MidlifeDog.com – Page 20 – From Rescue Mutt To City Dog

Uh oh…Does this dog need a good defense attorney?

I knew it was too good to last. My mom was so engrossed in what she was doing that she didn’t notice me. Ophelia was hogging my spot on the couch and the ditzy Creampuff was giving herself a bath across the room.

Then my mom heard chewing sounds.

“Good dog, Gracie. You’re chewing on your kong toy,” she called out. Then she stopped. “Wait a minute…”

Sure enough, there I was chewing on a delicious rubber handle attached to my own brush. Well, it’s mine, isn’t it? Mom uses it to brush my fur and also Ophelia’s, when she can catch us. Creampuff loves being brushed but Ophelia hates it.

But I digress. My mom grabbed her camera to take a picture. Then she whisked me unceremoniously into my crate for a time out. Shouldn’t I get an opportunity to present my case and appeal this verdict?

“It’s for your own good, Gracie,” she said. “So I won’t decide to send you back to the foster home where you came from. They didn’t warn me you were a champion chewer.”

As if. I’m here to stay and I know it. But for now, I think I’ll lie low in the crate. I won’t even ask to get out. And I’ll give my jaws a workout on my kong toy, which makes my mom very happy.

Ophelia tries to be a dog

My mom laughed out loud this evening. Ophelia came running into the living room with a pair of rolled-up gym socks in her mouth. Somehow she managed to meow while she carried them.

When I run around with socks, my mom yells, “NO! Gracie! Drop!”

But when Ophelia waddles around with a sock, it’s cute.

“Ophelia got the idea from you, Gracie,” my mom said. “Cats don’t carry things around.”

Once Ophelia realized what she was doing, she looked embarrassed. She washed herself thoroughly, which is what cats do when they’re embarrassed. My mom shuddered: “Hairballs.” But there wasn’t much she could do.

“Cats are made to be spoiled,” said my mom. “Dogs aren’t.”

Oh well. Back to my nap. Ophelia doesn’t have good taste in socks anyway. I like mine thick and woolly.

Dog in disgrace

My mom figures that, if I sleep on her bed, she’ll notice when I jump off. Then she will put me in my crate for the rest of the night.

Hah. I’ve become an expert stealth jumper. The Marines could hire me to sneak up on people. Or I could be a police dog, going undercover in drug dens.

“In your dreams!” my mom says. “What happens when I wake up and find two hungry cats and two empty plates of food without even a crumb? And you’re off the bed, licking your chops and looking very pleased with yourself?”

Circumstantial evidence, mom. You always said the justice system is too quick to convict with too few facts . You’re the one who says we should no longer criminalize normal behavior. So why am I in the dog house with no breakfast?

“If you eat more food, you will get sick,” my mom said. “And that means a sleepless night for me and maybe another big vet bill. We are not taking chances.”

A dog’s life iin the Goodwin household is not always an easy one.

“Yeah, right,” my mom says, as if she can hear my thoughts. “You get top quality food. You get the prime spot on the sofa, which you share with Ophelia. You get a magnificent dog bed. You run in a wonderful park twice a week. What more could you want?”

Well, more treats would be a good start. But I guess this isn’t the time to make new demands. It’s a good day to curl up on my cushion and look sweet, small and pathetic while I am sleeping.

dog park water bowl In the urban dog park, Regrade in Belltown. Taking a break to drink some water. My mom was desperate for some action for a photo. Doesn’t a dog get any privacy? Fortunately my mom’s a little squeamish. She draws the line at showing me in certain potentially awkward situations.

And now…Dog wins today’s battle of the couch

And now its’s my turn!

I grabbed the cushion and took over. Notice how i’m stretching as far as I can.

Well Ophelia’s not exactly tiny. She’s got her queen-sized self right next to me. She’s not sleeping. She’s waiting for me to make a move so she can move back in.

Alas, she’ll win. Soon my mom will say, “Gracie, time for a walk.” Then I’ll hop off the couch and my spot will be gone…till next time.

My mom says it’s like waiting to grab your spot at the local coffee house. Sometimes you get the window table. Sometimes you don’t. No sympathy from her.

Our own battle for dog and cat territory

My mom says people get into disputes over territory. She says wars are fought over occupied territories.

But right here in our home, we have a territorial dispute in full swing. My mom keeps taking pictures. She thinks it’s “cute” when Ophelia and I sit together on the corner of the couch. We’re each vying for position on the yucky old cushion that’s so comfortable.

Actually my mom thinks Ophelia has a crush on me. (Dare I blush?) Ophelia tries to sit on the bed…in the exact spot where I’m sitting. She sits on my cushion…because it smells like me.

This time Ophelia got to the cushion first. Here you’ll see me trying to crowd her out. Meanwhile, my mom gets stuck with a small corner at the other end of the couch.

Not to worry, she says. She doesn’t like being left alone in our living room. “Why do I pay for pets?” she asks. “I want you with me, in the same room.” Well, as humans say, be careful what you wished for. I was wishing for a nice indoor home where I’d get lots of attention and be spoiled rotten. And that’s exactly what I have.

Are Canadian dogs better behaved?

Last night my mom Cathy went to a meeting for her neighborhood, Queen Anne in Seattle. I had to stay home in my crate but when she came back, I could tell she had been talking to my good pal Lindsay, the Regrade Park Dog Steward.

The meeting was about changes to Kinnear Park, a magnificent natural park that’s a short walk from where we live. My mom loves the views of the Sound but I like the smells of the squirrels. The only problem is, I am not allowed to run around loose and chase those wonderful squirrels. My mom says there’s a movement afoot to install a dog park and I, for one, can’t wait.

Our small group was led by an architect from Vancouver, BC. He said, “In Vancouver, dogs don’t have separate parks. They can run loose on the trails for certain times of the day.”

My mom was puzzled. “Don’t the dogs escape?” she asked. I wasn’t there but I can just imagine.

“Canadians train their dogs,” the man said. “They don’t run away.”

Oops. My mom has been eying me ever since she came home. Training? I’m the ultimate escape artist. Good thing I wasn’t adopted by a Canadian family.

Dogs: Love ‘Em and Leave ‘Em at Home: I don’t think so!

Checking my moms cell phone plan: Are treats included? — Checking my mom's cell phone plan: Are treats included?

My mom Cathy just read me this article from the New York Times. Apparently some people think dogs should be left at home and others (like my mom) want to take their dogs everywhere.

Speaking as a dog (the only way I can speak, if you call this speaking), I don’t want to go everywhere. My mom’s tried to sneak me into supermarkets. Sometimes they let us go but I hate those shiny, polished floors. I dig my paws in and Cathy has to drag me along. Naturally we can’t be inconspicuous when that happens. Yaay! We are forced to leave in disgrace.

But coffee shops? Another story. My mom used to go to Uptown Espresso in Seattle all the time. She’d tap away on her laptop or read. I would curl up and sleep. Everybody loved us. Strangers would come up to offer me treats, which my mom always declined on my behalf.

My mom takes me to the Verizon store where she has endless questions about using her new Droid. She is shameless about asking for help and getting the store people to help install all sorts of applications. Geoffrey Hise (the store manager in the photo) introduced her to Bus Bot and now I have to sit patiently at the bus stop while she fiddles around wondering when the next bus is due. Usually it takes her so long the bus comes while she’s poking the screen.

Mom doesn’t mind asking for help. “I know I’m Internet-savvy,” she says. “Besides most people won’t use half their apps because they’re afraid to speak up and admit what they don’t know.”

True. I don’t know too many dogs who are shy about asking for anything. Why not? A resounding “no” goes right past my ears and most of the time a delicious treat goes right into my mouth.

And a ONE and a TWO…Dog Owner Seeks New Adventure

My mom goes in stages in her life. As the resident dog, I get to observe from a safe distance, mostly my crate, because her enthusiasms take her out of the house more often.

Last year my mom got into fitness in a big way. Declaring the Year of the Body, she went to all kinds of weight lifting classes. This year she found a trainer who taught her to be fit without all the weight lifting and anyway, her schedule is too crazy for classes.

So this year my mom declared the Year of Creativity or (more realistically) doing things for which she has no talent. As a dog, I feel it’s not my place to comment on the vast number of things my owner is not good at. I’m just happy she has marketable skills so we are never short of funds for crunchies and dog walks.

But the mom is determined to expand her horizons. In the fall she took up pottery. If you look in earlier posts in the “Pottery” category, you will see she is not going to be one of those aging potters who celebrates her eightieth birthday with a new designer vase. And just before Christmas she stopped by the gym one night and walked into a hip-hop class. She was hooked. Fortunately, I am not allowed in the gym, so I am not forced to watch her try to be coordinated, the way I have been roped (literally) into weekends at the pottery studio.

“It’s not very fast or furious,” she assures me. “It’s a workout class. The instructor offers three versions of everything: easy, realistic and impossible. We have to learn combinations and move to music. That’s supposed to be good for my aging brain.”

Yeah, right. My mom’s brain seems to be just fine when it comes to seeing through my repertoire of treat-seeking ploys.

“I’m getting better,” she told me last night as she fed me a late night snack of well-cooked rice (see previous post – let’s not go there). “At first I kept getting lost and now I can almost follow when she teaches us a new set of eight counts. And we can improvise. We’re not trying out for Chorus Line, after all.”

Not hardly. As we went on our evening walk, my mom was humming, “And a 5, 6, 7, 8 … and turn to the RIGHT!”

Whatever you say, mom. As a dog, I’d vote for, “And a 1, 2, 3, 4… and turn to the FOOD.”

Back in the dog house…again.

Monday was a beautiful day, by human standards. When the weather seems good, my mom drags me off to Regrade Dog Park in Belltown, I’m supposed to play with the other dogs but in reality she likes Belltown with the brownstones and the city-gritty ambience. As a dog, I prefer the more rural dog parks but my mom points out that we don’t have a car and she never wants to drive in Seattle, or maybe anywhere.

So Monday we go to the park and some nice man is there giving out treats to his dog. Delicious treats. Rich treats. Bone marrow treats. My mom will never, ever buy me treats like that. She likes healthy boring treats that are supposed to be good for me. And she really, really hates having people give me treats.

Well, I snuck a few of those wonderful treats. When it comes to sneaking treats I’m the best. My mom would have taken me home but then I started running around. That always gets her. “Yaay – Gracie is running!”

That evening I demanded to Go Outside at 8:30 PM. At 10:30, when I demanded another Outing, my mom knew Something Was Happening That Was Not Good. She shoved a pill down my throat, guaranteed to restore my tummy back to normal.

At 2:30 AM, she didn’t even try to be polite. “You were the one who wanted to go out,” she muttered as I took my time finding the Perfect Spot. “At this hour we are not walking very far.” Then she whisked me into my crate, which was a good idea.

By the time my Aunt Sara came to pick me up, I was feeling my usual lively self although my mom refused to give me breakfast. “We’re not taking any chances,” she said. She was not in a good mood. My mom needs her sleep.

“I can take a nap,” she said, “while you play in the park.” Thank goodness. I was happy to escape.

My readers will be relieved to know I finally got some dinner: a little warm rice. Not exactly what I’d call a satisfying meal for a work-hard, play-hard dog. But even I know: sometimes a dog just has to keep quiet and let her snugglng speak for itself.