Frequent Flyer

Frequent Flyer

Saturday, November 28, 2009


What's with you humans? First, you spend hours food shopping (in crowded stores surrounded by intense-looking people with screaming kids). Then you spend days cooking a meal for 30 (when there's only three of you, not including me). You then pile mountains of food onto your plates, stuff yourselves sick, and then what? Unless you have servants, you have to clean it all up. 

And you call that a holiday?  

Now, here it is the day after and everybody's sleeping. 


Friday, November 27, 2009


Good old dad. He (my human dad) took one look at that upturned BBQ and he laughed. Not just a little chuckle. A huge belly laugh. Then he picked up that half-cooked turkey with his bare hands, brushed it off and plopped it back on the grill. Disgusting! (Not for dogs, of course. I'd eat anything.)

"Gracie! Gracie!"  His voice had that put-on gentle tone he learned in obedience class. But I wasn't about to trust it or him.

So, I kept a safe distance behind my favorite tree and waited and waited and waited some more. Until I saw my mom. She was all bundled up in her rain coat and hat and holding my lead. 

"Grace! Let's walk!"

So, the day didn't end too badly. Dad even gave me a piece of turkey.

Humans are strange.


Thursday, November 26, 2009


While all you humans are pigging out on turkey and all the trimmings, what am I eating? Dried dog food. Same old boring dog food. 

Mom tells me she'll be taking me for a walk this afternoon (to "earn" the calories). But I'm not holding my breath. 
God. The smell of that BBQ turkey is driving me bonkers. Maybe, just maybe I'll grab a piece off the grill when nobody's looking. 

Oooops. Looks like I tipped over the grill.  Now I'm really in trouble. 


Wednesday, November 25, 2009


OK, all you humans out there.

I know most of you -- my human mother in this case -- don't like to walk in the rain. God forbid if she gets her hair wet. But what about me? I have fur -- well, two layers of hair, to be scientific about it -- so the rain just rolls off me like a, um, a um (I can't think of the animal, the one with the feathers.) I don't care about the rain. In fact, I love the rain.

You can't just push me out of the door for a ten-minute run around the yard. Yes. Yes. I always do "my business" (as you gently put it) while I'm out there. But I'm bored. Bored, bored, bored. Same old trees, same old squirrels. Same old smells.

I want a walk, a long walk in the rain.


Tuesday, November 24, 2009


Here I am in my favorite forest in England

My name is Grace and I'm a black and tan Airedale Terrier. I was born in St. Louis, the oldest of a litter of six. I weigh about 47 lbs.

My human mother named me after her favorite movie, "Saving Grace." Someone once told her that "Grace" was a posh name for a dog. But I'm not at all posh. True, I come from a line of show dogs. But, I lack both the discipline and focus for that life. I don't care. As my mom reminds me whenever I'm acting a bit insecure, "We can't all be show dogs. It's what's inside that counts."

Grace Sylvia Hall