Just doing my job…

My mom was crazy-busy all day today. She was in one of her rare bad moods. I heard her mutter about juggling copywriting jobs, missing connections, losing things and a bunch of other stuff.

Here’s where I really earn my overpriced crunchies.

If Cathy doesn’t take me out, I’ll drive her nuts. I need exercise or I’ll be so hyper she won’t be able to hear herself talk on the phone, let alone write decent copy.

So we go to the dog park. Cathy always enjoys chatting with Lindsay, the volunteer park steward. “Sort of like the mayor of the dog park,” she says.

We haven’t seen Lindsay in awhile so I greet her enthusiastically while Nathan, a young man with a cell phone camera, recognizes a photo op. That’s Lindsay in her red hat, green sweatshirt and sardonic smile.Dog park with Lindsay

Later, as we walk by Macrina Bakery, we are greeted by a 30-something guy sitting outside in the sun. Cathy recognizes a dog lover so she asks if he’ll watch me for a minute while she goes inside to get something sinful to have with her coffee this afternoon. Naturally he thanks her for sharing me. Everybody does.

“I need a treat today,” Cathy tells me, as we head for the bus stop.

Hey, what about me? Who got her out, into the bright spring sunshine that brought her mood back to normal (more or less)? Who got her into friendly conversations with live people? Isn’t this why Cathy adopted me?

I deserve a treat too. Yesterday’s chewy is history. I’m going on strike…but first, it’s dinner and a nap.

“Our Housemates”

My mom Cathy is about the least mechanical person on the planet. She finally figured out how to use her camera and what did she do? She took pictures of the cats.

As far as I’m concerned, these creatures are useless parasites. Creampuff likes to sleep on top of the DVR. Sometimes shecreampuff the cat dangles a paw in front of the remote control cell so Cathy can’t change channels. It gets pretty hot but Creampuff is too ditzy to notice. She practically lives there.

tiger the tabby

Cathy always says, “Gracie is a mutt but she thinks she’s a princess.” She really ought to say, “Tiger is a fat old tabby cat who thinks she’s the Queen of England.”

How I Got My Name

When Cathy saw me on the Petfinder website, my name was Sarah. She has a human friend in Tucson named Sarah. And frankly, I don’t look like a Sarah. So she immediately named me Gracie.

I am named after Amazing Gracie, a book by Dan Dye, the founder of Three Dog Bakery. When their dog refused to eat commercial food, Dan Dye and his friends learned to cook a new kind of dog biscuit — and created an empire. Cathy loved the book — a warmly satisfying saga of dogs, serendipity and life success. And she loves the stores.

“Gracie,” she tells me, “you are named after a dog who made her owner a millionaire. And I expect you to live up to your name.”

That’s a lot of pressure to put on a dog. Here’s a photo of me, obviously stressed out by all that pressure.gracie the dog asleep

Mom Applauds Fashion at Seattle Symphony

My mom Cathy isn’t exactly hip (as you’ve probably gathered by now). She actually likes classical music, although she feels a little behind the curve because she’s never played a musical instrument. Learning about music is one of Cathy’s Life Goals.

She signed up for yesterday’s concert because she wanted to hear violinist Nadja Salerno-Sonnenberg. Cathy had watched the moving documentary about Nadja’s life, Speaking in Strings. When she discovered Nadja was caring for an elderly tabby cat, not unlike the one who shares our household, she became a fan.

Cathy also loved Nadja’s sense of humor and she treasured the moment when a stranger asks the world-class soloist, “Do you play the fiddle? And can you play Orange Blossom Special?” Nadja answered politely, “With my eyes closed.”

So she knew she had to see the live performance.

My mom is still learning about music, so she listened to the pieces ahead of time. She loved the piece Nadja played (Bruch’s Concerto No. 1 for Violin).

But as we were going out for our walk afterward, she ran into James, one of our fellow tenants. James happens to be one of my biggest fans, so she had to stop and say hello.  I heard her saying, “I loved the way this artist challenged the dress code of the female performer. She was wearing blue and white trousers – a bit odd, but she probably got them in New York – and a simple top. She stood athletically on the stage.”

“Yeah,” said Cathy’s neighbor James. “Not one of those prom dress things. Like she’s here to play music as a professional.”

“Right,” Cathy said, warming up to one of her favorite subjects. “These days women are flying combat missions. They’re cops and airline pilots. It’s ridiculous to have men in suits and women in those revealing gowns. Distracting.”

She stopped long enough to hear her neighbor’s account of his night at the ballet, which she had already seen. They agreed it was a beautiful production. Cathy doesn’t mind ballet costumes, although she thinks it’s ridiculous for female skaters to wear those ditzy outfits. She refuses to watch skating because, she says, they look ridiculous.

Luckily, the subject never came up.

Then (at last!) we headed out. After 4 hours in my crate, I needed this break.

In the Dog House

My mom Cathy has been really busy. She’s involved with a big JV promotion and setting up more calls for her teleseminar series. (Ever the promoter, my mom insisted we add those links. If it were up to me, we’d link only to dog parks and treats.)

So I didn’t choose the best time to wake her up at 2 AM Wednesday night, demanding to go outside. Mom freaked. She was sure I was headed for another Digestive Disaster. So I spent a very disgruntled Thursday, nibbling a boring stew of rice and bland diet food.

I had to make my point. But what could I do? She carefully hid the delicious people food – yum, hamburger! – and the tempting cat food I prefer anytime.

So I waited.

Sure enough, we went to the dog park. I managed to scarf down some stuff my mom will not allow me to mention in this blog. Cathy snapped my leash back on and said, “That’s enough!” And to my admiring fan club, she added, “Gracie’s ready to go home when she stops playing and starts eating…well, you know.” They all nodded sagely, even my fans who don’t own dogs and just come to the park to hang out.

Nothing happened. I was healthy. I slept all afternoon and all night, enjoying my favorite spot on Cathy’s bed.

Finally, Cathy realized I was fine…just a one-time thing. So today she’s bringing me back to regular food, one day at a time. Let me tell you: rice mixed with California Natural and Innova is not a bad combination plate for a hungry dog. If only she’d just toss in a few bites of her own dinner…

No Identity Crisis Here

My mom was telling someone, “Gracie gets into the cat food.”

“I thought dogs wouldn’t have anything to do with the cat stuff.”

Huh?

I eat cat food whenever I can find it. I even steal Creampuff’s catnip toys. I chew them up and eat the catnip. Doesn’t do anything for me, but hey…it’s a chewing opportunity.

I sleep in the cat bed. It’s just the right size if I curl up in a tight ball…like a cat.

And I don’t do the denning thing. I don’t want to stuff myself into a corner. I’ll take the couch or the bed, thank you very much.

No problem with species identity. I know I’m a canine. When was the last time you saw a cat walking on a leash? Or roughing it up in the dog lounge?

Real men eat quiche. Real dogs scarf catnip.

Oh no…March madness!

It’s a tough time to be a dog. My mom Cathy is a dedicated WNBA fan. So she feels she ought to keep an eye on the college scene, because some of those players will be drafted into the league this May. She likes Candace Parker of Tennessee and Sylvia Fowles of LSU. She likes Rutgers because it’s, well, Rutgers.

UConn? Alas, everyone who comes after Diana Taurasi will suffer in comparison, if not in basketball, in personality. Cathy loves mavericks. 😉

But mostly Cathy likes to watch an upset. She loves seeing a team come out of nowhere and take on the reigning champions. She’s not too optimistic this year…just hoping we don’t see another UConn vs Tennessee again.

See…even the dog learns more than she ever wanted to know.

Here’s the kicker. My mom Cathy didn’t start following sports until Christmas season of 1998. Cathy was not a tomboy. As a child, she avoided sports. She liked to dress up. She hid from her high school and college gym classes.

“In those days,” she recalls, “gym teachers were a bunch of sadists.”

She moved into her house in Florida and, while waiting for deliveries, began to watch the games. She also adopted Keesha, the First Dog. So in Spring 1999 she finally learned what a point guard was…and she took her first dog obedience class, too.

Thank goodness.

Food for thought

So my mom Cathy put me on a bland diet last week. I woke her up four times in one night, demanding to go out and “do my business,” as we say delicately in this house.

This time, Cathy followed the instructions of the vet’s assistant, Mallory. She measured my food carefully and doled out careful ratios of bland food to regular food. “Take a week or so to work back to normal,” Mallory said.

Cathy nodded solemnly. No more late night wake-ups.

I had other ideas. I know how to beat the system.

Sure enough, one day Mom forgot and left the cat food out. Whoosh! It waas gone.

“Oh no!” Mom yelled when she saw the empty dish. “You better not get sick again.”

No problem. I’m back to normal food again…and I came within two seconds of capturing a live muffin.

Going to the Vet and Helping My Owner

Last Saturday we went to the vet so I could get updated on my bortadella and giardia vaccines. I need them to get admitted to the Dog Lounge. They’re very strict.

We walked through Kinnear Park and I sniffed out all the crocus and jonquils, along with other scents I can’t discuss on a G-rated journal. Then we went to the dog park.

And on Sunday, my eye started looking a little watery. A greenish dot appeared in the corner. Not a big deal.

Cathy freaked.

“On no. Not another trip to the vet. Maybe it’ll go away…”

But it didn’t. So on Tuesday, bright and early, we traipsed over to the vet. My mom was busy so we hopped a cab. Our vet, Dr Clare Morris of UrbanVet, said, “Awfully red. We’d better do something about this.”

Oh no. That doesn’t sound like I’m getting a treat. Sure enough, I ended up with goop in my eyes.

“Gracie, you are driving me to bankruptcy,” Mom sighed, handing over her credit card one more time.

Actually, I’m just doing my job. If my mom didn’t spend her money on me, who knows what she would do? She’d start drinking. She could get into drugs. Who knows? Maybe she would even buy some new outfits at Nordstrom’s.

OK, my mom falls asleep after half a can of beer. She thinks drugs are boring. Don’t even mention clothes shopping.

But who knows? What else would Mom spend her money on? She hates traveling since 9/11.

So I’ll make sure she’s got a worthy cause. Me.