Christmas costume? Santa suit? Not for this city dog.

Sometimes a city dog has to draw the line SOMEwhere. And when it comes to Santa hats, red coats and even little white beards… gimme a break!

My mom just saw some Twitter posts with dogs all decked out for the holidays. Fortunately, she thinks dogs are supposed to be naked and for once we are in agreement. I am not wearing anything but the fur I was born with (lovingly embellished by good quality food and regular baths).

Anyway, why spend money on doggie costumes? Lots of hungry dogs out there need food. I need my walks…and my food, toys and grooming.

My mom has never decorated for anything. She’s afraid the lights will electrocute somebody or set off a fire. She’s aware that poinsettias and pine needles can be deadly to cats.

“Holidays are about doing, not dressing,” she says firmly.

And a strong “Arf” to that, I  would add.

City dogs should be spoiled. Totally.

My mom came across an article, Ten Ways To Spoil Your Dog. Naturally I sat up and listened when she read it to me. Let’s see how she rates on the “Spoil Your Dog” scale.

(1) Take your dog for walks. The article says we like to go to new places. Frankly, I don’t care. I’m always thrilled to go to Magnuson Park with my Aunt Sara and I enjoy my mom’s walks to Upper Queen Anne. I walk everywhere. And my mom is really good about taking me along. I’ll give her a “10” on this one.

(2) Go for a drive. Forget it. Mom doesn’t have a car. We love the buses. I sit on her lap and get tons of attention. “Very well-behaved.” “Beautiful dog.” “Seems like a nice dog.” Music to my floppy ears.

(3) Treats. Uh-oh. Mom’s a little weak in that department. She forgets to bring treats in her pockets when we walk. She’s gotten a little spooked because the vet warned her about my expanding waist line. Gotta work on this one.

(4) Time for playtime. Well, we don’t do much playing at home. That’s for the dog park. I do get to chase our feline hosemates around, but mostly I’m too tired to do anything but sleep…which brings us to:

(5) Naps. Yes. Say no more! The article suggests a “napping haven,” but give me mom’s bed anytime.

(6) Grooming. Yes: we go to the groomers regularly. I love my baths! Mom just had my teeth cleaned. She hasn’t been as good as she should have been about brushing my teeth. Maybe that’s because I resist so strongly.

(7) Fine dining. Well, I can’t complain about the quality of the food. Mom says, “Quality food will save on vet bills.” But thanks to the vet, she really rations the quantity…and my food bowl is older than I am. Of course, if I bring this up, mom will remind me how much she spends on dog walks. Okay: who need a new bowl? I haven’t worn out the old one.

(8) Time with Owner. Dogs hate to be alone. You bet! My mom is the best when it comes to time with me. She works at home and usually I’m just a few feet away. True, I do have some crate time, but my mom points out that she needs a life too. I have a big comfy crate with all the amenities…and I can catch up on my sleep. See “naps” above.

(9) The article refers to “doggy media experience.” I guess we could buy me some DVDs to watch when mom’s not home. I think my mom would put this in the same category as “doggy raincoat” and “doggy sweater:” over the top.

So all in all, my life isn’t bad. My mom’s a good dog owner and dog spoiler. But she has a LONG way to go. Her friend Bill in New York treats his dogs like royalty. I may be a princess, but around here, my mom says, I need to remember I am a CANINE Urban Princess. “Canine” and “Urban” come first.

Am I really spoiled? Please comment here.

After all this pottery work, we get…a cylinder?!

My mom says, “Pottery is wonderful because it makes no sense at all.”

True.

She goes on, “I have no talent for pottery. I am not buildng on strengths. I’ll never be an accomplished potter. The world doesn’t need any more pots. It’s purely for its own sake.”

Really? That’s the way dogs operate. We just do what we enjoy. Humans make things complicated.

My mom was so excited. “I made a cylinder!” she exclaimed. “It’s practically even!” She showed it to Megan, an accomplished potter, who pretended to be impressed.

For this we had to come up all the way to the pottery studio? I could have chased a dozen tennis balls by now…about as useful as mom’s quest for a perfect cylinder.

“I’m getting fussy,” she said. “If it’s not even, I don’t keep it.”

Well, I’m pretty fussy about who and what I play with, too. Same thing.

Pottery Studio: Dog gets a break (all too short)

Mom asked her classmate Megan to take a picture of us. She’s wearing a pottery smock thing (they keep some hanging on the door and she just grabbed one). There’s where Mom was working.

“It’s a pottery wheel, Gracie,” Mom explained.

“It’s noisy,” I wanted to say. “This place is not fun for a dog. There’s a big thing that roars and gives off heat. There are all these shiny floors. Nothing for a dog to do.”

“Keesha, my first dog, used to sleep while I worked,” Mom said wistfully.

“Keesha was older,” I wanted to remind her. “Anyway, in case you haven’t noticed, I’m Gracie, your dog du jour.” Dogs get a little sarcastic when we’re bored.

“Isn’t this better than being home in your crate?” Mom said. “Look at all the attention you get.”

Maybe a tie vote.

City Dog’s Boring Day, continued: Watching My Owner

Well, after my mom picked up a few books from the library, we walked over to the Queen Anne Community Center. I had been in here briefly, when we went to the Farmers Market. But now we went into a room I’d never seen. It was horrible. I hate shiny, slick floors. Mom had to pull me along.

“We just want to see how the pottery turned out,” my mom said.

We ran into one of Mom’s classmates, who was really friendly. She said, “What a wonderful dog! Why don’t you stay and throw something?”

“Because Gracie could break something and I’d be responsible.”

“Just tie her up.”

Great. Just what I’ve always wanted. So here I am, waiting again. This is the part of a Dog’s Life that nobody wants.

Why dogs get bored…totally.

Last Saturday was one of the most boh-ring days an urban dog can have. My mom decided we would go to Upper Queen Anne. First she headed for the Queen Anne library to pick up some books. The staff is very strict about the no-dog rule. (Ridiculous! We’re cleaner than most of the humans.) So she had to tie me up outside. You see, I have a tendency to dash off as soon as I’m loose and leash-free.

Here I’m waiting patiently, trying to look pathetic. It’s tough because people are walking in and out and nearly all of them stop to pat me. When it comes to doing cute, I’m the champ.

It’s COLD out there!

Winter has come to Seattle. Yesterday my mom tried to take me to Regrade Dog Park in Belltown. “You need exercise,” she said.

Me? My mom is terrified that I’ll have trouble sleeping because I’m not tired enough. So we hopped a bus and arrived at the dog park to find just a few other dogs. The other owners were too sensible to be out there in the cold. After just a few minutes, I marched over to the gate with that unmistakeable look: Time to go home now.

“Gracie, we just got here!” my mom said. “Don’t you want to play some more?”

Nope. So we walked to our usual bus stop and just missed a bus.

“Let’s keep walking,” my mom said. We ended up walking all the way hone, just over a mile

My mom realized that along the way she was chilled, despite wearing her heavy-duty, newly-cleaned parka. She worked as long as she could that evening. Then she announced we were having an early bed time. She took me out for my last walk and it was COLD. I did my business fast, turned around and led us back inside.

A normal person would turn up the heat, but not my mom. She has three heavy comforters and she piles them up. I sleep on my cushion at the foot of her bed. As usual, my mom tried to impress me into heating pad duty. No way. I curled up in a tight ball on my cushion and wouldn’t budge.

Then my mom tried Ophelia, who’s nice and plump and furry.  Ophelia has a really ugly growl when she chooses. I wish she would teach it to me.

Finally Creampuff stepped up. She’s so ditzy she thinks my mom is a big cushion. She’s small but she radiates heat. She just purrs so loud she keeps us all awake.

No problem, said my mom. “With all I do for this family, the least you could do is keep me warm on these cold nights.”

I pointed omy sharp little nose in the direction of my mom’s electric heating pad. Mom’s afraid the heating pad will catch on fire. Dogs are non-combustible, she says.

I say it serves her right. Next time we have a cold snap, we can skip the dog park. I have a feeling we’re headed for another long walk today. My mom goes a little wild when we see a glimpse of sun.

Holiday Gifts: Save my mom (and me, too)

My mom Cathy has been determined to declutter our humble home. We love living here. We don’t want to move to a bigger place. I think I once had a yard to hang out in and I hated it. I was born to be an indoor dog. Give me a bed anytime.

So as we get ready for the holiday season, my mom shudders at the thought of getting gifts from people. “More STUFF,” she says. My Uncle Lance reminded Cathy she has an Amazon Wish List, which she keeps forgetting to update. “That’s different,” she says. “It’s STUFF I want. Anyway, books are fine. They’re easy to sell or give away if I don’t want them.”

I have to admit she is right. It seems like every year we get junk. Calendars. Subscriptions to publications my mom doesn’t have time to read. Little statues of cute cats and dogs. Food we don’t eat. And more.

One year my mom spent $17 to ship an unwanted gift to her colleague in Canada. She had no use for the gift but didn’t want to give it away. “I think the people who gave me the gift really wanted it for themselves,” she says. “It’s sad.”

“This year,” my mom says, “I am hoping people will not give us gifts. They can make a nice donation in my name to an animal charity or cultural place. (NOT the US Humane Society, though). They can go to my Amazon gift list. They can give me gift certificates.”

Okay, mom, but don’t get too carried away. I need a new leash, remember? Something fit for a princess.

My mom read my mind. “Gracie, I’m giving just a few gifts this year. You get a leash. You don’t need a coat. Everybody else is getting pottery I made during my first term at the Community Center.”

That’ll teach ’em. My mom is the worst potter on the planet. They will never, ever reciprocate. And that’s good. We’re getting a little crowded here. I would like more space in front of my crate.

What’s your gift story?

Ahh, Fridays…

My mom and I agree on one thing. We LOVE Friday afternoons.

I go off with my Aunt Sara for yet another adventure in Magnuson Park. There’s something magical about these outings. Even total strangers say, “That dog really enjoys being here.” I have my pack of dog friends and keep running into people who know me. They don’t know my mom. Every so often we’re in Regrade Park and someone says, “Oh Gracie, it’s you!”

Don’t tell anybody, but I think my mom is jealous of my celebrity. How do I know? She was telling someone on the bus, “Being Gracie’s mom is a little like living with Paris Hilton.”

But my mom has no problems in the self-esteem department, especially as she gets older. (Uh-oh, I wrote the “o” word.) She takes off every Friday afternoon for a workout and (every other week) a massage with the best massage therapist in Seattle, she tells me, and maybe the world. On alternate Fridays she goes off to prowl around bookstores, museums or coffee shops.

My mom used to be baffled by massage therapy. “What’s the big deal?” she would say. Now she started about a year ago and she’s addicted.

I could have told her, “Massage is great.” Total strangers come up and give me back rubs, belly rubs and butt rubs. I love it. My mom would say that’s not exactly what she had in mind, but she doesn’t know what she’s missing.

Anyway, my mom’s got her priorities in place. “No matter what,” she tells me, “your dog walks and my massages come first.”