Tag: dog’s life

The mom versus the mortgage company

My mom is in a very bad mood today. I retreated to my cushion and am on my very best behavior.

My mom is pretty sure she will get a mortgage. SOMEbody will give her a mortgage. She has a really big down payment, a sterling credit record and good income. She has assets (although you’d never know it from her clothes, our graduate student furniture and my discounted dog treats). What she doesn’t have is time to track down documentation for the ten thousand things the bank wants yesterday.  The bank keeps asking for more and more things.

“Why can’t they get their act together and ask me right away?” she grumbles. “I should have gone with Sarah the real estate agent. She is a mortgage broker. We’d be almost done by now.”

Right, mom. Do I care? It’s the same cushion either way.

“If I don’t get this mortgage,” my mom says, “I am going to take off six months from work and Do Nothing. Just to show them I can.”

Yeah, right. The mom will be bored and the dog will pay the price.

“Maybe I’ll go travel and leave Gracie with Bill,” Mom said thoughtfully. “Six months or so…”

Good grief. I would love to live with Bill in New York. I could acquire a taste for muffins, although I’m not so sure about the green beans. I could play with his golden retrievers. Would I miss my mom? Depends. If Bill’s got more food and more  chew toys….have a good trip, Mom!

Guest Post From Molly the Australian Shep Dog Who Had Lupus

Every so often I allow nice dogs to post in my blog. My mom says I have to allow cats to post too, but so far nobody’s asked, thank goodness. Do you have a dog with a story? Tell it to the mom and she’ll pass it along to me. — Gracie
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Molly, the 10 1/2 year old Australian Shep, is who I am.

My mom, Carol Giambri, is a health nut who refuses drugs.

I went to one local vet for a drip in my eye, and mom came out told I had lupus possibility and a bad tooth I never complained about. Well, I never complain about anything! Just don’t know how.

My mom tried a holistic vet who actually pushed drugs on us. Well, going from active on an acre of land daily – running my paws off – to almost dead, depressed, constant 24/7 itch, infant socks for a month, taking tons of pills… That was a challenge.

I can relate to what your pill-pushing mom has to go through, but since I am on your side, I can help make the sour taste leave fast. My mom takes pricey grass-fed meat (buffalo, lamb, turkey-hater, beef). She sticks my pill in the middle of the patty. Every so often I can pick out the pill but usually I’m fooled.

My mom is radical so she fusses when she hears the word drugs addressed to anyone in our family. I am now eating veggies grated in my patty too. She fools me. I am taking pricey yogurt (6 ou. $2.39) daily-1 TABlespoon. I don’t know what a pill pocket is but my mom’s way tricks me good.

My mom said I will never take any more meds or do any form of surgery. I’ll be 11 years old next month. I was adopted at 1 from a shelter. My real name was “Lucky,” but the shelter told them I was “Molly.” I was slow to respond. Can you see why? No I jump high when my mom calls “Molly!”

I am finally back outside lots now and I am RECOVERED from Lupus.

My mom is going to write a book about my story. Okay – 3 books maybe: My story, her story tied into relationships, her other story about me and business talk. See how popular I am becoming. Hope we talk soon. I don’t have a site for you to write me a love note, but mom is feeling led to believe it’s coming.

Oh, you are a beautiful dog, Gracie! I see you get on the Seattle Metro Bus. Did you have to pay for a seat?

Bye and with love, Molly, the recovered 10 1/2 year old Lupus dog
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From Gracie: Wow, thanks, Molly! You wrote a great post for us. I don’t have to pay for a seat on the bus because I fit in my mom’s lap. I am not allowed to have my own seat and I do not ride on the floor. I am a princess and we don’t do floors.

You have a great mom. I can’t have meat patties because I’m on a special diet for my sensitive tummy. But your mom sounds great. I will tell Cathy to listen. She needs all the help she can get.

Thanks for reminding me I am beautiful. I’m a Canine Urban Princess and my mom is not allowed to forget.

Vet visit a mixed blessing

On the plus side, my food has gotten better. The vet gave my mom some big cans of meaty dog food. “One half can three times a day!” they said.

“That’s a lot of food,” my mom said, but she’s feeling desperate. She hates those late-night trips to let me Do My Business. So I lucked out.

On the other hand, my mom has been shoving these sour-tasting pills down my throat twice a day. She tries to disguise them in something called a “pill pocket.” I may not be literate but I know the difference between a pill pocket and a treat. The vet fooled me into accepting one pill pocket so my mom bought a whole box. I spit out the first one. Now she’s back to prying my jaw open and tossing a pill down, because I am too well-mannered to snap or resist. Biting the hand that feeds you is not my style.

“Worse than giving pills to a cat,” the mom says.

Do I feel better? Too soon to tell. But I’m getting feistier about resisting those pills.

Who needs a soccer mom when you’re a dog?

My mom Cathy just read me another article from the WSJ: Amerian Parents Going To THe Dogs After Human Kids Leave The Nest. Read it at http://bit.ly/2thedogs

It seems that when the kids go off to college, their human moms get bored. They drag the dogs around to classes: agility, sheep-herding and more. The article reports one poodle looking wistfully at her mom instead of herding sheep. Personally I am a natural sheep herder – I try to herd anything that’s moving, including skate boards and motorcycles. But poodles are not herding dogs. Hello!

My mom isn’t exactly the soccer mom type, so I don’t think I’ll ever spend my days going to doggie lessons. Anyway she won’t drive in Seattle so we don’t go anywhere unless we can walk or ride the bus. I like going for walks, running in the park, playing with my special dog friends, sleeping, and teasing the cats we live with. I live a full life. My mom lives a full life. No “empty-nest” syndrome here.

Anyway, what about all those poor dogs sitting in shelters, waiting to be adopted? If your dog gets bored and you have extra money, space and time, just adopt a new dog! Pay for extra obedience lessons for a stubborn critter who’s doing hard time in the pound for jumping and pulling.

On to the next story, mom. It’s time for another nap before the dog walker comes to take me to Magnuson. The mom has Pilates and massage today. My big sister Summer promised to come over and give me some extra playtime. I am not a substitute for a child. I am a real dog with a dog mom, not a soccer mom.

Good Dog Has A Bad Food Day

Uh oh. My mom was afraid she’d have to take me to the vet. My tummy was sore and I dragged her out an extra time to Do My Serious Business. Still, she let me go to Magnuson with Bob, who was replacing my vacationing Aunt Sara.

Bob isn’t clued in to my mom’s business so he interrupted her phone call while she was telling people about her new workshop for next week.

Of course I had to skip dinner. I was one hungry pooch. This morning the mom fixed me a big fluffy dish of rice. Just what I’ve always wanted, right? Doesn’t taste much like a treat. But I was so hungry I scarfed it down. Tonight I got rice and a tiny helping of bland dog food. Better. Then mom took me off to bed. We’re both tired this week. Too much fresh air and too much going on in our lives.

Taking Time Off…Our “Dress for Un-Success” Way

My mom keeps bemoaning the fact that she will never be glamorous or gorgeous. She can’t walk across the room in most dress shoes. She’s seriously thinking of giving away most of her clothes when we move. She will keep just one emergency dress-up outfit and decline all invitations to anything where she can’t wear shorts, jeans or sweats. That’s my mom’s idea of going to heaven before she dies: never having to dress up again.

Last Sunday fit our description of “perfect way to take time off.” First my mom went to the gym where she did some Pilates and worked on her biceps. She likes George Sommerrock’s classes.

Then we got on the bus and headed out to West Seattle to see my Uncle Lance. He’ s my mom’s mysterious friend who refuses to let us use his real name…even his first name. My mom has a feeling we get invited just because of me. When my Uncle Lance gets his own dog, I will be invited to come over and play…and oh yes, my mom can tag along too.

My mom bought a couple of things at the Farmers Market (I had to stay outside and get fussed over). Then we went to the dog park. By then I was pretty tired but I managed to run around the grass and trees. It’s a great park: the real deal. No wood chips or cement with a fence. My mom suspects I used to be a country dog but I’m not telling. Like Uncle Lance, I guard my privacy.

Shortly after taking this photo, my Uncle Lance bundled us into his car to drive us home. He knows my mom’s navigation skills and sense of direction would get us home by way of Spokane. Even when he’s got GPS, she jinxes our journeys. We always get lost. No exception today.

We detoured about ten miles south. Ddon’t ask me how -I was stuffed in the back seat. Uncle Lance’s car is built like a space ship with doors that open and close. I have to jump in fast and get out of the way. Anyway, my mom said, we got a gorgeous view of Mount Rainier up close, just like a post card. I wouldn’t know. I was sound asleep by the time we left the park.

Dog Grooming Goes Wild

My mom just showed me this article from today’s New York Times: Where Creativity Wags Its Tail. Apparently there’s a contest to sculpt dogs fur into images…anything from a person to a dragon.

As a certified dog, I say, “Forget about it! No way!” My mom takes me to a groomer to get a bath and brushup. Period. No funny stuff in my fur. And I’ll keep the color I was born with, thank you very much.

According to these groomers, the dogs love all the attention. True. I love attention myself. When we go to the dog park, I always go over to people and ask for a rub or a hug. But stand still while somebody clips me? Getting dyed green or blue or yellow?

Not for me. Fortunately my mom is big on “simple and easy.” And we both value our nap time.

Dogs don’t do real estate,,,

Thank goodness! I have a small castle known as The Crate. I have a few vacation homes, otherwise known as dog beds. I also take over the cat bed since Ophelia has usurped my spot on the couch. That’s as far as we go.

My mom, on the other hand, seems determined to get herself into a condo. I had to listen to her swearing over the paperwork (which wasn’t too bad, thanks to her awesome dog-loving real esetate agent Sarah Odegaard). And I had to go along for the inspection. The inspectors immediately recognized my role.

“She gets to decide where you live,” they said seriously.

My mom went out for coffee with Sarah while they gave the place the once-over. It was a nice day, although a little warm. They had to sit outside because coffee shops don’t take dogs anymore. All this fresh air was too much. We were exhausted the next day.

My mom has started thinking about hiring a mover. “We’re very close,” she told me. “She muttered something about title and negotiating on items to be fixed. Fixed? You lost me there, mom.

We’re getting rid of a lot of stuff so the movers wll have a lighter load. I’m nominating a new home for our housemate, Ophelia. Mom put her on a diet but it’s not working. At this rate we will need to rent a whole truck just for her.

Do we need a separate truck to move this cat?
Do we need a separate truck to move this cat?

Our real estate life

My mom has entered me in this blog challenge created by her friend, colleague and mentor, Connie Green. So now we have to blog every day for a month. We forgot this weekend because we were back looking at condos.

My mom fell in love with one in Belltown, a trendy neighborhood. “This building has been around awhile,” she said. “It’s not going anywhere. The people are nice. It’s well managed. Oh yes…it’s two blocks from the dog park and two blocks the other way from my favorite coffee shop in Seattle. And iti s pet-friendly!”

She found a 2-bedroom condo at a good price. “Never fear, Gracie,” she said. “There will always be money for treats and dog walks. We’ll find a place for your crate, too.”

Now, she says, she can have a proper office with windows and light. One bedroom is built like a corner.

Some places just allow two pets per unit, which seems like just the right number. We could lose Ophelia or that ditzy Creampuff. But the mom will never let that happen. “I’m a 3-pet person till the day I die!” she says proudly.

Given the way she works out that’s not any time soon. However, her favorite bakery will be very close by in Belltown. Either we will have more walks or the mom will need to develop some willpower.

“It’s still up in the air,” she says. “We have inspection, financing, and worst of all, moving. I may have written the book on moving but my stomach hurts just thinking about it.”

Real Estate Interferes With This Dog’s Life

My mom has got it into her head, “Maybe this is a good time to buy a condo.” Never mind that for years she swore, “Never buy a condo. It’s like having fifty landlords. All the other owners influence your life. The Board can be kooky. Who needs it?”

Well, now that condo prices have come down in Seattle, she’s looking. I think she’s 70-80% serious. She has a great real estate agent, Sarah Odegaard. We know she’s great because Cathy met her in the Regrade Dog Park.

Sarah has a big dog and lives in a high rise herself. She was single for a long time. So she understands the whole scoop (pardon the expression) on single urban living with dogs. She is remarkably patient with Cathy’s requirements. Must be on multiple bus lines because Cathy refuses to drive in Seattle. Must allow me and the two cats legally. Must have lots of sunlight. Must not be at street level. Must be in a neighborhood where our dog sitter, Sara Kimmel will come and take me for walks. (Sara said my mom is not the first client who refused to move outside her service area.)

The mom gets on Craigslist and emails a dozen suggestions to Sarah the real estate agent. (Never mind that Sarah has already promised to look through MLS, which is much more comprehensive and up to date than Craigslist.) Then she emails again to say she changed her mind or found more listings. Then she starts to feel like this is too much work and she says, “Let’s go for a walk, Gracie.”

Yes! Especially when she remembers to grab a handful of treats before we head out the door.

Just thinking about all this is enough to give a small dog a big headache. But it gets worse. My mom feels that I should be part of this experience. “After all, Gracie,” she says, “you have to live there too. And if somebody frowns at us when you’re with me, we know it’s the wrong place for us.”

Of course, just owning a dog has cut out many potential locations for my mom. That’s fine with her. “If they don’t allow dogs they’re probably uptight, nasty people,” she says. “Who needs them?”

She still loves living in this beautiful rental apartment, even with the ceiling that’s getting repaired. “People sneer at one bedroom apartments,” she says. “But this one is so well laid out. I even have a separate office alcove. There’s more than enough room. The location is phenomenal. It’s close to perfect.”

I agree. I have plenty of choices: cat bed, dog bed, Cathy’s bed and more. I would have the corner of the sofa but Ophelia has completed her takeover. I have been officially displaced.

And we really don’t want a huge space. “In New York, Philadelphia or Seattle, the city is your playground,” my mom says. “I don’t want to feel I have to spend all my time in my home because it cost so much. I want to spend money on ballet, symphony, Storm games, theatre, coffee shops and taxicabs.”

I agree. When Cathy’s not working, we should be in the dog park or walking around upper Queen Anne. Or I should be out playing with my Aunt Sara while Cathy goes to the gym or works in a coffee shop.

Meanwhile, I am exhausted. We looked at five places yesterday. Cathy didn’t get excited about any of them. However, she and Sarah the real estate agent were very impressed with my car manners. I sit in back very quietly, looking out the window. Well, why wouldn’t I? It’s better than being left behind. And Cathy needs to remember we need LOTS of room for my crate.