They’re ganging up on me…

Even my wonderful Aunt Sara has taken up the cause. When she came to take me for my walk today, she said, “You know, Cathy, I’ve been noticing something with Gracie…”

My beautiful coat? My shiny eyes? Impeccable manners?

“Gracie,” continued Aunt Sara, “is getting a little chunky around the middle.”

“Yeah,” my mom said ruefully. “The vet said the same thing.”

“All those treats!” Aunt Sara sad.

“Hmm…I bet the Downtown Dog Lounge gives you lots of treats,” my mom said, giving me The Look.

I’m not saying a word.

“Maybe Gracie’s getting older,” my mom said. “She’ll be seven soon.”

True. I am a midlife, mid-career dog.

And I want to enjoy my life and my treats in peace. Just because my mom doesn’t eat ice cream anymore (her fave was Haaen-Dasz jamocha almond fudge), why should I watch my diet?

Forget the Seattle skyline! I need my water.

There’s a city pocket park with amazing view of the city skyline and the water. My mom loves to look out and take pictures. In summer we see busloads of tourists spilling out, eager to take pictures of the skyline.

Once a tour guide pointed to the bowl of water beneath the water fountain. “People in Seattle leave water dishes for dogs,” he told the crowd.

While my mom admires the view, I get to concentrate on what’s really important. Drinkng water or sniffing grass. In my opinion, the best view is an old chicken bone someone dropped in the grass. In my mom’s opinion, that same chicken bone is a potential threat to my health and a humongous vet bill.

When it comes to views, we don’t have the same (pardon the expression) view. That’s because I’m built low to the ground and have a much firmer grasp on priorities.

Adopting a new city dog? Think “experienced”

Another thing my mom did right when she adopted me: She didn’t even consider a puppy.

“Unless you are an experienced dog owner with a lot of time, your urban dog should be a city dog,” she says.

She’s right. Apart from training, a puppy can grow up in surprising ways. Sometimes we see another dog when we’re out on our walks. Let’s call her “Fido.” Fido’s owner bought her as a puppy from a breeder. Fido’s owner chose the breed carefully. We’re not sure what the breed is, but we think it looks just like one of the mixed breeds we  see in the dog park. (We’re a little biased.)

Fido is super-mellow and playful but she has one serious problem. She’s afraid of traffic. Fido’s owner has to take walks at night. They drive to the Regrade urban dog park, for heaven’s sake. That’s just a mile or so from where we live.

And Fido doesn’t handle boarding well. She freaks in day care.

Lesson to my readers: Forget the puppies. Get a seasoned dog like me. What you see is what you get.

Right now you get a dog that’s ready for a nap.

Need a new city dog? Think “foster home”

I don’t claim to be an expert on dog behavior. My mom isn’t either. Otherwise I wouldn’t chew so much.

But as a city dog, I believe mom did the right thing. She found me in a rescue group that keeps dogs in foster homes. My foster mom loved me (who wouldn’t?). She wanted to keep me but her husband said they had too many dogs already.

My mom was very worried about adopting a new dog. After all, she had just lost the first canine love of her life, the sainted Keesha. “Will Gracie eat cats?” she asked. “Will she bark?”

Of course my name wasn’t Gracie then. But my foster mom knew a lot about me. She knew I would be fine with cats because she had cats in the foster home. She knew I wouldn’t have a barking problem. And she knew I liked to chew on my chew toys. (Of course, she didn’t realize that when I came to Cathy’s house, everything would be a chew toy.)

For more tips, visit http://www.yourcitydog.com

My mom is testing a new website. She’s determined to make money from me. “Your namesake, Amazing Gracie, helped found Three Dog Bakery,” she reminds me, almost daily. “So far you’re just running up bills for vet care and pet sitting.”

I’m not worried. If Mom didn’t send back our high-maintenance housemate Oophelia, I’m not going anywhere.

Cat does not fit on small cushion

Ophelia is trying to get into the “Think Small” spirit, but she just doesn’t fit. Here’s a picture of Ophelia sitting on one of Tiger’s old cat cushions.

“She’s so cute!” my mom says, snapping her picture.

“She’s so BIG,” I say. “Even her picture is bigger than mine.”

Sure enough, my mom tried to pick up Ophelia.

“Still a fat kitty,” she said. “At least I don’t have to chase around after her, trying to shove food down her throat.”

Dog living in a small apartment

My mom loves living in a small apartment in Seattle. She’s owned homes. She doesn’t want to get into a condo where everybody fights. She likes being right in the middle of Seattle.

So she’s cutting back on possessions. Fortunately, my mom isn’t the materialistic type. She’s been giving away a lot of clothes and realizing (finally!) that some of her old clothes are ready to be turned into rags.

We all have to Think Small. I don’t take up much room.  

My mom added a Wall Street Journal so you can get an idea of my size. I’m all curled up like a (pardon the expression) cat.

Can we trade…

Anyone want a slightly used cat? Make that well-used cat with a lot of issues?

My mom just showed me a gorgeous Himalayan cat on  the Twitter site of @KarenBrunet. Lots of great cats out there. Maybe we can trade Ophelia in and get a cat that’s more productive. Ophelia’s specialty is hiding in her cave and fussing about food. Here she’s hiding in the blankets of our bed.

Nice try, my mom said. She thinks Ophelia is (pardon the expression) the cat’s meow. “What a great cat!” she tells Ophelia every day. “I’m so glad I got to adopt you.”

So maybe I can get a Twitter account and start sharing my views?

No way. My mom is very strict about that.  “You have your blog,” she says. “That’s enough for a dog.”

She’s not in a mood for discussion. “I just met someone who leaves their dog alone for ten hours with just toys,” she said,” giving me The Look. “You’re rarely left alone. I’m here all day. You go out witih your Aunt Sara and your Big Sister Summer. Maybe every few days you’re alone for four or five hours. And you’re usually too tired to notice.”

True. I guess I’m a lucky dog, as they say. Things could be worse. I could be left alone for ten hours..or left alone with Ophelia.

Too horrifying to contemplate. Time for the mid-morning nap.

Dog Facing Identity Crisis: Am I a Puggle?

My mom saw a dog that looks a lot like me at the Downtown Dog Lounge. They told her, “He’s a Puggle.”

A puggle is a cross between a pug and a beagle. They’re supposed to be well-behaved and easy to train,

This is a REAL puggle. Compare with my image on top.
This is a REAL puggle. Compare with my image on the upper left.

Of course, they’re smaller than I am. So I’ve got something else mixed in there.

A Puggle mix? A mix of a mix? Good grief.

My mom surfed the Internet, looking for pictures of Puggles. Here’s one. The Puggle tail and paws are remarkably similar to mine.except they’re stubborn. (Ahem.) They have square dark muzzles like mine. And they have my floppy ears that fold down like bird wings.

Does this mean I have my own tribe somewhere?

Do I care? Not unless my mom discovers that Puggles are supposed to get extra treats three times a day. But when my mom introduces me, it’s better than saying, “She’s an All-American Mutt.” She can say, “Gracie is a Puggle mix.”

But I bet she won’t. She rather likes saying, “Gracie is an All-American mutt.” That’s not really true, mom. Puggles are almost purebred.