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Uh oh...

Arf. Gracie here.

Last week Mom Cathy dropped me off at daycare while she
ran errands. Yay! I loved playing with one of the pugs.
So I was exhausted when she came to pick me up.

But my ears perked up when she started talking to the
resident dog trainer.

"Jumping on people."
"Pulling on the leash."
"Eating stuff on the street."

Busted. Mom's got that look in her eye. She even picked
up some training tips.

When I got home I jumped on the big old tabby cat, just
to show I was still my old lively self. I got a swat on
the nose.

Life is going to be different around here.

Dogs Are Good For People

Arf! Gracie here.

First, my mom wants you all to know, she does NOT watch a lot of television. She does have a television but she also has a DVR. So she skips through everything: she goes through Good Morning America in about 15 minutes, watching just the segments she likes: skip the music and the weather, she says.

She actually told Comcast, "Take back the Cable!" But they offered her a deal she couldn't refuse.

That's why she's sitting on the edge of the couch today, watching the WNBA Finals and keeping her fingers crossed for the Phooenix Mercury. My mom Cathy has been a fan of Diana Taurasi ever since she saw Taurasi as a college freshman take her first 3-point shot. My mom likes people who color outside the lines.

But I digress...Mom was watching book reviews on CSPAN-2 when she heard a totally moving story by Heidi Kraft, author of Rule Number Two: Lessons I Learned in an Iraq Combat Hospital. K

Kraft, a Navy psychologist, served in a Marine hospital that also had an Army veterinarian to treat the K-9 Corps. He would invite Kraft to visit the sociable dogs as a stress relief break.

One of Kraft's human patients was a female Marine Sergeant. This woman was depressed: she was the only woman in an all-male unit, she was in a war one and she was clinically depressed. Working with the MDs, Kraft arranged for medication as well as counseling. Then for two months, the sergeant was too busy to come by.

Then one day, the sergeant showed up in Kraft's office, looking much happier. She even wore make-up!

What happened? This sergeant's unit had adopted a stray dog. She bonded with the dog. She arranged to send the dog home, where her family will keep the dog till she can arrive in her next duty station, San Diego.

Now, said the sergeant, she has something to look forward to. That dog needs her! And the sergeant has applied for a transfer to the US Marine K-9 unit.

When my mom Cathy says (for the ninetieth time), "Gracie, you are driving me nuts!" or even, "Gracie, you are a nuisance!" I just give her The Look. She needs me.

We Show Off Seattle

Arf! Gracie here.

So Mom and I are walking around Upper Queen Anne(as opposed
to Lower Queen Anne, where we live). We're walking through
Kerry Park, which has one of the best views of the skyline
and Sound in all Seattle.

A professional guide is sharing the skyline with a limo
full of eager tourists. I'm more interested in getting a
drink of water. Just as I take a sip, the guide says,
"Seattle is a city of dogs. In many of our parks you'll
see a water fountain, and just underneath you'll see a bowl
of water."

My mom pipes up, "And here's an example." She points to me.

My mom can be such a ham. (Did you know she's thinking of
auditioning for some stand-up comedy? As if she didn't
embarrass me already.)

She goes on to tell everyone about how she rescued me
through a group in Bellingham, Washington. She uses
the 4-letter "M" word but she explains that I'm really a
princess (actually, she says, "Gracie thinks she's a
princess" but who should know better than me?).

The guide says, "Yes indeed." He looks to be in his
sixties or even older and very experienced. "Can she have a
treat?"

"If she sits," my mom says firmly.

We go into our act. I know the drill.

I graciously accept the treat. The crowd goes, "Awwww..."

As we stroll down the hill, my mom says, "You know,
Gracie, that guide was really smart. He created a great
moment for the crowd and signaled to us that we need to
move on. We should have hung around and listened to his
spiel about the skyline."

Nope. That treat really hit the spot after a long walk on
warm day. I'll hit the cushion as soon as we got home.

"I am a social butterfly"

Arf! Gracie here.

Yesterday we went for a long walk to the top of Queen Anne Hill. After I got 2 visits to Magnuson Park over Labor Day, my mom decided we would skip the park and just walk.

My mom Cathy had to drop off a few books in the library. When we got to the door, a friendly-looking woman was just leaving. "Oh what a wonderful dog!" she exclaimed. She offered to watch me when my mom went inside for a few minutes. I kept looking at the door for my mom but I have to admit, that woman gave me a great massage.

When my mom came back,the woman said, "Thank you for letting me keep her for a few minutes."

"Everybody needs a dog moment, right?" said my mom, taking back my leash.

I must remind my mom how lucky she is, next time she yells, "Gracie! What are you getting into right now?!"

Saggy Jeans? How about NO Jeans?

Arf! Gracie here.

Mom just woke me up, swearing at an article in the New York Times.
You can read it here.

Apparently some people are up in arms over baggy jeans that sag down and show the guy's boxer shorts. Virginia and Louisiana have considered making this fashion a crime.

"Don't these people have enough to do?" my mom wondered. "Can't they find another way to use our tax money?"

I agree. With all the dogs out there who need walks and more...but I digress. Those folks should come here if they want to see something really gross.

Yesterday my mom said, "Enough running around, Gracie! You're scheduled for 2 trips to the park this weekend. Let's just walk over to Seattle Center."

So we did. Boh-ring. The place was filled with trucks unloading for Bumpershoot, a fall festival my mom avoids. ("Pay to get into a place to buy the usual festival fare? I'd rather go see a ballet," she says. Of course I don't get to go to the ballet, but that's another story.)

So we turned to go home when my ears were flattened by whistles, yells, and (pardon the expression) cat-calls. A herd of bicycle riders were headed our way, right in the middle of traffic. Mom put me into a "sit" so I wouldn't run after them. They were yelling and waving.

Saggy jeans? One guy was riding his bike wearing no jeans...and nothing else either. Stark naked riding a bike? Yuk. I poke around in unmentionable piles at the dog park and even I had to avert my eyes.

"It's a monthly protest on the last Friday of the month," a young guy explained to my mom, as he parked his bike nearby. "They're protesting the way cars create traffic."

"We don't even have a car," my mom said virtuously. "But why ride...um...nude?"

"This is Seattle!" the young man said, waving his hands to encompass the city around us.

So get over it, baggy jeans people. At least they keep their shorts on.

Exercise, anyone?

Arf! Gracie here.

My mom, Cathy, has become a workout fiend in her old age. She goes to the gym several times a week. Last night she came home all fired up...and sore.

"It's not my age," she told me firmly. "People half my age feel the same way."

Well, if she says so. Gyms these days have decided to use Marine Corps boot camp as a model. If they draft senior citizens, my mom will be ready.

But as a dog, I think my mom should do something more age-appropriate. Like taking me for walks...and walks. When mom is tired we take a bus to the dog park. Can you believe it? Less than 2 miles and we don't walk. Then I get to run around and play, which is okay, especially if that cute little Pomeranian is there.

It could be worse. Some dogs never get to run around.

And I've gotten pretty good at conning my mom. I walk over to her and look pitiful. "Oh Gracie," she says, "do you have to go out? Now? I'm right in the middle of..."

But of course we go. Especially with the gorgeous weather we've been having.

Identity Crisis?

Yesterday I wrote about my mom's trip to Elliott Bay Bookstore to hear Arden Moore, expert on cat and dog behavior. My mom learned a lot...too much, in my opinion.

But she couldn't understand why Arden kept saying cat and dogs were different.

In our household, the cats are extremely sociable. Somehow they skipped the chapter in the kitty handbook that says, "Cats should be aloof." They shamelesly run to greet Cathy when she comes home. I don't. I am either with Cathy or else waiting patiently in my crate with my favorite kong toy.

Last year my mom bought the cats a wonderful round bed when she visited a cat show. (My mom needs to get a life. Dog parks? Cat shows?) I took over the bed. When I curl up in a round ball, I just fit.

Oh yes, I chew the catnip toy too. But don't tell anyone.

P.S. My mom wants me to add that she knows the other folks mentioned in the Arden Moore article, Sally Deneen and Robert McClure. They lived across the street from Cathy when she lived in Florida with Keesha, her first dog, before I was even born. It's hard to believe but my mom actually has a few human friends too.

Meeting the dog (and cat) expert

Arf! Gracie here.

My mom Cathy finally did something sensible. She went to an author reading at Elliott Bay Bookstore where she heard a talk by Arden Moore, a cat and dog behavior specialist. The event featured Arden's cat book but Arden talked about dogs too.

Arden even blogged about my mom Cathy and my roommate Tiger:
http://www.ardenmoore.com/arden-moores-blog/arden-moores-blog.html#ardens-blog

Actually Tiger is a grump. You know what they call female dogs? That's what somebody should call Tiger. That cat sleeps on a special cushion on my mom's bed. She's 18 and still jumps up on the counter to eat her dinner.

Then there's my other feline roommate, Creampuff, whose name accurately describe the consistency of her brain.

My mom adores them. They were here first.

The best part of the day was I got to spend 4 hours in the Downtown Dog Lounge on Bell Street, hanging out with my favorite dogs. The worst was when my mom came to pick me up. I could tell she had been listening to a dog trainer. She had that gleam in her eye that said, "We mean business."

"Gracie, sit!" she said firmly when a motorcycle went by. Ditto for a skateboard.

Sigh.

Celebrities in trouble

Arf! Gracie here.

I was having a pleasant nap when my mom woke me up, exclaiming, "This is nonsense." When I looked up inquiringly, she explained she was reading about some celebrity's latest escapade with a car and a DUI.

"If I were a celebrity, going to a party," my mom told me, "I would have a chauffeured limo standing by to take me home. That way I could drink as much as I wanted."

I cocked an ear.

"OK, Gracie," my mom admitted. "I hate parties. Everybody teases me about how little I drink. And when I go out, it's close enough to take a cab home. Or even the bus."

Bus? My ears perked up. Now we're talking. I love riding buses. I get to sit in my mom's lap and everybody tells me I'm such a beautiful dog.

"She's a mutt," my mom Cathy tells the other passengers. "But she thinks she's a princess. It's like living with Paris Hilton."

Me? What's this mutt stuff? I am a princess. And I don't demand more than any other rescue dog.

Good thing I'm going to the dog lounge today. They recognize my royal blood and treat me accordingly. They set me up on the couch and feed me treats all day long. They let me play in the back with the Big Dogs. When I scratch on the door to the front, they say, "Oh it's Gracie. Come on in, sweetheart. You can help us run the reception desk."

That's the way a rescue dog should be treated.

Arf! Mom is off to her gym and then it's my turn.