Mom psyched by WNBA Seattle Storm win

The mom is psyched. She came home very late last night, following what should have been a brief excursion to a Seattle Storm game against LA.

“Los Angeles games are usually boring,” she said when she finally got home and took me out for a long overdue walk. “This one was exciting. Triple overtime! I’ve never even seen ONE overtime in basketball.”

My mom considered writing a post for one of her blogs about lessons learned from the game. Persistence? Advantage of the home court?

“This isn’t a game you win on the road,” someone said during the post-game interviews. “You’ve got all the fans screaming for you.”

Many people get through tough times when they’ve got their own private network of screaming fans, Mom said.

Well, I have a HUGE network of fans all over Seattle. Strangers come up to my mom on the street, saying, “Is this Gracie? I know her from the Dog Lounge.” Or, “We’ve met at the dog park. Hi, Gracie!”

Of course, Ophelia offers another version of screaming fan. She shrieked at Creampuff, who’s the most harmless, ditziest cat I’ve ever met. Ophelia seems to think Creampuff has the ferocity and firepower of a US Marine, when in fact Creampuff has the toughness and consistency of a marshmallow.

Back to my nap. Mom wishes she could do the same, but she’s got a call to prepare for.

Who Ate The Cat Food? Only the Dog Knows For Sure

My mom is not an insomniac. That’s one of her few virtues. She has no trouble falling asleep and (usually) staying asleep, unless I wake her up or a cat jumps on her shoulder. (She is not at all happy when that happens.)

I sleep at the foot of mom’s bed, on my own dog cushion. It’s pretty comfortable, but I don’t always like to stay there. My mom thinks she will notice if I jump off so she drifts off to sleep, assuming the cat food is safe from my hungry jaws.

The problem is Ophelia (as usual). Ophelia is the only cat my mom’s ever met who seems to be afraid of heights. Ophelia refuses to eat on the kitchen counter like a normal cat. She wants her food on the floor. Frankly, Ophelia is so huge, I think she would benefit by missing quite a few meals. But my mom worries that Ophelia will stop eating and get liver disease again.

So Mom sets out the cat food every night before she goes to bed. Two dishes of delicious food. Yum.

This morning, Mom woke up to find both dishes empty.

“Gracie, did you eat all this?” she exclaimed.

I made a big show of looking sleepy, as if I hadn’t budged all night.

Now my mom was in a quandary. She won’t starve me. But if she gives me a normal size food serving, she’s afraid my sensitive tummy will act up and she’ll pay the price. So she compromised with a smaller serving.

Well, did I sneak away and eat that food? Or did Ophelia polish everything off and then retreat to her hiding place?

I know. But I’m not telling.

Dog Training: Leave the books, go with a trainer

Yesterday my mom read me a story about a family who got a dog from a breeder. Read the story here.

The author, Jill Abramson, said the family watched the Cesar Milan tapes and bought the book by the Monks of New Skete.

I would just advise this family not to buy too many dog manuals or watch TV shows. (Why are you indoors watching television anyway? You should be out with the dog.) Instead, invest in a good trainer and learn modern techniques.

Some training tips are just plain cruel. My mom read about books that tell owners to stick dogs’ noses in water to cure them of digging. Yuk.

My mom has been training me to walk politely on my leash. She points out that I can hurt her when I pull too hard. Yeah, right. Just in case, she now carries a spray bottle with water and a pocket full of treats. When I pull on the leash, I get squirted very gently. (She has the setting on mist and can’t figure out how to change it. An unmechanical mom can be a blessing to a dog.)

And when I’m walking along, I get treats. “Treat!” my mom calls and I stop what I’m doing.

Who wants atired old chicken bone when you can have a fresh baked biscuit? Well, most of the time, anyway. Gotta keep the mom on her toes.

“Adopted dogs are better!”

My mom Cathy just read me an article from today’s New York Times. Takng the Plunge with a New Dog by Jill Abramson.

Apparently Ms. Abramson was mourning the loss of her beloved dog who died at 15. She decided to get some kind of golden retriever dog and to name the dog Scout. Her family went to a breeder and chose a small female, who came “almost housetrained.”

“So what do you think?” my mom asked.

“Who cares?” was my first reaction. “I’m still sleeping off the effects of yesterday’s Big Walk.”

(Have you noticed a trend in this blog? When the mom wants to exercise, the dog gets worn out.)

Naturally, I am all in favor of adopting dogs from shelters. There are so many wonderful dogs in all shapes and sizes. But it sounds like this breeder was responsible. The family had to apply for a dog and get accepted. That’s a good thing. My buddies at the Dog Park are mostly adopted and some of their first owners should have been screened a LOT more thoroughly.

But there’s one thing my mom agrees on, 100%. Ms. Abramson wrote:
“Although we are bonding, no one quite prepares you for the fact that a new dog makes you miss the old one. When Scout rests on her side, I see an image of Buddy, curled similarly, on our old rug in a house we no longer own.”

So true. My mom looks at me and sees Keesha sometimes, althogh it’s happening a lot less these days. Fprtimately, she thinks I channel Keesha when we’re out in public. “When people compliment me on a well-behaved dog, it’s like hearing echoes from the past,” she says.

Mom Gets to Have Friends, too!

Last Saturday my mom Cathy dropped me off in the Dog Lounge around noon. “I’m meeting a friend later,” she told my Big Sister Summer. “And I don’t want to leave Gracie locked in her crate in a hot apartment.”

Summer was thrilled to see me of course. She gave me a huge hug. A few of my favorite dog buddies were hanging out and I got to catch up with everybody.

Meanwhile my mom took off to meet her friend and business associate Christina Merkley. They had a late lunch out by Pier 69, where Christina’s ferry came in from Canada. “No trouble finding her,” Mom said. “The Canadian flag was flying outside.”

My mom came by to get me right at 5, as the Dog Lounge was closing. I tried to tell my mom I was a poor, starving neglected dog, but she wasn’t fooled.

“How many treats did they give you?” she asked as we headed off to the bus stop.

Busted.

Ophelia making herself *completely* at home

Look who’s relaxing on top of *my* couch. Ophelia looks so relaxed up there. She’s come a long way from he early days of hiding out in the laundry room.

My mom Cathy likes Ophelia up htere, out of the way. “When she sits on the end table,” Mom says, “she drinks my water. She even  drinks my iced coffee. Who wants cat hair in their coffee? Yuk.”

Who wants cat anywhere on the couch? That’s what I ask. But my mom ignores me.

“I wonder if Ophelia remembers her month in the cage at the Seattle Animal Shelter?” Mom mused, as she prepared to help me upload this photo.

Mom says her biggest accomplishment was saving Ophelia. I think her biggest accomplishment in life was adopting ME. Who wants to argue?

Mom talks to me about basketball, life and crime

My mom likes to talk to me about basketball and what she reads in the papers. We don’t watch television so fortunately I’m spared some of her stronger language.

As an avid basketball fan, my mom was stunned to learn that one of her favorite players, Diana Taurasi, was stopped on suspicion of driving under the influence of alcohol. But she’s furious with all the self-righteous columnists who are rushing to attack Diana.

“She’s innocent till proven guilty!” my mom exclaimed. “OK, she used very bad judgment when she got into a car after having a few drinks. But all these columnists want her to acknowledge her guilt and apologize. What do they think her lawyer would say?”

Apparently in the human world, you shouldn’t admit guilt. You don’t say anything that can be used against you.

Well, what’s so different in my world? When my mom hears the sound of crunchies being chewed in our kitchen, she immediately yells, “Gracie, stop!” Then she looks over and sees me, innocently napping in my bed. She realizes I’m not the guilty party. After all, Creampuff can attack a plate of cat food with great gusto, all out of proportion to her eight or nine pound self.  Why assume I’m the one?

See, around here I get blamed for everything. When my mom realizes I’m innocent, does she apologize for disturbing my nap? No way. She just goes back to her computer. And I must admit the truth: one minute later I’m back to dreaming of my latest run in the park with my Aunt Sara.

Canine Princess Gets Pawdicure At the Dog Lounge

My mom left me at the Downtown Dog Lounge while she went off to the gym today.

“Gracie needs a bath!” she said.

Summer and Sue were thrilled to see me. I played on the couch until time for my bath. Then after  my bath, Smmer brushed me…and brushed me. There was enough fur left over to make another dog. (Yeah, it’s an old joke, but I like it.)

Summer knows how to brush me.  I just leaned back and enjoyed every minute.

But that’s not all. I got a pawdicure. If you look closely at this photo, you will see my toe nails are painted bright red. I am finally looking like the Canine Urban Princess (CUPPIE) I am.

My mom was amazed. “What if Gracie chews off her nail polish and runs up a big vet bill?” My mom’s mind runs in that direction.

“It’s doggie nail polish,” Summer explained. “Totally harmless.”

“They make nail polish for dogs?”

My mom can be so clueless sometimes.

Maybe my mom will take the hint. She needs to make her own hair appointmet and she hasn’t had a manicure in ages. “I hate that stuff,” she says. “I like my massage therapist, Larry Swanson, but the nails? forget it. And I’ll never have a pedicure. Too ticklsh.”

Mom, you don’t know what you are missing.

Food for Ophelia, but what about me?

My mom Cathy just discovered a pet food delivery service. She was getting pretty desperate because we don’t have a car and she’s not supposed to pick up those big bags for awhile…maybe ever.

Sounds good to me! Running out of my food would be a major crisis.

But what did my mom do? She ordered samples of cat food for Ophelia.

“Ophelia’s such a fuss and I want her to learn to eat healthy food,” she explained on the phone. “Gracie? No problem. Gracie eats everything.”

Huh? What about samples of treats for me?

“Gracie’s never met a treat she didn’t like,” my mom said. Notice how she talks about me? Alas, it’s all too true.

Dog Wins Big At the Pride Parade

Yesterday my mom dragged me to the Pride festival parade. She just loves parades and she was hoping to see some really outrageous floats. This year, she said, it was pretty banal. Nothing really new.

I, on the other hand, had a marvelous time. So many people would ask, “Can I pat your dog?” Of course Cathy always said yes. One guy gave me a really nice butt scratch for about fifteen minutes while he sat on a curb and watched the floats go by. Some nice woman didn’t get upset when I leaned up against her and got golden hairs on her nice black sweater. “No big deal,” she said, as I snuggled closer. Who wouldn’t want to cuddle with a princess?

After the parade we walked around the booths at Seattle Center. Cathy’s always hoping to learn about some new service she’ll want to try.  Of course several people wanted to pat me. One of the people at Pacific Health Center’s booth insisted on rubbing my ears.

Cathy spent some time at the PAWS rescue booth, telling the volunteer all about how she rescued Ophelia from the Seattle Animal Shelter. How boring is that? She talked about Ophelia’s eye infection and how she saved Ophelia who was all yellow with liver disease. Even the volunteer had to stifle a yawn.

As far as I’m concerned, our day was a HUGE success. Cathy found a booth for Smiley Dog…a service she’s been hoping to get since she adopted me. “I can’t carry big bags of dog food,” she said. “We need delivery!” Smiley Dog delivers all over Seattle without charge. We just pay for my food, which, of course, is not cheap. Princesses must feast on royal fare.

Today Cathy told me we won a five-pound bag of dog food! I’m so excited. Maybe she’ll be motivated to increase my portion size?

A dog can dream. And that’s exactly what I’m doing today as I recover from our long day in the outdoors, under the coffee table where the cats leave me alone.