dog’s life – Page 3 – MidlifeDog.com

Dog is a great actor

Uh oh…busted again.

Mom was talking to Aunt Sara when I was dropped off this afternoon. They were talking about ME.

“Gracie’s usually good,” Aunt Sara said. “But when you drop your guard for even a minute, she’ll try something.”

“Exactly,” my mom said. “Sometimes when we are walking along, she’ll stop suddenly. She’ll get that look like, ‘Why are you making me go on?'”

True. We have two kinds of walks. Sometimes we go on a real walk where I get exercise and Mom does her errands. But often these days I get a mini-walk so I can do my business before my mom stuffs me in my crate and goes off on her own outings.

“I think Gracie knows,” the mom said, “because I fill up her crate’s water dish just before we go on our walk. She’s a very smart dog. When we come home, she doesn’t want to go inside. People feel so sorry for her. It’s like, ‘Poor thing. She doesn’t want to go in.'”

“I know just what you mean,” my Aunt Sara said. “Gracie does a good pout. You’d think we were beating her.”

“Yeah, and she’s spoiled rotten,” the mom said. “Uh oh – what was that? Gracie, are you eating the cat food? I’d better go pick it up. See you next time.”

Okay, okay. I just decided we needed a distraction from all this talk about spoiled dogs. Now I’ll move on to my nap.

Marine Corps Dog With PTSD Helps Family of Marine Hero

My mom likes to share stories about dog heroes. She says I should find some role models so I will appreciate what a great home I’ve got.

“Here’s a story about a bomb-sniffing dog who served with the Marines,” she said, holding up the newspaper article. “Now there’s a dog who’s got good reason to be scared.”

Gunner, a sweet-looking German shepherd, had PTSD. He was going to be discharged from the Marine Corps as “excess property.” Meanwhile the family of a war hero heard about Gunner. They had lost their son and wanted to help this veteran dog. They drove from upstate New York to South Carolina, after signing papers saying they wouldn’t sue the government if anything happened.

Apparently Gunner still needs a lot of extra love. He’s terrified of thunderstorms. He likes to sleep in his crate. Well, our housemate Ophelia still likes to escape and I prefer to be in my crate when Cathy goes out. I don’t know what to do with myself so I stand and wait for the door to open.

Gunner and I both started new lives. I must have been a country dog once, since my mom adopted me from a shelter near Bellingham. I was born to be a city dog and never looked back. And Gunther seems more suited to being a house dog, although he probably served well before getting PTSD.

“Gunner’s probably grateful to have a good home,” the mom says. “You should be too. You’ve never even served in the Marines and look at your great life.”

C’mon, mom. Marines don’t take mutts. Otherwise who knows? I think I’d be perfect in combat. The action would have to stop while everyone turned to me and said, “Oh she’s so cute.”

Fortunately both the mom and I are too old to be drafted, although my mom says, “Drafting old people would make more sense than drafting kids. I’d rather die in combat than end up in a nursing home.”

I see her point but I also see it’s past time for my walk. Ahem.

Another dog gets rescued: score one for my species!

My mom’s copywriting mentor, Lorrie Morgan-Ferrero, has been considering adding a new dog to her California household. As far as we can tell, they have just one dog and one cat. Apparently a pit bull entered their lives, complete with snarly personality, kennel cough and a complete set of …er…male equipment.

When last reported (via Facebook), Bandit was caged in an isolation ward with no balls and the cone of shame. My mom couldn’t help it; she laughed out loud. Then she read Lorrie’s next post, about dropping a few grand on this dog before he was even a member of the household. She laughed even harder.

It wasn’t a “This is funny laugh.” It was like, “Isn’t this what happens with ALL those free animals?”

“Remember Ophelia?” she asked me. “I got that cat for $11 because she’s so old. Some bargain! She had huge vet bills for liver disease and dental surgery. And we thought she’d never adjust to life with you and Creampuff.”

Ophelia has chosen this moment to sit on her favorite chair and shed a few more bushels of fur. Mom has a special chair she’s turned over to the cats in hopes of saving her other furniture, like her beautiful new recliner. Did we tell you Ophelia is a beautiful long-haired cat? She looks like the cat in the Fancy Feast commercials, my mom says. “And she’s so sweet!”

Yuk. If I were a cat I’d toss up a hairball to express my true feelings. Since I’m not, I’ll remind Mom that she got off easy with me, especially now that I’m older and no longer chew up everything I see. I’ll distract her from thoughts of my wonderful Aunt Sara, who takes me to the park twice a week, giving the whole family a much needed break.

Bandit is literally one lucky dog. If I lived in Los Angeles I’d want Lorrie to adopt me too. Umm…does Bandit need a new chew toy? I’d suggest sending down one of our useless feline housemates but my mom just added a bag of my favorite treats to the dog food delivery order.

Do animals communicate with their owners? We do!

My mom just posted a note to Facebook about my Regrade Park problem. I no longer want to hang around the park these days. Almost as soon as we arrive, I’m ready to go home. Of course, Cathy gets frustrated. She likes to chat with the park regulars and watch me run around.

All sorts of people suggested she talk to an animal communicator – someone who can read my mind.

Get real. Remember when we hired the cat shrink? My mom had to get her money back.

We already talk to the mom.

Ophelia speaks loudest. The fat fuzzball is deeply grateful for being adopted. She loves living here. She adores my mom. She’s always coming over for a pat. She doesn’t even mind being brushed as long as it doesn’t go on too long. She never complains and she waits patiently till the coast is clear so she can gobble up her crunchies. She looks adoringly at my mom with those big round eyes and she commandeered the best spot on my mom’s bed.

Creampuff is more like, “Hey, I’d rather be an outdoor jungle cat. But every so often I’ll favor you with a rub or a yowl. Just keep my dish full at all times.” Creampuff can jump to the kitchen counter and eat anytime she wants. She explores closets and has a tendency to get shut up behind closed doors. Ophelia’s too big to do any of those things.

Me? I still think I should have taken a better picture for the Internet. If I’d held out a little longer, maybe Bill Gates would have adopted me. Unconditional love? That’s just fine for other dogs. Mine is conditional on the quality of my treats, my walks and my place on the mom’s bed.

Guest Post: Where to Locate a Dog Crate in Your Home

Guest Post by Jaime Simpkins: My mom doesn’t usually allow me to run guest posts from commercial ventures unless there’s an affiliate link. where she earns money for my treats if somebody buys. We made an exception because this topic is of special interest to me.

We don’t know anything about this crate company. But we can relate to the challenge. Remember my earlier posts on locating my crate in our new home?

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Where to Locate a Crate in your Home by Jaime Simpkins

If you are thinking about owning a dog crate, you are probably wondering where in the house to put it. Your dog, being a pack animal, would prefer the part of the house where the family spends the most time while he is in the crate.

[Gracie says: “You got that right! Remember when we first moved here? My crate was in a hallway. I hated it.”]

If you have more than one dog sharing the crate, it may not be so important to keep all of the family together, as crate time can still be spent with a companion.

[Gracie says:”I’m the only dog here. The cats stop by to say hello sometimes. But share a crate with a crate? No way!”]

The makers of some dog crates have gone to great lengths to make their crates look like furniture with wooden slats that can be styled to look like other furniture items. The wood dog crate allows you to dye, lacquer, or paint the crate so that it blends in with the rest of the room. If that style of crate doesn’t particularly suit your taste or budget, try using a conventional wire crate as a shelf by putting a hard surface on top of it.

[Gracie says: “Great idea, mom! Maybe I’ll get a wooden crate someday. Meanwhile, we just cover my crate with a blanket when I’m not using it and when we’re home.”]

Young dogs that aren’t used to spending the night crated may whimper and whine while you are trying to get your beauty sleep. If that’s the case in your household, then you may want to bring your pup’s crate into your bedroom just for one or two nights. This will give him companionship while he is becoming accustomed to his new bed. If the crate is beside your bed, you can reach down and stroke your pup if he becomes unsettled. When he is spending the night in his crate without distress, you can move the crate out of your bedroom.

[Gracie says: “My mom doesn’t adopt puppies. As a senior dog, I can see why. But for my first few months with mom, I had to sleep in my crate at night. My mom wanted to be sure I was house trained. She gave me a peanut butter kong every night so I knew I was being rewarded for being a great dog. Now I sleep on the mom’s bed, along with the ditzy Creampuff who jumps on and off and the fat Ophelia who takes up a LOT of room. Sometimes I’d rather be back in that crate with my peanut butter.”]

Don’t forget to look around the crate when you have put it in its permanent position. Check for power cables or electrical wires, and make sure there aren’t any curtain tassels dangling into the crate. These can hurt your dog if he chews them.

Keep an eye on whether or not the crate is in direct sunlight from a nearby window, because this will be hot and uncomfortable for your dog. Similarly, avoid drafts so he doesn’t get cold.

[Gracie says: “Never fear. My mom is a fanatic. I always have a bowl of fresh water and my tough rubber toy – nothing I can destroy.”]

There is no “one size fits all” perfect spot for a dog crate. You don’t want the crate in the way of your family, and you don’t want it to negatively affect your home décor. Your dog wants to be where the action is, and don’t want to feel left out. Take the time to work out a position for the crate that suits both you and your dog.

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Gracie: Thanks for the tips, Jaime! Thanks to my mom’s friend Pam Ellis, I have a great place for my crate: right in the living room where it belongs.

Am I a fraidy-dog? And who cares?

Maybe you’re heard the expression “fraidy-cat.” Our cats aren’t afraid of anything, except maybe the vacuum cleaner.

My mom has been worried that I’m turning into a fraidy-dog. Here’s what happened. One day we went to Regrade Park, the off-leash park that’s just two blocks away from our new home. A big dog jumped on me. I demanded to leave. We did.

Then a few days later, the same dog was back … and the same thing happened. Now I hate going to the park.

Frankly, I haven’t been crazy about that park for awhile. I’m not as young as I used to be: I’ll be eight in just two months. That’s getting into senior dog status, my mom says. So I no longer want to jump around with a bunch of high-energy younger dogs. I like sitting on the wall and letting Lindsay, Sue, Andy, William or some of the other humans make a big fuss over me. On very rare occasions, my mom allows me to accept a treat. That’s even better.

But now I tug on the leash when we walk to the park. As soon as we get there, I head right to the exit with a purposeful expression.

“Oh no, Gracie! We just got here!” my mom says. “We have to de-sensitize you.”

For help she turned to Andy, who’s a professional dog trainer. He had a great idea. Treats. LOTS of treats. “Special treats just for the park!” he said.

“Liver bits?” my mom suggested.

Yaay. I love liver bits.

My mom is no dummy, although you might wonder at times. I get peanut butter only in the crate so I love my crate. If I get liver bits only in the park, she hopes I’ll learn to love the park. I’m not so sure.

After all, my mom isn’t a great example of bravery. She’s not crazy about water, heights, shaky bridges and a bunch of other things that she won’t let me share here. When she bought a house in Florida, she got Keesha because she didn’t want to be alone in the house with just two cats. Did I mention that she also had a perfectly functioning alarm system?

“If I get another house, I’ll need a second dog,” she tells me. “You’re not ferocious enough.”

My mom’s getting older, too. Unlike me, she refuses to admit it. Yesterday she dove right into a zumba class where she was probably the oldest person by twenty years. That’s the equivalent of me joining a pack of three-year-old feisty dogs and trying to keep up.

“Don’t tell George the Fitmonkey,” she told me as she limped out the door to take me on a walk. Her hips were sore from all those “swing your booty” moves.

“When I have to give up these gym classes, I’m giving you to Bill in New York and joining the great aerobics class in the sky.”

I could say a lot but I value my treats, not to mention my regular high-priced food and walks with Aunt Sara. So I’ll leave it to my followers to fill in the blanks.

Dogs get traumatized too

My mom just read me an article from the local paper, the Seattle Times. Apparently a nice German Shepherd had been employed as a bomb-sniffing dog. She had been a playful, happy pup before she was deployed. All the loud noises and stressful conditions were too much for her. She became withdrawn and afraid of people. You can read the article here/

Fortunately the military people worked hard to rehabilitate this dog. They gave her treats (always a good idea!) when she walked outside. They encouraged her to walk through doorways by offering treats. Most important, they gave her LOTS of love.

However, as a dog who’s been through two rescue groups, I don’t see why anyone is surprised. Every dog who goes through a shelter or rescue group has probably been traumatized. Kind, loving, knowledgeable owners rarely have dogs that end up in rescue. If they can’t keep their dogs, they make responsible arrangements. Anyway, just being in a cage, or being uprooted from a loving environment, will be traumatic. We need lots of extra love and (are you listening, mom?) more treats.

My mom never forgets that I’m a rescue dog. She reminds me every day, “Gracie, you have issues.” She tells everyone we meet, “Gracie is a rescue mutt.” Can’t she just say, “Gracie is a shepherd-lab mix?” I don’t know if I am or not, but who cares?

I’ve come a long way, though. Everybody says so! “Gracie is so much more confident,” they say. “She looks so happy!”

True. I’m a lucky dog. But I can’t help wondering. If I’d waited just a little longer, maybe Bill Gates would have adopted me.

Read the article here: http://tinyurl.com/32jt29a

Parades, parks and more: this dog is worn out

Whew…we’ve had a busy weekend. On Friday evening my mom went off to a basketball game with some of her pals. She came home later, contented because her team won.

On Saturday I usually recover from my Friday excursion to Magnuson Park with my Aunt Sara. But Mom was on a roll. She took me with her while she ran a few errands in Upper Queen Anne. I got to smell some grass and accept a treat from the Queen Anne Bookstore. On the rare occasions my mom buys a book, she goes there, because they’re so nice to me.

Okay, I was ready to turn in. But no: the mom decided we needed to see the famous Seattle Torchlight Parade. As a dog, I don’t get parades. I rarely see anything because I’m too close to the ground. There’s all kinds of noise from loud music, screaming, drums, roars…gimme a break.

I got lots of attention from the crowd though. Several people said, “What a beautiful dog.” A few people offered snacks but my mom held firm. One woman jumped: “I just felt a cold nose on my hand.” Yep. That was me.

Even my mom got tired as we watched one car after another go by with beautiful women in prom dresses. That’s what my mom called them. Finally we heard a “boom” from the cannon down the street. “That’s our signal to leave,” my mom said. “Last time we watched the parade together, you got spooked. Remember? It was so long ago that dogs were still allowed in Uptown Espresso. You jumped in my lap and started shaking.”

Me remember? I’m a dog. But I was happy to escape and return home to catch up on my sleep.

Sunny day with a cat

city dog and apartment cat enjoying sun For once, Creampuff has the right idea. She’s snoozing in the sun. I’m sitting next to her so I can keep an eye on our ditziest housemate. We’re in Cathy’s office, trying to distract her from her work.

“Website makeover!” she mutters from time to time. “Hassle. Frustration.”

That’s where Creampuff and I get busy earning our food and treats. We lighten the mood. We give the mom perspective.

“Gracie, why are you lying in the sun?” my mom asks. “Dogs don’t tolerate heat well.”

True. Eventually I’ll move to my own bed and Creampuff will go off in search of new adventures. And in just a few minutes, I will nudge my mom with my cold nose, reminding her I need a walk. Her work can wait. I can’t.

Does this dog need a muzzle?

Oh no. I’m finally busted.

The truth is, I am a nibbler and a grazer. As we walk along the street, I constantly look for food. We’re making some progress, my mom says. But every time I’m let loose for a good sniff, she worries that I’ve found a chicken bone (or worse).

Then there’s the dog park. I eat things that I am not allowed to mention in this blog. Things that, my mom says, are totally not in keeping with my royal image.

“Utterly gross,” the mom says.

“Delicious,” I say.

And once I start to eat, i won’t let go. Even if they yell, squirt or chase. I chew as I run.

After my last bout with tummy troubles, my wonderful Aunt Sara said, “How about getting Gracie a muzzle? A basket muzzle so she can drink and bark but not eat?”

My mom asked our vet. “Great idea!” our vet said.

I’m not thrilled.

“You won’t get sick as often,” my mom said. “You won’t have to skip meals and eat bland food for days on end.”

Hmm, We’ll have to see about that. The mom found a pet store that stocks muzzles. It’s about 20 minutes away and she hates to go anywhere so I may have a reprieve.

What are other dogs doing about this problem?