Tag: dog’s life

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.

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?

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.

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.

Recycle your old collars and leashes

My mom always wondered what to do with my old leashes and collars. Today, via Twitter, she discovered that the folks at  http://www.BigDoggyBling.com will recycle doggie hardware to make new fashion accessories for rescue dogs.

I’m so glad she found this site. My mom doesn’t like to throw things away. She’s a great believer in, “Buy what you need…and only what you need.” My current leash looks just a little tired.

Recently she’s thinking of getting me a prong collar. She’s assured they don’t hurt me. She’s just determined to stop me from jumping and pulling, especially when I see a squirrel or an interesting stranger on the street. I’m not thrilled about the idea, but then again, my life could be worse. I get lots of exercise and have a whole fan club…even two cats to torture.

But it would be nice to get a new leash and collar every so often.

Royalty? It’s easier to be a Canine Urban Princess.

I don’t know how the Royal Family does it especially the Queen and Princess Anne. They have to wear shoes, hats and skirts.

Me?  I am a CUPPIE, a Canine Urban Princess. I don’t even own a tiara, thank goodness. Occasionally my mom ties a bandanna around my neck. I have to wear my collar and tags because Mom says she doesn’t want to pay a $75 fine. But otherwise, I get to go barefoot and naked.

When we get home I get to collapse on my bed or my favorite spot on the floor under the coffee table. Mom lets me stay there because she realizes I’m too tired to chew anything and run up a vet bill.

“Maybe the cats could use a dog fix,” she suggests with her sarcastic little smile.

No way. I won’t rise to the bait. I’d like to give that fat Ophelia a fix, but I don’t think it’s what my mom has in mind. And besides I have to think of my position. We princesses always look calm, smug and superior, even when a cat tries to steal our food.

Ah, the pressures of royalty…

My mom Cathy showed me a news story about Britain’s Prince Harry, the younger son of Princess Diana and Prince Philip.

“When princes and princesses take trips,” she said, “they are supposed to carry out works of charity. They visit people who are sick or disadvantaged. They inspire everyone who sees them. They show their flag.”

OK, mom, what’s your point? I do good things, too.

Today when we were in the dog park, I stood patiently next to people who wanted to give me a good back rub and butt scratch. Ooh, that felt good. But hey, it’s not about me. People feel good when they pat a dog. Their blood pressure drops. I am contributing to the health of our nation’s citizens.

I’m especially good to people on buses. When I’m sitting in my mom’s lap, people come over and talk to me. They rub my head. They tell my mom all about the dogs they owned years ago. Some of those people look like they haven’t had a conversation in ages.

True,. some of the conversations are a little offbeat. My mom just smiles and nods. I sit stoically and say nothing. I never bite anyone, even when they smell like tobacco or booze, which I hate. I never lick anybody. OK, I might give them a good sniff, but my mom pulls me back when I get too close.

And then there are people walking by or sitting on nearby benches, smoking or just drinking coffee. These people almost always need a dog fix. They need to give me a big hug. It’s called two-minute therapy. That’s what I do best.

Memo to Michelle Obama: Dog not crazy, just young

Michelle Obama described the First Dog as “crazy.” Apparently Bo, the Portuguese Water Dog, likes to chew on people’s feet, according to this story.

One night Bo woke the president and First Lady at 10 AM, playing with his ball. Michelle said they thought they heard a person out in the hallway, but there was Bo.

See, they didn’t listen to me. When my mom read stories of Obama’s new dog, I said they should get an adult dog, preferably a rescue mutt like me. Puppies are a nuisance. They never stop playing. I’m much more restrained. I go out with my Aunt Sara twice a week and the rest of time time I am happy to sleep on the sofa.

Then again, I’m getting on in years. “You’ll be seven in October,” my mom keeps reminding me. “That’s getting into the senior dog category.”

Don’t remind me, mom. Pretty soon you’ll be getting the senior discount when we ride the Metro bus system together.