Enough dog food for at least six months!

My mom Cathy refuwses to drive in Seattle. As a result, she gets LOTS of deliveries. I can always tell when someone is coming to deliver something good for us. I stand by the door and wait to greet them in my own special way.

“No jumping!” Mom says firmly. “Sit!”

It’s SO much fun to jump. Why does she have to spoil my fun?

A few days ago the Safeway people brought us water, cat litter and more heavy stuff. Who cares? I drink whatever water is in my dish. My fave water is the muddy version from the dog park, whenever I can sneak past my mom’s eagle eye.

Today was wonderful. My mom asked the people at All The Best pet food in Upper Queen Anne if they could deliver a couple of 30-pound bags of dog food. “I like to buy locally,” she said. “Up to now I’ve been buying from Amazon.”

Sure enough, this morning a nice person showed up with the dog food my mom deems appropriate for a Canine Urban Princess. I eat California Natural and Avoderm.  Since the vet cut back my rations, I figure that’s good for…six months? Maybe more. Who’s complaining?

Should Adopted Dogs Get A New Name? Of course!

My mom just saw a post from @PepperDog on Twitter: Should adopted dogs get a new name?

Hardly a big question, given what else is going on in the world. As an adopted dog, I say, “If you’re up for adoption, the old cheesy saying is true. I don’t care what you call me. Just call me for dinner and treats.”

My mom changed my name right away. We were in the vet’s office. I was getting the onceover from that nice Dr. Claire at UrbanVet. Of course, I’d never seen her before, but she was very gentle when she poked and prodded. Cathy was saying, “I want to be sure she’s healthy.” I could tell Cathy (she wasn’t my mom yet) was nervous about getting another dog so I just went along with the program.  She kind of whispered to the vet, “Do you really think this is a good dog?” Somehow Dr. Claire kept a straight face and sakd yes.

Whew. For awhile I was worried.

Then we went to fill out the paperwork. The lady from the adoption agency had all my records. My mom said, “We are going to change her name. She has the same name as one of my friends and my friend would be very annoyed. I want to name her Gracie.”

Gracie? Where did that come from?

“Aw, she looks like a Gracie,” everyone said.

Later my mom told me, “You are named after the dog who was responsible for Three Dog Bakery. The founders wrote abook about her: Amazing Gracie. Maybe you’ll make me rich and famous.”

So far, my mom says, I’ve just brought her vet bills. But no worries.

My mom really wanted to change Ophelia’s name. “A little pretentious for a cat,” she said. “How about Furball?”

The staff at the vet’s office were horrified. “She’s such a nice cat! Ophelia’s perfect!” they cried.

Personally, I like Furball for Ophelia, because that’s what she is. But she’s a little pretentious and funny, too, just like her name.

Who cares? We’ve got a good home. Did I just hear my mom calling me for dinner?

Which dog to adopt? Go with your feelings…

My mom Cathy likes to read books about decision making. She has always been fascinated by career decisions and suspicious of guided decisions, such as juries.

Most recently she was reading a book called How We Decide by Jonah Lehrer. Lehrer cites all kinds of research showing that emotions make sense in some kinds of decisions while rational thinking works best at other times. When decisions are complex (such as buying a house), emotional decisions often have better outcomes, my mom says. (Can you tell she’s helping me with this paragraph)

My mom figures that’s how she’s made good decisions about adopting her animals. She cuts past the clutter. All three of us – me, Creampuff and Ophelia – were adopted by default.

Creampuff had been in a cage for three months in New Mexico. The shelter volunteers really pushed for her adoption. “We can’t keep her forever,” they said. Creampuff really wanted to be an indoor-outdoor cat and she’s been a little frustrated by Cathy’s firm belief that cats belong indoors. But she purrs a lot and she’s healthy.

Ophelia was the only spayed, declawed cat in the Seattle Animal Shelter when Cathy went to look. Personally, I think we should have checked out a few more shelters but Ophelia and my mom have bonded. Ophelia’s here to stay.

And then there’s me. My mom saw me on Petfinder, she says. She chose me mainly because I am a female dog who’s not too big. She asked a lot of questions but she took me sight unseen. Thank goodness she didn’t know about my chewing or pulling tendencies.

Luck? Maybe. My mom likes to think she’s just a great owner. Who cares? I just made a big decision to take another nap. That was easy.

Friends over for dinner? No way…

My mom was skimming through a library book, Life Is Friends: A Complete Guide to the Lost Art of Connecting in Person, by Jeanne Martinet.

She isn’t crazy about the author’s idea: Invite people over for dinner. My mom would have to bring food from the deli section of Metropolitan Market. Her guests would have to sit on the floor.

“And we would have to schedule dinner for the day the cleaning service comes.” Alas, so true! The book says don’t bother to clean for guests. I think they need to make an exception for my mom.

“This book is so filled with detailed instructions,” Mom said, leafing through the pages.  “Look at this, Gracie. All these details about houseguests, househosts, challenging situations like drunken brawls…

“Oh no!”

My ears perked up.

“If you’re single, you are supposed to invite two couples over to avoid the dreaded triangle…and preferably a single friend for yourself.”

Mom tossed the book ainto the “return immediately” pile.  She got up from our couch and headed off to find her shoes.

“Come on, Gracie. Let’s go for a walk. We need to go by the pet store and order you some food.”

Yes! She just said the magic words. They usually have a treat for me, too. Dogs have friends everywhere.

Michelle Obama Sets Good Dog Walking Example, But…

My mom just pointed to a computer picture of Michelle Obama walking Bo on the White House lawn. The headline blared, “Michelle Obama Walks Bo in Madras Shorts.” Story and photo here.

Oh come on. Who cares what Michelle Obama is wearing? What I noticed is the way the First Lady holds Bo’s leash. Bo is walking on the right, the leash loosely held in the First Lady’s hand, behind her back.

My mom likes me to walk on the left. She keeps working with me. Keesha, my saintly predecessor, was well trained to walk on the left. But here in the city, my mom sometimes gives in and lets me walk on her right. For instance, if the patch of grass is on our right, that’s where I go.

“The important thing is consistency,” she says. Show dogs have to walk on the left. Recreational dogs like me can go either way.

Who cares what Obama eats? I care what *I* eat.

My mom Cathy was frowning over her computer. “Maureen Dowd of the New York Times is desperate for some satiric wit,” she said. Mom is rarely sarcastic so I looked up from my nap to see what was going on.

“Maureen Dowd says President Obama preaches healthy eating but makes a big show of eating burgers and fries to show he’s a normal guy. Big deal. Why should we care what the President eats? Why do we have to eat greasy stuff to prove we’re normal?”

Mom was on a rant. She read parts of the story to me. Seems the president stopped at a burger joint, ordered a burger and fries and took back a bag of cheesburgers to the White House.

I might as well go back to my nap. I know what’s coming. Mom has very strong views on food. “Why do we forbid people to smoke marijuana,” she asks, “when we let them commit suicide by frosted cereal?” She thinks Cocoa Puffs should be outlawed.

Every time she reads a health column, I slink off to the bedroom and jump on my cushion on her bed. Out of sight, out of hearing range. I know what’s coming. “If everybody would meditate at least once a day for 15 minutes, exercise, and stop eating processed food, the health care crisis would go away. In fact, most doctors would go away. Wouldn’t that be nice?”

Don’t get the wrong idea. Mom’s drink of choice is bottled water (she’s partial to Crystal Springs but she likes the Safeway brands too). Her drug of choice is caffeine, preferably French roast, preferably iced. The cats are allowed to get high on catnip. Me? I get to eat healthy food. Mom swears by Avoderm. She even makes me eat Avoderm treats.

Well, when she’s not looking, I’ve been known to…uh oh. If I want to keep this blog going, I’d better retur to my retreat in the bedroom.

Dog gets on Twitter

My mom has considered setting me up with a Twitter account, but she wisely decided she’s got too much going on already. It’s all we can do to keep this blog going.

But if I were on Twitter, here’s what I might say

Tummy upset again. Mom had to take me out 3 times last night. Mom is not amused.

Heard Mom say on phone, “Anyone want a used dog with a sensitive tummy? She’s all yours.” Hope she’s joking.

@Summer in the Downtown Dog Lounge: In case my mom isn’t joking, I’ll go home with you anytime.

Creampuff just chased Ophelia into her hiding place. Ophelia yowled. Mom covered her ears muttering, “Hope the neighbors don’t hear.”

@Cathy my owner: How come you aren’t offering the world a well-worn cat? Ophelia could be homeless.

Off to bed after sleepless night with upset tummy. Dogs are lucky. No clients, no bosses, no jobs. Just naps.

Seattle Bookstore Cats Need a Home

My mom gets into these weird fixations. On Friday she walked by a local bookstore, Twice Sold Tales, just down the street. I am never allowed in that bookstore because they have two very large cats. Apparently the owner thinks the cats would be upset if dogs came in. Since they’re cats and not too bright, they’d dash out into the street.

Now the owner is selling off the bookstore. She has two other branches, one on Capitol Hill and one in the University District. Each store has multiple cats. She has no room for the bookstore cats so that means those cats need homes.

My mom has taken up the cause. She posted a note on craigslist, tweeted all over the place and even got her journalist friend Sally Deneen in the act. Read the Craigslist ad here at http;//budurl.com/home4cats

“Those cats wouldn’t last long in a shelter cage,” she told a reporter who had been alerted by Sally. “They’re used to people and they get lots of attention.”

Hopefully with all this media hoopla, some loving owner will come forward and rescue them.  Not that I care about cats, but my mom needs a new cause…iike choosing the best possible treats for her poor misunderstood dog.

Cat sleeps vertically

Did I tell you our housemate Creampuff is a little odd?

My mom says, “Creampuff spent three months living in a cage in the Silver City, New Mexico, Humane Society. The staff adored her. They really wanted me to take her home, since she couldn’t stay forever. They let her run around a little so she wouldn’t go cage-crazy, but even so…”

Creampuff loves to look for adventure and live on the edge.  Here she’s balanced precariously on the back of our sofa, almost vertical. Somehow she manages to stay on her cushion. Notice how she sleeps with one paw over her eye, shutting out the world. I do the same thing sometimes.

Frankly, the whole thing makes me sea sick.