Yoga and Yoghurt

English is a strange language, at least for me. Take the words, "yoga," and "yoghurt." To my ears, they sound like the same word. So, when Liz tells me it's time for yoga, my mouth starts watering, my stomach growls and I can't stop wagging my tail.

But, instead of bouncing down the stairs, opening the refrigerator and grabbing my favorite morning snack, she sits down on a blue mat and gets into these stupid poses. 

 A half hour later, I'm still waiting for my yoghurt.

Grace

Cat Alert

The other day my human mum posted a picture of a her "new friend" on her Facebook page. I figured it was just another dumb human. But I snuck a look. It was a cat! A cat!

Rather than sulk with my tale between my legs, I confronted her.
"What's that cat doing on your Facebook page?"
"That's Willy. He lives in Phillie."
"And he's your friend?" I couldn't believe it.
"Yeh. He's cute, for a cat."
"I thought you hated cats."
"I don't hate them. I just prefer dogs." She laughed and rubbed my neck. But I wasn't fooled. What if she adopted a cat to keep me from getting bored? What if she invited Willy to visit us?

Later I took another look at Willy's picture. I had to admit he looks pretty cool. But, I won't tell mum.

Grace

Road Trip

I've been wanting to write about my road trip to Warm Springs, Virginia for the last couple of weeks. But, my human mum has been hogging the computer 24-7. (No offense to hogs.) Anyway, she finally took a break, so here I am.

The occasion was her birthday. (I won't tell you which birthday, but she's not exactly in the full bloom of her youth.)

As soon as we hit the road, I fell asleep. I only woke when Mum nudged me so she could stretch and I could "do my business."  Frankly, the trip was boring. I didn't see or smell a single dog sticking out of a car. The only thing I smelled was gasoline fumes and rain.

Warm Springs was great. I got to bully the neighbors' little dogs. I chased a couple of squirrels, Mum and I explored the village. And, best of all, we all took a four-mile walk in a forest. (It ended up to be four miles because we got lost.)

Much to my embarrassment, Mum took this picture of me while I was "sleeping." I wasn't sleeping. I was just thinking with my eyes closed.

Grace

A Room of my Own

My mom took this picture of me
 when I was just a puppy. 

I admit it. I'm spoiled. I have my own room. Not just some small alcove off the kitchen or a pathetic dog house outside. I have a big bedroom, complete with a double bed, desk, huge closet and a reading lamp.

It didn't start out as my room. First it was Peter's room. (He's one of my human brothers.) But, then Peter got married and moved to Texas. So, my mom turned it into a guest room.

I figured, why waste it on the occasional guest when I live here all the time?

Now all I need is a TV and a laptop.

Grace

A Forest Walk

Last weekend my mum took me for a walk along the bluebell trail in Nokesville, Virginia. Good thing her friend, Michele, and Michele's mummy, Inez, came with us. Without them, we would have gotten seriously lost and never found the bluebells. Mum has a terrible sense of direction. 


Just as I got into the smells and rhythm of the forest, we had to stop. Mum insisted we pose for a picture. Michele whipped out her camera and snapped away. I couldn't just stand there and pose, like some show dog. I felt restless, so I just kept moving. I just couldn't help myself. 


Anyway, here's a picture of Liz and me with the bluebells. 


Grace

Showers

Have you ever taken a shower with your dog? Why would you?

My mum takes a shower with me once every two weeks! Why so often? Because I have a little skin condition. The vet sold her this rip-off shampoo and "suggested" I shower once a week. That's a bit much, even for Liz. So, we've settled for a bi-weekly routine.

Here's the scenario:  I know it's shower time, when I hear the word "shower." After ten minutes of chasing me 'round the house, she grabs me by my collar and drags me (yes, drags me) upstairs and into the bathroom. Then she pushes me into the tub. I then suffer the humiliation of being hosed down, shampooed, rubbed and rinsed while she sings to me.

I don't care if it helps my skin condition. I don't care if I smell like a dog. I hate showers.

Grace

My Weight Update

I hate to admit it, but my mummy's "boot camp" is working. After a week of afternoon speed walks, fewer treats (except from my human dad), and more romps 'round the surrounding woods, I'm back to my fighting weight and shape. 


So, does Mum loosen things up a bit and let me get back to pigging out and lying around all day? No way. "Your challenge is to keep the weight off and stay in shape so you can take care of me in my old age," she tells me. 


I know she's no "spring chicken," but to me, she's just a tall, young two-footer with no fur or tail.  


What would life be without a tail? 


Grace