Tag: dog’s life

Makes me proud to be a dog

My mom just read me an artcle from the New York Times. Apparently dogs are being trained to help mlitary veterans deal with combat stress. For instance, if a vet is afraid to go into a crowded room, the dog can set up a barrier. Dogs even dial 911, although I can’t imagine how. My paws are too big for my mom’s phone.

Here’s the article.

Apparently dogs are so helpful these vets cut back on their medication or were able to stop medication entirely. Wow! I’ve always said dogs are better than doctors and my mom tends to agree. She drops tons more money at the veterinarian’s office than at her own medical services.

OK, I probably won’t be trained as a service dog. But I do my part. Yesteday my mom and I were walking to the bus stop. My mom was determined to comine a walk in Upper Queen Ane with a trip to pick up her books at the library.

As we were dashing along Mercer Street, a woman waiting for own bus called out, “Ma’am – hey!” My mom stopped dead in her tracks, wondering what she had done or dropped. Of course that meant I had to stop too. We both turned around.

“Can I pat your dog?” the woman asked. She looked normal to my mom and smelled normal to me. My mom had to say, “Sorry, we want to catch a bus.”

This happens all the time. When I’m sitting politely in my mm’s lap, all kinds of people pat and poke me for a dog fix . It’s a good thing I’m a patient, gentle sort of dog. But i know these people need something in their lives and for the moment, it’ s me.

Hey, how about barking out a message to President Obama. We could cut health care costs if everybody got issued a dog at birth. They’d get more exercise. They’d lower their blood pressure and have fewer heart attacks. They’d be kinder to others and our prison population would drop. Not to mention the thousands of nice mixed-breed dogs like me, who have secret ties to royalty….the list goes on.

Anyway, thanks to the New York Times for another good dog story. Makes me proud of my species. People go to war and it’s only right that dogs bring them peace.

And now back to my nap. I’m stuck with the cat bed since Ophelia commandeered my cushion on the couch. But hey, I’m not into fighting. No cat gets PTSD on my watch.

A Non-Denominational Discussion of Easter Weekend

A Hot Cross Bun
A Hot Cross Bun

Yesterday my mom decreed that we should go for a walk. I see more walks in my future as my mom has been indulging in hot cross buns from Dahlia bakery, sinfully delicious and made just once a year, on Easter weekend. Now she wants to go on extra walks to compensate.

As usual, there is no justice in this world for dogs. Did I get even one bite of a bun? No way. Muffins and treats are off limits to dogs in our house. To be fair, they’re usually off limits to the mom, but she believes in species-appropriate treats, judiciously shared.

My mom won’t allow me to discuss religion or politics on my blog. But isn’t there some church out there that believes it’s sinful to refuse to share with your dog? If so, I have a mom who could use some conversion. I suspect her friend Bill from New York would belong to such a church, if it exists.

“Forget it, Gracie,” my mom said.

Memo to self: If you ever get adopted again, choose an owner who can’t read dog minds.

“Gracie,” my mom continued, “if you eat even a few bites of this bun, you will get sick. You will keep us both awake all night. You might have to miss your run with your Aunt Sara — and that is the highlight of your week.d”

Memo to self: Never choose an owner who studied logic.

It’s a moot issue, of course. I doubt I’ll ever be in a position to choose another owner (although if I steal a hot cross bun the question — and some voices — may be raised). And if anything happens to Cathy, she wants me to go to her friend Bill, who believes spoiling your dogs should not be reserved for Sundays and holidays. No argument from this dog.

Photo credit:

Uh oh…Does this dog need a good defense attorney?

I knew it was too good to last. My mom was so engrossed in what she was doing that she didn’t notice me. Ophelia was hogging my spot on the couch and the ditzy Creampuff was giving herself a bath across the room.

Then my mom heard chewing sounds.

“Good dog, Gracie. You’re chewing on your kong toy,” she called out. Then she stopped. “Wait a minute…”

Sure enough, there I was chewing on a delicious rubber handle attached to my own brush. Well, it’s mine, isn’t it? Mom uses it to brush my fur and also Ophelia’s, when she can catch us. Creampuff loves being brushed but Ophelia hates it.

But I digress. My mom grabbed her camera to take a picture. Then she whisked me unceremoniously into my crate for a time out. Shouldn’t I get an opportunity to present my case and appeal this verdict?

“It’s for your own good, Gracie,” she said. “So I won’t decide to send you back to the foster home where you came from. They didn’t warn me you were a champion chewer.”

As if. I’m here to stay and I know it. But for now, I think I’ll lie low in the crate. I won’t even ask to get out. And I’ll give my jaws a workout on my kong toy, which makes my mom very happy.

Dog in disgrace

Looking Small and Innocent
Looking Small and Innocent

My mom figures that, if I sleep on her bed, she’ll notice when I jump off. Then she will put me in my crate for the rest of the night.

Hah. I’ve become an expert stealth jumper. The Marines could hire me to sneak up on people. Or I could be a police dog, going undercover in drug dens.

“In your dreams!” my mom says. “What happens when I wake up and find two hungry cats and two empty plates of food without even a crumb? And you’re off the bed, licking your chops and looking very pleased with yourself?”

Circumstantial evidence, mom. You always said the justice system is too quick to convict with too few facts . You’re the one who says we should no longer criminalize normal behavior. So why am I in the dog house with no breakfast?

“If you eat more food, you will get sick,” my mom said. “And that means a sleepless night for me and maybe another big vet bill. We are not taking chances.”

A dog’s life iin the Goodwin household is not always an easy one.

“Yeah, right,” my mom says, as if she can hear my thoughts. “You get top quality food. You get the prime spot on the sofa, which you share with Ophelia. You get a magnificent dog bed. You run in a wonderful park twice a week. What more could you want?”

Well, more treats would be a good start. But I guess this isn’t the time to make new demands. It’s a good day to curl up on my cushion and look sweet, small and pathetic while I am sleeping.

Dogs: Love ‘Em and Leave ‘Em at Home: I don’t think so!

Checking my moms cell phone plan: Are treats included?
Checking my mom's cell phone plan: Are treats included?

My mom Cathy just read me this article from the New York Times. Apparently some people think dogs should be left at home and others (like my mom) want to take their dogs everywhere.

Speaking as a dog (the only way I can speak, if you call this speaking), I don’t want to go everywhere. My mom’s tried to sneak me into supermarkets. Sometimes they let us go but I hate those shiny, polished floors. I dig my paws in and Cathy has to drag me along. Naturally we can’t be inconspicuous when that happens. Yaay! We are forced to leave in disgrace.

But coffee shops? Another story. My mom used to go to Uptown Espresso in Seattle all the time. She’d tap away on her laptop or read. I would curl up and sleep. Everybody loved us. Strangers would come up to offer me treats, which my mom always declined on my behalf.

My mom takes me to the Verizon store where she has endless questions about using her new Droid. She is shameless about asking for help and getting the store people to help install all sorts of applications. Geoffrey Hise (the store manager in the photo) introduced her to Bus Bot and now I have to sit patiently at the bus stop while she fiddles around wondering when the next bus is due. Usually it takes her so long the bus comes while she’s poking the screen.

Mom doesn’t mind asking for help. “I know I’m Internet-savvy,” she says. “Besides most people won’t use half their apps because they’re afraid to speak up and admit what they don’t know.”

True. I don’t know too many dogs who are shy about asking for anything. Why not? A resounding “no” goes right past my ears and most of the time a delicious treat goes right into my mouth.

Dog Park Civilized Greeting

And what have we here? It looks like a very small, very spoiled dog. A pug, to be exact.

Pugs are very popular in Seattle, my mom says. We once met a pug when we were out walking. The owner told my mom, “I knew someone who worked in the shelter. They called when this pug came in. I had to get down there in an hour because so many people wanted a rescue pug.”

Hmm. Not many people were seeking a royal mixed breed like me. My foster home actually gave my mom a sales pitch. “Great dog. I’d keep her myself if I didn’t already have three dogs. She looked so cute playing with the puppies. She sits on the couch and chews on her chew toys.”

Uh-oh. My mom got suspicious. “Chews on her chew toys? And what else?”

“No way,” they lied. “Just her toys.”

By the time my mom found out about my Power Teeth, it was way too late.

This pug seems fairly useless. He just sits on his blankie and waits for people to come worship him. Even Ophelia moves around more than that. But you can tell he’s a sweet dog in his own way. I tried to get him to play, since I love small dogs. No dice.

Here we are exchanging pleasantries about our respective owners. My mom is much stricter than his mom. His mom has left him in the care of Lindsay, the dog park steward, so he will continue to be spoiled rotten.

Dog Park Gets Boring So I Wander Around

Here’s where I am driving my mom completely nuts. When I get bored, I wander around, looking for something to nibble on. Usually it’s something unmentionable.

My mom freaks every time.

“Gracie, stop eating that!” she yells, clear across the park. Sometimes she squirts water in my direction. If I’m chomping on something good, I ignore her. These tidbits are more delicious than any of the stuff that comes in big bags, which (my mom points out) are very expensive.

I’m grazing. This is just what my mom does too. Instead of the ground, she goes to the refrigerator.

“That’s different,” my mom would say, if I dared to point this out. “I eat totally healthy food. Organic. No junk.”

We won’t comment on what I’m eating. My mom would censor the entry and some readers would start to feel a little ill.

Dog Waiting Outside The Library

Sometimes my mom embarrasses me. She can be shameless. Yesterday we went to the Queen Anne Branch of the Seattle Public Library. Mom was on her way to the Queen Anne Community Center so she could throw a couple of pots.

The Queen Anne branch is rather conservative when it comes to admitting dogs. They won’t let me in. Period. One of the library clerks whispered to my mom, “Just say she’s a service dog. We aren’t allowed to ask questions.”

Yeah, mom. That’s a good idea. But my mom is afraid she’ll get caught. So she ties me to the railing, very securely. Today she was hesitant because a man was sitting there with this big poodle. My mom suspected that I would be totally distracted and would manage to escape. Well, I might try. I’m a friendly dog who’s always eager to make new friends, canine and human..

So she asked this nice man if he’d mind holding my leash while she ran inside for a minute. My mom has no problem asking total strangers to hold my leash for a few minutes. She figures everybody will adore me. She’s usually right.

I like this idea much better than just being tied to the post, even for a few minutes. I got to meet this really nice dog, Daisy.

As you can see, Daisy and I hit it offl We were getting along just fine till my mom came out with her trusty camera phone. She took a couple of pictures before we headed off to the pottery room so she could make another boring cylinder.

Teach Physics To Your Dog? Gimme a Break

My mom reviews books for Amazon. Recently the Vine program sent her this book:

How To Teach Physics To Your Dog, by Chad Orzel.

As an author herself who now coaches book marketing, my mom was concerned about the book’s publication date. “This book would be the perfect gift for dog lovers,” she said. “It should have been on all the bookstore holiday tables. It’s a pretty good book. And the premise has that ‘aww……’ quality that sells gift books.”

As a dog, I like the intrduction. My mom read it to me. Apparently the author’s dog, Emmy, was in a shelter with a name of “Princess.” The dog interviewed Chad Orzel before agreeing to become his dog. “Do you have critters for me to play with?” she asked. “What about treats?”

Gee, I wish I’d thought of that. When the rescue society brought me to my mom’s apartment, they didn’t give us much time to get acquainted. I would have asked, “Will I be an indoor dog? Can I sleep on your bed? Wlll the couch be off-limits?”

My mom would have answered, “Yes, no and yes.” I would have turned her down flat. And look what’s happened. I have taken over the couch. I sleep on my own cushion on her bed.

So perhaps it’s just as well I didn’t interview my mom. She would have failed miserably. I would never have thought to ask, “Will I get to go to the dog park and run near the lake? Will I get healthy food and LOTS of treats? Will I get visits to the Downtown Dog Lounge where they treat me with the respect due a Canine Urban Princess? Will I have a fat fuzzy cat to tease and a skinny cat who keeps trying to make friends?”

And I’d never have asked, “Will I sit on your lap when we ride the bus?” After all, until i was adopted, I hadn’t even seen a bus.

All those things have contributed to my existence as a thoroughly spoiled dog, my mom would say. A properly appreciated dog, I would insist.

Emmy must be a pretty smart dog to learn physics. I have all I can do to watch my mom try to make cylinders in the pottery studio. So maybe Emmy knew the right questions to ask. I’m glad I didn’t. Sometimes you just have to take chances, my mom said. This time she was right.