Best sight-seeing in Seattle: Magnuson Dog Park

Yesterday my mom’s friend Bob was still visiting from Florida. Mom’s known Bob for years, since they were both professor at U of Alaska in Fairbanks.

“So what do you want to do today?” Mom asked Bob. “I have a brilliant idea. Let’s take Gracie to Magnuson Dog Park!”

They were a little worried that the skies would be gray. Maybe we’d even get some rain. Humans are ridiculous. They run at the sight of just one raindrop.

Luckily for all of us, we had a magnificent day. Mom’s camera batteries died so she didn’t get the photos she wanted but otherwise I got to go wading. I became special friends with an Australian something-or-other that looks like a border collie.

Bob is an outdoors kind of guy and Mom is the ultimate city gal. So Magnuson was a good compromise. And since Bob doesn’t have a dog, Mom wanted to make sure he got a great dog experience while visiting. I sat on Bob’s lap on the bus to Magnuson and most of the way home.

Then Bob treated Mom to dinner at an Indian restaurant since Mom had treated him to the basketball game on Saturday night. Mom had a glass of wine and she was SO tired we ended up falling asleep early. Around midnight we woke up and Mom finally took me out for a walk. Whew…what a relief! But I’m glad we waited. I don’t want to lose my mom to a DWWI: Dog-Walking-While-Impaired.

WSJ Does It Again: Health Care for Dogs vs. People

My mom thinks the WSJ editors need to take some courses in logic and research. She is still appalled at the way they discussed education in their editorial section. Today the WSJ Weekend features a HUGE story comparing veterinary care with people care.

“See, Gracie,” Mom says, holding up the paper. “Pictures of dogs in the Wall Street Journal. Aren’t they cute?”

Nah. Not as cute as me. Besides, they’re boring breeds, not a one-of-a-kind CUPPIE like me.

“This is nuts,” Mom continued. “What’s new here? Of course dogs get good health care when their humans pay cash for a vet. I shudder to think what I’ve spent on your care, given your sensitive tummy.”

Ouch. This is a sore subject, literally. But mom is being unfair. We haven’t been to the vet for my tummy in six months, probably because that nice Dr Clare at UrbanVet gives Mom a supply of tummy pills that she can use on her own.

“We’re almost out of pills,” Mom says, giving me The Look. “So stay out of the garbage!”

Anyway, the WSJ story seems a little silly, even to a dog. All over the world, people with money will go outside government systems to get good care. Canada doesn’t allow private health care so what do their rich citizens do? They come to the US. They go to the Mayo Clinic.

Pay cash anywhere and you get to choose your medical service, whether you are a human or a canine…or even a feline. I have to remind mom that Ophelia came with her own big stack of vet bills.

Charity vet service? Good luck. My vet told my mom, “Many people wouldn’t have nursed Ophelia back to health when she had liver disease. They would have taken her back to the shelter or had her put to sleep.”

Life without Ophelia? No comment. My mom’s generosity doesn’t extend to visits with the doggie psychiatrist.

Downtown Dog Lounge: Hangin’ Out

Mom left me at the Downtown Dog Lounge on Sunday while she swent to work out. While she was gone, my good buddy Sue took this picture. Mom fixed it up a little in Photoshop.

Yep, that’s me. Hangin’ out with my buddies. I look like I’ve just had a couple of beers and am waiting for my Designated Driver Mom to come take me home.

Dogs Owners Should Not Be WNBA Storm Fans

This summer has not been a good time to have an owner who’s an avid fan of the Seattle basketball and dogsStorm.

Up till now, I tolerated my mom’s craziness. I cringed a little when Mom wore her bright yellow WNBA shirt as we took our pre-game walk. I waited patiently in my crate while Mom went to the game, which lasted about two hours. Not a problem.

This season is something else. Awhile back (we dogs can’t count weeks) my mom showed up very late, announcing as she opened my crate, “Sorry to keep you waiting, Gracie. We had triple overtime against the LA Sparks! That means we had three five-minute quarters…but each quarter stretches with overtime and free throws….”

I’m not quite sure what was happening, but I wouldn’t dream of asking the momster to leave a game early and come spend more quality time with her poor lonely dog. Especially since she spends more on my dog walks and Dog Lounge visits than her own entertainment in any given month. Nope: if this is what it takes to keep my aging mom in good spirits, let’s do it.

Then it happened again last night. “Just ONE overtime against San Antonio,” my mom explained, releasing me from my crate at last. “And Sue Bird made that awesome three-point shot…”

Bird? I always tug at my leash when we see a bird. Shots? I hate shots. What’s going on here?

My mom probably explained all that but I had more important things on my mind. Time for a much-needed walk and then we’ve got some crunchies in my food dish to take care of.

Adopted Dog in New York Gets Warm Welcome

My mom has a friend named Bill who lives in New York. They’ve only met once or twice but they talk on the phone a lot.

Bill has lived with dogs all his life so he has become my mom’s advisor on dog care. I wish she’d listen more. My mom cuts my rations when the vet or the dog walker says, “Gracie’s getting a little chunky around the middle.”

Bill would just laugh. His dogs get LOTS of treats. They get lots of company because Bill works at home two or three days a week. They share his blueberry muffins. They get visits to the doggie cardiologist, doggie neurologist, doggie ophthalmologist and (I suspect) doggie psychiatrist.

My mom says if she dies unexpectedly, I can go live with Bill if Summer doesn’t take me. I’m not complaining, even though Bill says, “I really like big fuzzy dogs.” From a certain angle, with enough treats in sight, I can look big and fuzzy.

Bill adopts elderly golden retrievers. He just adopted Murray, a 9-year-old who was pulled out of a shelter by a retriever rescue group. Murray joins another golden retriever of the same age. Murray’s settling in fine. Who wouldn’t? Bill’s house is Dog Heaven.

Ophelia: A Cat With Personality

My mom says Ophelia has more personality than any cat she’s ever had. That’s not saying much since most cats are kind of wimpy. She was talking about Ophelia on the phone to her friend Bill (so what else is new).

Today mom heard crunching coming from the kitchen. “Gracie, stop eating!” she yelled.

Then she remembered I was in the Dog Lounge.

“Oops…now, which cat could that be? It’s Ophelia!” Sure enough, Ophelia was diving into a plate of crunchies. When she saw my mom, she looked up with that guilty “Caught in the act!” expression and dashed away.

“If Cathy thinks I’ll eat those crunchies,” Ophelia seems to be saying, “then I’ll never get the canned food and the other crunchies I like better.”

Dogs are smart. We never look guilty. When I get caught, I give my mom the “What’s the problem? I’m not doing anything!” look.

Too late, Ophelia. Mom’s on to you.

Dog Days Are Getting To Us

We’re having record heat in Seattle. Since we rarely get hot weather, my mom says, nobody has air conditioning. I was restless last night and even the Momster had trouble sleeping. That’s rare for her.

The cats are stretched out, looking miserable, but not too tired to scarf up their crunchies and some canned food. Mom felt sorry for them and opened a can. Ophelia adores canned food. She’s the ultimate food fuss.

Mom is going out tonight so she says she’ll probably put me in the Dog Lounge overnight, so we can all get some rest and I won’t be caged in the heat while she’s gone. “If I didn’t have teleseminars to attend, as participant and speaker,” she says, “I’d head for the air conditioniong myself.”

Yaay…if this works out, I’ll get to spend time with my buddies. When mom suffers, there’s usually a silver lining…for me.

Marley had bad owners

My mom had to do something totally boring. Since we no longer have cable TV, she plays videos when she needs to get through something tedious. Today she was watching Marley and Me, a video from the library.

The movie was a great escape but an awful example of dog rearing. These people were clueless. Even I could see that. Hey, I would chew up the household if my mom didn’t make me stay in a crate when she goes out. I would jump on people and knock them over, except she keeps me on a short leash and squirts me when I get derailed.

My mom is strict but fair. She read that an obedient dog has more self-esteem. I have awesome self-esteem.

Marley was just being a dog. He had ZERO discipline. Deep down inside, his owner thought it was cute to watch Marley destroy property and scare people.

But what got my mom was the way they left Marley with a house-sitter who wasn’t a true dog person. What’s wrong with a kennel where they’d also throw in some obedience training?

“I do admire Marley’s intestinal fortitude, though,” she said, giving me The Look. “Marley ate and ate. And apparently he never woke his owner up in the middle of the night, the way you do every few months.”

True. If I ate like Marley I’d be waking Cathy up at 2 AM every night. When I eat more than my official portions, my tummy starts doing the tango. Not good.

Oh yes…they also left their three young kids alone while they went looking for Marley after Marley escaped on a rainy night. Enough said.

Dog Mom is a Frustrated Sports Fan

Last night my mom went off with a group of people to watch the Seattle Mariners baseball team. She hasn’t been to a live baseball game in over 30 years she says, and she doesn’t watch baseball on television. She just likes the group and wanted to join them. So she wasn’t too upset when the Mariners lost 8-0 (or was it 9-0? she’s not sure and dogs can’t count).

“Being a baseball fan is a lot harder than being a basketball fan,” Mom told me as we had our nightly walk. “The stadium is huge. You can’t relate to the players as people. There’s less spontaneity. And the crowd was so quiet.”

Then today she really wanted to watch the WNBA All-Star game. Some of her fave players were in! Of course we don’t have cable television. Mom actually was going to buy a used television from someone who’s moving out, because she could get local channels. But the seller didn’t know how to set up the television so Mom is still deciding whether to buy it. “I don’t need to watch anything for another six months or so,” she says.

Her gym doesn’t get the network channels. (“Gimme a break,” she says.) And by the time she figured out she could watch by computer or go somewhere else, it was too late.

But my mom looked up the interviews and videos with the team, especially Diana Tauraasi. Mom thinks Diana is showing real character. “She’s a role model of how to handle adversity,” Mom says. “We all make mistakes. Diana is showing how you can talk about them and handle them, while getting on with your life.”

So what’s the big deal? When I make a mistake, such as chewing up Cathy’s socks, I get right on with my nap. Human beings like to complicate things.

But I’m glad my mom is a basketball fan. It keeps her occupied so I get more time in the Dog Lounge.

Am I a cattle dog?

My mom and I went to the Farmers Market in Upper Queen Anne today. As we were getting close to the market, we were stopped by a couple around Mom’s age who exclaimed over me.

“She looks just like my friend’s dog!” they said. “Looks like a cattle dog.”

“Well, she knows how to herd sheep,” my mom said, peering at me.

We were interrupted as a large brown dog  of uncertain breed passed by. I had to jump over to see what was going on.

“No!” my mom yelled. “Where did I put my squirt bottle?” She dug into her big Farmers Market bag.

“She’s protecting you.” The nice stranger patted my head and rubbed my back. “Now Gracie,” she said in soothing tones, “you don’t have to protect your mom. Your mom can take care of herself.”

Obviously she doesn’t know my mom very well.

“But isn’t she part German Shepherd?” my mom said after I calmed down. “Look at that tail!”

“Could be part dingo.”

“And she’s from Snohomish County,” my mom said, puzzled. “What’s a cattle dog doing up there?”

“Cows are everywhere,” that nice couple said, getting into their car. “Have a nice day.”

And off we went to the market. Lots of goodies on the floor for me to gobble up, while the squirt bottle got buried under a bunch of Walla Walla onions. Saved from an identity crisis by distraction. You people could learn something here.