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.

Tired...

My mom makes me get lots of exercise. She works out several times a week...so I have to, too. I have to go running in the dog park at least every other day. I go to the dog lounge, where I'm supposed to run with the big dogs...but usually end up eating treats at the front desk. Don't tell my mom.

Yesterday I spent a few hours in the dog lounge while mom went to a lunch for her business (the lunch part sounds good). Then we walked all the way back from Queen Anne Hill. I am still snoozing!