My mom found this video through a message on Twitter. It’s called Moments with Baxter.
Baxter is a chow-retriever mix. He’s a great therapy dog.
My mom wants me to be a therapy dog. The video says you have to be patient and sensitive. I’m sensitive. Patient? We’re not sure. My mom is a little worried because I don’t like to walk on shiny linoleum floors. When we go to a place with shiny floors, she has to pull me along. It’s embarrassing for her. I’m too nervous to care.
My mom just got her hair cut. She was so tired of fussing with the sides and dealing with frizz. So she marched into her hair stylist and said, “Cut it off! Cut it all off!”
I wasn’t there, of course. It’s illegal for dogs to hang out in hair salons. But that’s just fine. Why would I want to be there? They have cold shiny floors. There’s nothing to do. It smells funny.
My mom’s first dog, Keesha, was a guard dog. Actually she was a mix of two guard breeds – keeshond and chow – so she could be ferocious. She would rather be with Cathy on a cold cement floor than sit on a soft cushion in the next room.
Not me. Give me soft anytime.
But I like sitting on top of this ledge. Lindsay sits here, when she’s in the park, and occasionally she can be persuaded to give me a treat. She’s always good for a tummy rub or a good butt scratch.
Lindsay’s taking this picture. See how my mom’s smile looks more like a grimace? That’s because she’s within a mile of a camera, even if she reailzes she asked for it. She’s the least photogenic person on the planet.
I look like I’m bonding with my mom, don’t I? Don’t fool yourself. My nose is continuously on alert for treats and edible garbage. My mom and I disagree on the definitions of “edible” and “garbage,” but that’s another story.
My techno-challenged mom just discovered that her Sony Cybershot camera takes videos! She bought this camera on eBay on the advice of a Craigslist tech person who tried to help her with her computer. She’s now upset with Sony Corporation because, she said, they make lousy manuals. “Almost 200 bucks for a camera and they can’t write a decent manual with diagrams? They should hire me!” she says.
She discovered this feature by accident. Her memory stick got full and she couldn’t figure out why. Then she found she was downloading files in avi format, not jpeg, whatever that means. So she experimented. Her first videos were accidental where she moved the camera. So she got rid of those.
Here’s Cathy’s first intentional video. Guess who’s the featured subject. Yeah, right. Not me.
But she promises to take her camera to the dog park soon. Now let’s see if she can do an upload…Well, it’s kind of kluge-y and it’s like watching paint dry, but still:
Click on this link: Ophelia doing her thing
Does this work?! Please comment below and let us know. If you’ve got a link to a better way to upload videos, please, please write a comment! I want to be a star.
The relationship was growing cold. So was the weather. And the couple was experiencing all sorts of personal and financial pressures.
So what should they do?
Get a dog, of course.
Have you noticed that we dogs are taking on larger roles in people’s lives every day? Just in my humble home I am expected to be a
personal trainer (“My dog forces me to get out and walk…”)
heating pad when it’s cold (I’ve blogged about this before and may be able to delegate this chore to Ophelia)
social facilitator (my mom gets into interesting conversations because of me)
vacuum cleaner (I catch all the crumbs in the kitchen and when I’m lucky, a few cat crunchies that spilled over)
source of entertainment (“she’s SO cute when she does that…”)
and a whole lot more, as my copywriting mom likes to say. Lisa Scottoline, one of my mom’s favorite mystery writers, even wrote a book with a title that should make any dog sit up and take notice: Why My Third Husband Will Be A Dog.
Now dogs are being pressed into duty as marriage counselors and relationship rescuers. Gimme a break.
I feel like an employee of a company whose job description keeps getting longer and longer, witih no extra compensation. I certainly haven’t noticed any increase in crunchies and treats.
Then again, my mom is like those bosses who say, “You’re lucky to have a job.” Just this morning, she was musing, “Gracie, if I didn’t have a dog, I’d have a LOT more money and a LOT more free time. But I wouldn’t have these other things.”
Somehow I don’t think this is the time to discuss creating a doggie union.
P.S. Please leave a comment! My mom says she’ll let me blog as long as we keep hearing from our readers.
The New York Times ran an article about a woman with cancer who adopted a dog. She thought she would die at age 30 ane she just had one regret: not getting a dog. That’s huge. Now she’s an animal rescuer. Read about it here.
Several readers wrote comments, saying their pets helped the get through an illness. My mom is disgustingly healthy, thank goodness. On the rare occasions she feels under the weather, I must admit it’s business as usual. I used to be pressed into service as a heating pad on cold winter nights. Now that Ophelia’s here, I’m off the hook. Ophelia is fat and fuzzy. She adores my mom and will tolerate some cuddling for at least an hour or two.
Yes…this cat bed is too good to be wasted on a cat.” Notice I’m curled up tight so nobody will bother me.
My mom was feeling a little sad yesterday because the Queen Anne Farmers Market is closing. Sure, we have Pike Place Market all year round, but the QA market is small and special. She’s got all her favorite vendors and she came home loaded with green leafy stuff.
She’s also got that gleam in her eye that says, “Back to my special diet!” I knew something was up because yesterday we walked all the way to the top of Queen Anne hill. “No bus for us, Gracie,” Mom said firmly. “We need the exercise.”
As usual, when Mom needs exercise, the dog has to go along. Even if the dog is tired and hardly in need of more exercise.
Alas, I didn’t get to go to the Farmers Market. I remained home in my crate. See, mom has taken up a new hobby. As with all her interests, she dives in with lots of enthusiasm and little expertise. She goes to class Monday night. Then on Thursdays and Saturdays, she goes to the studio to practice. She’s determined to master the basics of throwing this term.
The truth is, my mom has less talent than just about anybody when it comes to pottery. She studied a year in Philadelphia and a year in New Mexico. She makes oddly shaped pots and passes them off as “original.” Her friends have to struggle to keep a straight face when she shares her misguided creations.
The good part is, it keeps my mom out of trouble. And she feels so guilty about leaving me that we get extra dog park time. Life could be worse.
P.S. My mom says she wants more comments on this blog. Please say something! Just click on “comments below.”
My mom Cathy was thrilled when she went to make her bed and found the cats sitting about a foot apart. She was so pleased she raced off to get the camera. Never mind making the bed.
Where was I when all this was going on? On the living room sofa, of course.
My mom thinks Ophelia’s washing means she’s comfortable with Creampuff. I say Ophelia’s just being Ophelia. Anyway, Mom is getting used to having the cats getting along. Then she’ll turn her attention to more important subjects, like me.
Lindsay brought treats today. My mom said I could have just ONE. The whole pack is focused on Lindsay but notice how we’re being polite?
I’m the one in the upper right, on Lindsay’s left, standng on the wall. I want my treat and I want it NOW!
Sadly, not with a bang but a whimper, said my mom. She’s putting away her Seattle Storm t-shirts and her Seattle Storm dorky hat, awaiting the next season.
It seems that the Storm lost its final playoff game yesterday. My mom came home feeling sad. “They deserved to win,” she says. “The refs made some bad calls at the beginning and I think that shook the up.”
I know all about bad calls. It’s when my mom yells, “Gracie, get out of the kitchen!” while I’m sleeping peacefully on her bed. Or she’ll hear a crunching sound and jump up to investigate…only to find Creampuff diving headfirst into a plate of crunchies. For a small cat, Creampuff can be quite enthusiastic about her food.
Not to worry. I am anticipating more crate time this year. Mom signed up for symphony tickets, ballet tickets and a pottery class. She might even catch a play, she said, at the nearby Seattle Rep theatre. Fortunately, when Mom gets busy, she feels guilty about leaving me home. So we get extra trips to the park where I play with the other dogs for awhile. Not as much fun as going to Magnuson with my Aunt Sara, though. Mom says I’m thoroughly spoiled.