jaws will always be ready to take on a chewing challenge.

One reason I like the park is that I get to sit on the wall while people admire me. Lindsay is one of the park regulars. She’s sitting here giving me a butt rub. See that tiny bundle of fur in her lap? That’s Ruby, her new puppy. Apparently Ruby is trying to set chewing records in Lindsay’s home. She chewed up a computer cord, something I’ve never tried.

“Don’t even think about it!” my mom said to me when Lindsay told us the story. “And it’s so unfair: I have to pay for my massages! You get yours free.”

Yes. That’s what life should be. A dog park should include spa treatment.

“Dog is guilty with mitigating circumstances”

My mom was telling my Aunt Sara, “Gracie’s slowed down a little. She sleeps more. Do you think her hearing is going?”

“No way,” my Aunt Sara laughed. “She hears just what she wants to hear.”

“And she’s even chewing less,” my mom continued. “Definitely she’s getting older.”

So are you, mom, but let’s not go there.

Shortly afterward my mom decided to clean up the living room. Under the coffee table she found the evidence pictured here: Exhibit A. Yes. A chewed-up leather watchband.

“Gracie! Did you do this?!” she exclaimed.

Hey, I was trying to help my mom. First, she was saying she needs a new watch band. This one was falling apart. Knowing how much my mom hates buying things, I figured I’d help her along. And second, she was worried about my age. So I wanted to let her know I’m still in top chewing form.

To my amazement, the mom was not amused. “Gracie, it is SO hard to get a watchband. It’s more expensive than buying a watch. This one still had some life.”

Right! I’ll wait till we see my Uncle Lance. He’s a lawyer and he adores me. I’d bet he’ll represent me pro bono and persuade my mom to drop the whole case. Even she admits, “At least you haven’t chewed up any computer accessories yet.”

WNBA season is over: more time for the dog!

Whew…Cathy went off on Thursday to watch the Storm game at a sports bar. We don’t own a television set anymore and besides, it’s much more fun in a group, she says. Sort of like playing alone in a yard versus playing with a group at the dog park or doggie day care.

Well, as I age I’m getting fussier about my playmates. My mom, on the other hand, becomes more gregarious with each passing year. She’s always stuffing me in my crate while she dashes off to happy hours, networking breakfasts and now sports events.

“I’ve never done this before,” she told me, donning her Seattle Storm fan gear for the occasion. “People cheer as if the team could hear them. We must be crazy.”

No comment.

Fortunately the Storm won. That means, my mom says, basketball season is over and her team got a championship…sort of like Best in Show at the American Kennel Club.

Frankly, I could care less about clubs, shows and trophies. Give me a nice soft bed and a handful of treats any day.

But the mom was really getting into it. She even went to the celebration last night. “Why not? I might not get this opportunity again in my lifetime,” she explained.

Today she sadly packed away her Storm sweatshirt, t-shirts and hat.

“Not till next year,” she said. “On the other hand, it’s nice to have my life back. For awhile my scheduled revolved around watching those games.”

Mine too. I was hoping for more quality time with the mom but alas, her calendar’s getting packed.

This morning she grabbed one of her old non-Storm sweatshirts to wear when she escorted me to the dog park. She randomly chose a bright red Nebraska shirt, souvenir of a visit she made before she became a dog owner. She rarely wears it so it’s still in great condition and she figured she could be anonymous.

To our amazement, someone greeted us on the street. “Cornhuskers fan? In town for the game?”

Turns out University of Washington played Nebraska today.

My mom opted for a more neutral sweatshirt next time we went out. Needless to say, I continue to go naked. But I bet if the Storm came out with cute little doggie coats, I’d be wearing one in no time. Green’s a good color for me, too.