Trixie says Merry Christmas to the WWTs

With the big day coming near, I wanted to send my thanks to Mary Ann Franzke for my fabulous Christmas sweater. It's a perfect fit. How did she know my size?

I send her my Merry Christmas wishes, as well as to other members of the Wednesday Walkie Talkies: Ann McMullan, Pat Semmes, Carol McMorris, Lyn Belisle, Martha Siv, Mary Lil Chappell, Susan Gragg and, of course, my mistress, Mary Fisher. I've missed them this month, but look forward to when the ladies reconvene after the first of the year. See you then!

Trenchmanship saves the day

A week ago Saturday we went to our country place, which the family has just named "Los Piquines" in honor of the many native pepper bushes that grow there. We traveled not to pick peppers, but to meet with the men who will be building a fireplace for the ranch house.

Since we want to use native river rock for the hearth and mantel, my master and the mason drove to Williams Creek to scout stones. Mary and Maverick walked down with me and my big dog buddies, Townes and Chigurh. We especially looked forward to visiting a large fish that lives in a long trench on one side of the creek.

The trip to the creek was uneventful. Us dogs splashed about while the humans looked at rocks. Satisfied with what they found, Lewis and the mason got in their vehicles. But much to my horror, Lewis, who doesn't know the creek as well as we do, drove straight into the trench that is home to the big fish of Williams Creek! Though he desperately sought traction, it was too late: the right side of his car had sunk in.

With dark approaching, I had a dreadful vision of no dinner while we waited for AAA to arrive. But we had failed to take into account the resourcefulness of our mason and the kindliness of a neighbor who Mary flagged down. The neighbor had nylon cords, which the mason attached to his pickup and to the stuck car. After much spinning of tires, the neighbor suggested that if he and Maverick jumped into the truck bed, the pickup might get some traction. To my astonishment, it worked, and the car emerged from the ditch unscathed.

Throughout our ordeal, the big fish sat tight, unperturbed. (I must say he's a cool customer. But I guess when you live as long as he has you’ve seen it all.) Back at the house as I crunched on luscious leftover lamb bones from Mac and Ernie's, a nearby gourmet eatery, I dreamed of lying in front of a nice wood fire, happy as a fish in a trench.

(A special thank-you to Maverick for transcribing my thoughts this week—Trixie.)

Colombian and Panama...without me

Well they’ve done it again. Mary and Lewis have gone on another of their trips, leaving me to languish in a cramped cage at the vet’s. When she finally came to pick me up, one of the workers told her that I cried whenever they left. Of course I cried. What lonely girlie dog wouldn’t? But thank goodness I’m home again, moving from bed to bed as I listen to my master and mistress talk about their trip.

Feeling uncertain about the safety of Mexico, my masters chose of all places Colombia. From what I’ve heard since they got back, the choice was pretty sound, since Colombia has pretty much put its narcotraffic days behind it. A high point, maybe THE high point in Bogota according to them is the magnificent Gold Museum. (Anyone who thinks the Spanish got all the New World’s gold would be way wrong).

Another highlight is in the small town of Zipaquira outside Bogota, home of the so-called Salt Cathedral, where large crosses have been carved in the walls of a historic salt mine to represent the Stations of the Cross. Deep in the salt-walled -ceilinged and -floored mine is a cavernous “cathedral” with a towering cross.

After touring the mine and taking a turn at playing salt miner, my masters ascended and had lunch at a little outdoor café playfully called La Catedral de la Gallina (the cathedral of the chicken). Soup of the day every day there is sancocho de gallina, a thickish chicken broth with chicken, corn, plantain and yucca--a root vegetable.

Another native dish my masters enjoyed in Colombia was arepa, a thick corn-based patty that can be filled with cheese or meat. They also met a couple of new fruits including grenadilla, a round persimmon colored fruit with yukky looking gelatinous seeds inside that resemble frogs eggs. Though it looks disgusting, they said the seed stuff was not bad (though not good enough to suggest to the exotic fruit vendor at our gourmet grocery store).

After flying to the coastal town of Cartagena, where they stayed in the colorful old walled city, my masters flew to Panama City. There, they were bowled over by the canal. On a boat tour of Gatun Lake, which is part of the waterway that crosses the isthmus, they saw not only huge ocean going vessels but, along the banks, alligators, monkeys and sloths, which the Panamanians call osos perezosos (lazy bears).

My masters spoke of the large number of perros callejeros (street dogs) in both countries, as well as dogs on leashes, primarily poodles and labs. They didn’t see any Chihuahuas but they saw a number huge mastiff type dogs with muzzles, used by the Colombian police. My guess is those big guys worked shoulder to shoulder with the police to help win the drug war there.

Of Beautiful Birds and Scary Snakes

This week, I walked along the San Antonio River with four of the Wednesday Walkie Talkies. As we covered the stretch between the Pearl Brewery Complex and the Southwest School of Art and Craft, we saw golden-crowned night herons, mallards and egrets--all benign and beautiful.

Last weekend I walked along another waterway, Hondo Creek, and encountered something at the other end of the spectrum: a small, scary-looking snake. My master spotted it and both he and I hustled away. But ever the student of nature, my mistress hung around to observe and take photos.

Now make no mistake, she, too was freaked out as the snake’s heavy body and diamond pattern gave the appearance of a viper. Worse, when she poked a stick in its direction, the serpent made like a cobra and flattened its head. Mary watched for what seemed an eternity as it continued to hold its neck aloft and shoot out its forked black tongue.

Worried for my sake I guess, she moved on as soon as I came back to check on her. When she learned what the snake was, however, she was sorry she hadn’t hung around. Based on photos she took, a herpetologist friend of her son identified it as a harmless hognose snake. If Mary had continued to push a stick at the snake, it would have rolled over and played dead. So I expect if we ever see another I’m in for a long wait.

Cambodian Dreamscape, Day of the Dead

Last week, my mistress met with a walking buddy to help with a creative project. Martha Siv had agreed to fashion a “Tablescape” for an upcoming Kappa Kappa Gamma fund-raiser. The wife of Sichan Siv, a Killing Fields escapee, had a collection of Cambodian pieces which could be combined for a table centerpiece. But how?

After more than three hours of selecting, discarding, arranging and rearranging, the ladies came up with a tabletop they named Cambodian Dreamscape. It features, among other things, woodcarvings of dancing gods, lace-like baskets, hand woven silk textiles, wooden drums with snakeskin heads, copies of Sichan’s autobiography, “Golden Bones,” and a silver squash and chicken--all Cambodian.

Now I wasn’t there, but it’s just as well because the size I am, I can’t really see what’s on a table. (Of course I can smell what’s up there and jump up like a jack-in-the-box cadging treats when my masters are eating.) Over the weekend, however, I got to see an amazing Day of the Dead display. And this one had things at dog level as well as up high.

In a barn in the Texas Hill Country, the owners and some friends created an astonishingly artistic and moving installation honoring deceased loved ones. They invited guests to join in the celebration, which originated in Mexico.

The Day of the Dead display included, among a myriad of other things, mountains of sun-colored marigolds; fanciful wooden, papier mache and clay funereal figures from Mexico; strings of papel picado; favorite foodstuffs, beverages, toys and other possessions of the deceased; burning candles; and photos of the departed. The magical Day of the Dead altar space, redolent of flowers, burning candles and incense, held pictures of both the hosts’ and the guests’ lost loved ones.

I wandered through the Day of the Dead space, along a row of marigolds on the floor leading to the altar filled with tributes to people and yes, beloved dogs, who have passed to the other side. When I go, I do hope my master and mistress will put my collar on that altar.

Kicking back with Karl Rove

I haven’t checked in for awhile but that’s not because nothing’s been coming down. Quite the opposite. Last weekend, for example, I accompanied my master and mistress to Austin, where they attended the Texas Book Festival Gala. That’s the kickoff event for the weekend-long Book Festival. Their hosts were Lillian and Ted (T.R.) Fehrenbach. Ted is a renowned historian and author of, among other books, “Lone Star,” a sweeping history of Texas. Lillian is my favorite, though, because she always notices me.

Laura Bush spoke at the gala and read from her recently-published book. My mistress noticed that she wore black, as did many of the women at the stellar event (including Mary, who wore a beaded black number she scored at the thrift shop where she volunteers). Austin’s finest turned out en masse at that scene, among them Karl Rove. Mary had her picture taken with the architect of the Bush candidacy and emailed it on her iPhone to liberal friends for fun.

Meanwhile I spent the night at Maverick’s house with his dog. It was cold, so I snuggled up to Maverick in his bed. My mistress calls me a hussy when I take up with folks that way, by hey, Maverick has been a stand up guy to me. And he puts up with a lot from Chigurh. To wit:

Maverick emailed yesterday that he is thinking about placing a singles ad for Chigurh, who seems lonesome when he doesn't have a doggie visitor. It would read “Older male seeks companion tolerant of coprophagia, crotch sniffing, cowpie-rolling and stained carpets.” Well, fastidious princess that I am I certainly don’t plan to respond to that ad, even if I am mighty fond of Chigurh’s long-suffering master.

Close Call, Dangerous Flower

A shocking thing happened this week to my friend, Chigurh. His master, Maverick (my mistress’ son) was jogging with him in Austin and a car, swerving to miss Maverick, hit Chigurh in the head. He was knocked out cold but fortunately revived. Thank God the vet says he’s going to be fine.

I had seen Chigurh last weekend when the family went to their country place near Tarpley to enjoy the gorgeous fall weather. We took a long walk up Williams creek, where Chigurh reveled in rolling in mud to the point that he looked like a harlequin. (When he’s not rolling in mud, he’s rolling in fresh cow patties. Go figure).

Thanks to Chigurh’s example I’m now enjoying getting my feet wet in the creek. Heretofore I’ve mostly walked along the banks but now I see that since the water is so shallow I’m in no danger and it’s really kind of fun.

As it turned out, this time the danger was on the banks rather than in the water. Mary was excited when she spied a gorgeous new flower by the side of the creek. Cardinal flower, as it is called, is a member of the lobelia family and has both medicinal and deadly attributes. Apparently a number of early settlers died of overdoses. So when granddaughter Christina asked to pick the pretty red flower her Nana said no.

I’ve been watching Christina and her Nana working on a wildflower book at home every day after Christina arrives from kindergarten. Christina prints the name of the flower and Mary pastes a picture she took of it in an album. So far they have done thirty and they have about that many to go. But, of course, Mary finds new varieties every time we go to the country.

As to WWT activities, last week the ladies and I had a very interesting walk with Helen Ballew, director of the Headwaters Sanctuary at the University of the Incarnate Word campus. We revisited the Blue Hole headwaters of the San Antonio River. Thanks to recent rains, it is again flowing. We also walked along St. Brigid’s Path, a peaceful contrast to the bustling campus.

This week the ladies did Olmos Park again. The only problem is that when they walk there, they never stop to talk. When they’re exploring a new place I get a lot more sniffing time as they often pause to check things out. So here’s hoping they will have lots more “field trips” this fall.

Coyotes, Blue Snakes and Christina

Haven’t blogged for awhile, but that’s not because my life has slowed down. To the contrary, it’s sped up, what with trips almost every weekend to the country. Not to mention Mary’s granddaughter coming from kindergarten every afternoon.

We’ll start with the country. For the last month and a half, my master and mistress have gone to their place in Bandera County on weekends in conjunction with some renovation work. They have cleared out rooms and sorted through the 30 years’ worth of accumulation in closets, bookshelves, cabinets--you name it.

Luckily Mary made time to take me down to the creek every day, so I’m a happy camper. Except for when she takes me too close to sunset. Mary seems mystified when I suddenly race up the hill towards the house as dark approaches. Well, the reason can be seen in the photo she took just a couple of miles up the road: a trio of coyotes strung up by a rancher on a fence. On our place, I can smell the crafty devils and feel especially vulnerable at day’s end.

To make matters worse, a couple of weeks ago Maverick saw an indigo snake down by the creek early in the morning. These large (and I do mean large) constrictors also known as blue snakes are harmless to humans and are appreciated as rodent removers. But hey, I’m about the size of the cottontail rabbits that live up there, and the thought of those squeezing serpents give me the creeps.

As to the granddaughter’s after-school visits, at least I don’t need to worry that she wants to eat me for supper. Christina does, however demand all my mistresses’ attention. Young folks make me nervous so I’m just as happy to be ignored. So when Christina’s here I bed down and wait until her mother picks her up after work. Then I go back to claiming all my mistress' attention to myself.

Miracle on the Hondo

A couple of months ago I wrote about my mistress losing her prize Alain Mikli eyeglasses on Hondo Creek. It happened when I fell into a sinkhole and in trying to save me, Mary’s classy shades went into the drink.

Well, a miracle occurred this weekend at our country place, where the water level has now dropped: Mary’s son, William, probed with his foot and found the glasses resting on the bottom of the offending sinkhole. They were crusted over but Dr. Maury Diskin at Today's Eyes, the store where she bought them, was able to clean them up with of all things, rubbing alcohol.

Here’s another happy story. It’s about a beagle named Trooper, owned by a former mayor of San Antonio and his wife--Howard and Margie Peak. “I got Howard a beagle for our first Valentine’s together in 1970,” Margie recalls. “She lived to be 18.” Hooked on the breed, the Peaks adopted another beagle, who lived to be 14. Three days after she died, Margie took all her doggie toys to the Humane Society as a donation.

“While I was there,” Margie recalls, “a man brought a precious eight-month- old beagle. He was moving to an apartment that didn’t take pets. I called Howard and he raced over to the Humane Society to see him…He raced to Howard. Needless to say the rest is history.”

At first, Trooper was a “real rascal,” Margie recalls, “but he has turned out to be such a lovable, sweet little boy. We just celebrated his eighth birthday and he is a wonderful addition to our family.” I met Trooper at the Terrell Hills Fourth of July parade this summer as he stood on the sidelines. I, on the other hand, was front and center in the parade, princess that I am.

Mystery Solved

This just in: Mary's son, Maverick, just weighed in on the hyena. "I saw a scary looking dog outside Villasol during breakfast (last week)," he emailed, "that, come to think of it, had a hyena's coloration. Like a brindle German shepherd."

No Hyenas There

Today my mistress let me down: she didn’t take me on the weekly WWT outing. Of course she had an excuse. Well two, really.

First, the Wednesday Walkie Talkies were going to explore a neighborhood where Mary’s five-year-old granddaughter had spotted what she referred to as a hyena last week. She saw what surely must have been a spotted street dog in the parking lot of the little Mexican restaurant—Villasol-- where she had just eaten.

Thus Mary was afraid that when the WWTs walked the neighborhood adjoining Villasol, there might be stray canines who would consider me breakfast. Furthermore she figured dogs wouldn’t be welcome in the restaurant, where the WWTs planned to have their breakfast after the walk.

After my mistress got home I overheard her tell my master she saw several stray dogs wandering the streets, though none with spots. While I probably would have come out unscathed from the walk, I certainly would have been canis non grata at Villasol.

So I’m going to forgive Mary for leaving me behind, providing she takes me out for a walk this afternoon Now that (thanks to yesterday's rain) we've had a reprieve from the beastly heat, she has no excuse not to make it a long one.

See me Strut

I’ve walked with the ladies for the past two Wednesdays. Even though we started early it got plenty hot. I’m sooooo tired of this beastly August heat. To make it worse, my mistress’s son, Maverick, has dropped off his Lab, Chigurh (named for the asassain in “No Country for Old Men”), along with his part-rotweiler friend, Townes (named for singer Townes Van Zandt), for the week.

I had hoped the big dogs would hang out in the back yard and leave me alone. But they don’t like the heat any more than I do. So I’ve had to protect my turf in the house inch by inch. The only thing I really like about the situation is that when we take a walk, I don’t feel nervous about being attacked by larger dogs. I still shiver when I think about the close call I had with a big stray that tried to kill me in front of our house.

My favorite WWT is Ann McMullan, who I always greet enthusiastically. They say we admire those who admire us. Well, Ann is the one who loves the way I lift my entire back end whenever I’m leaving my scent. And she’s the one who is amazed to see how I can keep up with everyone for an hour on my short legs. (All I can say to that is that they may be short, but I’ve got twice as many.)

Now I’ve got another favorite: Mary Ann Franzke. Last week after we walked for nearly an hour in Olmos Park, Mary and I went to her house to see a video on Chataqua, where she and her husband spent a week this summer. I was on my Ps and Qs there, and I guess it paid off as this Wednesday she brought me four adorable seasonal outfits, handed down from a dog she used to have. Now I’m ready for Thanksgiving, Christmas, Easter (if I’m willing to wear a silly pair of rabbit ears) and the Fourth of July. See me strut!

Check out the Kindle Covers

Mary wasn’t able to walk with the WWTs on Wednesday because she and Lewis went to a breakfast club meeting where the speaker, former Bexar County District Attorney Sam Millsap, spoke about exonerated death row inmates he had met.

I heard my master and mistress talking about it afterward and learned that the speaker’s point was that death penalty prosecution is like air traffic control: there can be no margin for error. With humans there is always room for error. Hence he, like many others, has come to oppose the death penalty not on moral grounds but because mistakes can (and have been) made.

So instead of a fun walk with the WWTs on Wednesday I was subjected to a discussion of that heavy subject. To make matters worse, I had to go to the vet’s the next day for my shots. Thankfully Dr. John Kothmann is so skillful with the needle that I didn’t really feel a thing. Thus I’m pleased that he and his wife are coming over to our house for dinner soon. Dr. Kothmann is known for making a mean margarita, and he has agreed to fix some that night. I doubt they will offer me any despite the fact that the Chihuahua breed originated in Mexico, home of the margarita. Humans can be sooooo clueless.

Today one of the WWTs brought something over that made my mistress very happy. Lyn Belisle, who is an artist specializing in collages, has started making kindle covers. She created one for Mary using images my mistress caught on camera during a trip to Ethiopia in January. She combined fragments of them for a fascinating tapestry-like effect. Lyn has a website where people can see her designs. She also does custom jobs, like the one for Mary. The address is: http://www.etsy.com/shop/belisledesigns. The San Antonio Express-News interviewed Lyn this week about her designs. The feature hasn’t come out yet, so remember this: you read it here first.

Letters in the (e)Mail

In an earlier posting, I answered a letter from reader in Namibia, who had questions about a female puppy she was about to adopt. The doggie’s name was to be Bianca. Well there’s been a bit of a change as you will see from the following message, just received:

DEAR TRIXIE,

Well, I have not slept much for the past week, but the good news is that she is very confident, eats like a little piggy and has adjusted well. And of course, I think she is brilliant. Have decided to amend her name a bit, she is truly a diva (was the dominant female in her litter) and so now, rather than Bianca Lulu, her name is Diva Bianca!

Love, Diane

DEAR DIANE,

What I have to say to you can be summed up in two words: Viva Diva!

Love to you both, Trixie

Meanwhile I’ve received another letter from my public, this one on a more weighty matter. It was sent by Ann McMullan, a member of the Wednesday Walkie Talkies. Since I walk with Ann almost every week I’m aware of her concern with the drop out problem and of her involvement in an organization that is addressing the problem. I’m flattered that she would pose the question to me, despite the fact that I’ve never been to doggie school. (Of course I do have beaucoup street smarts.)

DEAR TRIXIE,

“Why in the world would a teenager drop out of high school? Isn’t that remembered as a carefree and happy time of life?”

Your walking buddy, Ann

DEAR ANN,

I’m guessing that in your day, high school was more a time of carefree fun. It’s a different story today with peer pressure on everything from drugs to gangs and with any number of other issues ranging from poverty to poor parenting to teen-age pregnancy.

Fortunately, the very organization you are involved with, Communities in Schools, is helping meet the challenge of keeping young people in school by connecting schools with needed community resources. And I know a way folks can help right now. They can Stuff the Bus with school supplies for at-risk students on August 6 at San Antonio HEB stores from 7 a.m.-7 p.m.

Your friend, Trixie

A Real Royal Flush

Once you’re famous you’re bound to turn up in a museum exhibit. My turn came today, when my image went onto the walls of the famed Toilet Seat Art Museum. Featured on the Today Show and listed as one of Texas’s ten best offbeat museums (one has to wonder what the ten worst are), the museum features more than 900 decorated toilet seats. They cover the walls, interior partitions—even the doors--of a corrugated tin two-car garage behind a cottage in Alamo Heights.

The quirky collection is the really out-there vision of Barney Smith, 89. In January the Wednesday Walkie Talkies visited his museum while walking in the neighborhood. They oohed and ahhed over seats adorned with everything from wasp nests to Boy Scout patches to marbles to swizzle sticks.

My mistress got so carried away that she suggested that the prolific Mr. Smith create a seat in the honor of the WWTs. He agreed on the condition that we give him a logo to work from. Lyn Belisle, a member of the group who is an artist, agreed to create a logo with me as its centerpiece, since I'm the group's de facto mascot.

Today, six ladies walked to the museum to sign the newly competed seat with a pen. I can’t write my name, so I proffered my paw, which artist Lyn outlined next to the signatures. Mr. Smith will engrave over the signatures with a dremel tool, add photographs and, if Mary can bear to part with it, glue on one of my collars. So there you have it. My visage is in a museum for all to see.

The portrait as drawn by Mr. Smith is not what I'd call a spitting image. In fact, it looks weirdly wolf-like to me. But that's OK, because there's another dog that occasionally walks with us, named J.D. (short for "just dog.") who might just think that's HIS picture. No hard feelings that way.

I’m not the only one happy to be memorialized. Logo designer Lyn Belisle emailed the group, “I have always wanted to have my art in a museum. It’s a dream come true, a real royal flush.” I couldn’t have said it better.

Now to another subject. I went with my master and mistress to Austin over the weekend and had a fine time checking in with their son Maverick’s dog, Chigurh, and with the chickens. Sadly, there are only two now. Maverick discovered the third one stretched out in the enclosure last week with no sign of sickness or injury. The only thing he could figure was that she died in childbirth as she had a habit of laying extra large double-yoked eggs.

I didn’t get to participate in the high point of the trip, which was riding in a little Smart Car. The city of Austin has a pilot program called Car2go, in which people who sign up can use the cars wherever they find them and drop them wherever they want around town. Cars can be located using an iPhone. Cost of operation is 35 cents a minute, half the cost of a taxi. The cars are tiny but so am I, so I do hope Mary and Maverick will take me with them next time they decide to take a spin. If I'm museum material, surely I'm worthy of a ride in a Smart Car.

Dispensing Doggie Advice

As my fame grows, I’m getting mail from as far away as Namibia. I’m sharing this letter from Dr. Diane Ashton--a professor at the University of Namibia whom my masters and mistress met traveling in Ethiopia--with my response, accompanied by her photos.

DEAR TRIXIE, (or should I now address you as the Duchess?)

I am writing to you especially to tell you some very good news. You are so adorable in all of your photos with Mary, and I realized small dogs can be great. I have never had a small dog before (only labs and goldens) but now, because of you, I am getting a small dog. Unfortunately, there are no chihuahuas in Southern Africa, so I am getting the next best breed!

My friend has a gorgeous long-haired dachshund who just had a litter of puppies - 3 females and 3 males! I get the pick of the females. They are now almost 2 weeks old. Trixie dear, do you have any advice about how to select the perfect puppy from the 3 females? I want her to be as special as you are! Trixie, what are your favorite foods?

The only bad news is that I won't be traveling anywhere for at least 6 months because I don't want to leave the puppy alone. When she is more grown up, then I can go back to having more adventures. I am very, very busy at the university, so it looks like I will be staying here in Namibia for another 2-3 years. It seems that I will have to wait until I am Medicare eligible before I can move back to the USA!

Diane

DEAR DIANE, (Given that I’m now a duchess, you can address me as "Your Grace.")

I'm delighted to hear you are adopting a dog. You are so right to have selected a small one. Because of my size I’m allowed to sit in my mistress' lap and sleep in her bed. And small children really relate to me.

As to choosing from the litter: I suggest you go for personality rather than looks. (Too bad men don't select their mates that way). Since you’re getting a female you can’t lose looks-wise. My favorite foods are people foods like cooked chicken, beef--even pasta. I also like cheese, but my mistress doesn't let me have much of that because she thinks it's too rich. Instead she serves me boring but healthy "Lean Dog Formula" dry food from Whole Foods Market.

You are so right to refrain from traveling in favor of staying with your puppy. I wish my master and mistress would do that. They are already talking about another long trip, this one to South America. Which means I'll have to stay in that plagued cage at the vet's again.

Trixie

P.S. Thanks for acknowledging that the dachshund is a lesser breed in comparison to mine. In fact, they all are.

Country Walk--in Town

Today, the WWTs were invited to La Foret Enchantee--home of member Martha Siv--for a hike around her semi-rural neighborhood in the middle of the city. As we walked to and from a stable, we saw groups of deer gamboling about yards. (Two spotted fawn were among them, not too much bigger than me.)

I have to say that because of the deer, horses and all manner of unseen creatures, the scents were infinitely more interesting that what I detect in the tamer suburban neighborhoods where we usually walk. In a word, the sniffing was superb.

After we got back to the house, the ladies sat out on Martha's porch overlooking a swimming pool. My mistress--who is not really a coffee drinker, preferring tea--loved the cafe au lait, which Martha prepared by bringing milk in a saucepan just to the boiling point and pouring it into the coffee.

Afterwards, the ladies shopped in Martha's in-house South China Seas store, which features clothing, textiles, jewelry, accessories and gift items from Asia. They were as elated with their exotic finds as I was with the exotic scents I'd detected on the walk. Thus both man and beast left enchanted by their visit to the enchanted forest.

No More Stargazing

I was in tall cotton at the Annual Terrell Hills Fourth of July parade. Dressed in my patriotic red-white-and-blue dress, I strutted down Eldon Road with my master, mistress and hordes of neighbors, their children and their dressed-up dogs, all decked out in red, white and blue.

Partway down the route I posed for a photo with former San Antonio Mayor Howard Peak, his wife and doggie. At the end of the route, the camera caught me being held by Terrell Hills Mayor Brad Camp while Councilman Charles Parish looked on. It seems celebrities like to have their photos taken with me. Well after all, I am pretty famous.

I was quite pleased with myself costume-wise, until I spied a dog who totally outdid me. One of Mary's friends, Becky DeWees, had dressed up her dog like Uncle Sam, complete with a tophat. (How was she able to make the hat stay on? Mine never do.) But I don't feel too bad about that. After all, they don't even live in Terrell Hills; they live next door in Alamo Heights.

After the parade, we drove up to our ranch near Tarpley to check on some renovation work. Thanks to more rain, the creek is still up big time. I loved walking alongside it while Mary took photos of blooming wildflowers. So far she has a couple of dozen different ones, which she intends to make into a book with her granddaughter.

Maverick was there with his dog, Chigurh, and Chigurh’s friend, Townes. None of us dogs like to venture out of the house after it gets dark, even though those dogs are waaaaay bigger than me.

Mary learned why over dinner at downtown Tarpley’s go-to café, Mac ‘n’ Ernie’s. She was telling a friend who lives a little way up the creek from us that we had seen a bobcat down the highway from our house. The friend replied that she had seen a mountain lion. From now on I expect all of of will be staying indoors at night, even though the stargazing is spectacular up there.

The Caged Dog Howls

Nine days ago, my master and mistress did the unthinkable: they dropped me off at the vet’s to be caged up while they traveled. I really let them know how I felt about the betrayal by howling (something that I rarely ever do) as they walked out.

For a week I was locked up while Mary and Lewis gadded about Virginia, visiting historic sites and researching family roots. They saw everything from Edgar Allen Poe's room at the University of Virginia in Charlotsville to an iron gazebo covering James Monroe's grave above the James River in Richmond. (I wonder if his spirit howls at being caged up like that?)

Two days ago, I was sprung. I had a spa treatment--bath and nail clip--just before being picked up, which put me in a good mood. Not one to hold grudges, I forgave my master and mistress and quickly dropped back into the daily routine of eating, sleeping, eating, sleeping, eating, sleeping...well, you get the picture.

They continue to talk between themselves (don’t they realize dogs listen?) about all the things they saw. None of it has caught my fancy except for a painting Mary saw in the Richmond art museum. It’s of an Irish setter playing the pianoforte. Now that’s something to howl about.

Suitor or not Suited?

I’ve been so busy kvetching about all things agarita that I’ve failed to keep you up on the WWTs. So here goes…

Last Wednesday only three ladies turned up for the walkabout in Olmos Park. Today was a different story. Seven ladies came a’walking, including the newly sworn-in mayor of Olmos Park, Susan Gragg. As usual she walked with ski poles and set a brisk pace.

Partway through the walk, however, she was stopped cold along with the others. Of all things, I had attracted an admirer. A little black and white terrier type darted out from his yard to check me out, front and back. We did some mutual sniffing before I moved on with the ladies. Then he suddenly reappeared at the top of the hill, wanting more.

Lyn Belisle, who took a photo of him giving me the once over near a lamppost, said I’d made a “huge impression” on him. Maybe not, though. For just as suddenly as he reappeared, he trotted back home. I must admit I’m mystified, but we’ll see what happens the next time we pass his house. Should I put on perfume?

Agarita Agony: When Things Don't Jell

You’re probably tired of hearing me go on about agaritas, but please indulge me once more. As it turns out, it isn’t the arduous process of harvesting and gleaning the berries that’s the heartbreaker. It’s the process of making the jelly itself.

Instructions on packages of pectin make it sound like a piece of cake-- which is so not true. Mary and Maverick met defeat time after time (and boy did I hear some salty language) in the jelling department. Actually the first time Mary had beginnner’s luck. But the next three times she and Maverick boiled the juice with sugar, lemon juice and fruit pectin, they were forced to repeat the process when none of it jelled.

They had to empty all the jars back into the pot, add more pectin and bring it back to a boil-- which can be a booger since it will boil all over the stove if you don't watch it like a hawk. (I heard more salty language the times this happened.) The last go round, Mary added enough Certo to stiffen a wet blanket.

As they found out, jelling isn’t an exact science. It is beyond vexing to find your jars are filled with runny red juice hours after filling them. The lesson learned is twofold: first, put at least half again as much jelling agent as is called for and second, if you can’t deal with uncertainty and extreme frustration, don’t do jelly. It's a bitch..and I don't mean the female dog kind.

Rescue to Royalty

They say those who rise to to fame and fortune take their exalted status more seriously than those who were born into it.

Take me, for example. Five years ago I was a mixed breed Chihuahua ranging the streets of Austin. With heartworms. Since my rescue I've become a pampered princess, one who just participated in a doggie coronation in a velvet gown trimmed in ermine. (OK, the ermine was fake but you get the picture.)

Do I feel the grandeur more than a dog who came into the world with a pedigree? Well I haven’t asked my famous cousin, Sadie, how she felt after winning best-in-show at Madison Square Garden this year. My guess is, she took it pretty much for granted. Even when she met Donald Trump.

Me? I savor every little perk or notice that comes my way. But I also feel a growing sense of hauteur, now that I’ve entered the world of privilege. I’m trying not to snoot the hoi polloi of dogdom, but it’s hard not to feel superior when you’ve been given a title--even if it’s a silly one like Duchess of the Indestructible Chew Toy.

I have to be mindful, however, not to reveal my background by exhibiting a “let them eat dog biscuits” attitude. The last thing I want to have said about me is something that Sadie’s mistress (my mistress’s cousin) once said about a gauche arriviste: “He’s a pig in the parlor.”

Saved by the Surfer

Something very scary happened on Saturday.

We had gone up to the family’s place on Hondo Creek near Tarpley for the day with Mary’s older son and his family, including a brother-in-law up from from Peru. Now there’s a little sinkhole on the creek below the house that's fun to dip in. Only on this day, due to torrential rains, it was an angry maelstrom. Several members of the family were sitting around the edge, daring only to dip their feet in the water when I decided to join them.

But first I had to jump across the little waterfall that feeds into the sinkhole, a leap that I often make. Well, this time I didn’t make it. Suddenly I was in the sinkhole, bobbing up and down and paddling for my life. Instantly Mary jumped in to save me and got sucked into the swirling water. Then her daughter-in-law jumped in to save her. Same scenario. Who saved the day was Luis, who used to be a surfer in Peru. Instead of joining the endangered trio, he stayed on the side, stretched his arm and was just able to grab us, one by one.

The good news was we survived. The bad news was the ladies lost their prescription eyeglasses. But we learned several truths. I learned that Mary would risk her life for me. Mary learned the Mariana would do the same for her. And we all gained greater respect for the power of water. Believe you me, I will never come near that sinkhole again. Read my lips. Oh—I forgot—dogs don’t have lips, do they?

Itchin' for More Agaritas

They say what goes around comes around. Well that certainly came true this week. Dog's honor.

The story begins in Tarpley, where my master and mistress went on Saturday to harvest more agarita berries. This time they employed the upside down umbrella technique, and branches laden with ripe berries yielded close to 15 pounds. Lewis and Mary were elated.

For two days, that is.

Now for some time Lewis has been complaining about my scratching at night, claiming it keeps him awake. Well duh—dogs itch. But on Tuesday, the tables turned: while beating the bushes they both got bitten all over by chiggers. (For a number of years there have been no chiggers at Tarpley because invading fire ants ate their larvae, but since the fire ants left due to the recent drought, the little red devils have apparently returned.)

For the past couple of nights, my master and mistress have been up and down all night, scratching and doctoring themselves with Afterbite. Now who’s keeping whom awake? (I just hope my master catches the irony.)

As to today’s walk, four ladies moved in a moderate pace about Olmos Park, passing the house of their member, Madame Mayor. She had to be at one of many city meetings but had taken time to decorate the pug statues in front of her house. This time, they are sporting graduation gowns and hats.

Three of the other WWTs had compelling reasons for not attending: one was on her way to Brazil; the others were in Germany and New York. My travel destinations may be more mundane—Austin and Tarpley—but they’re just as fun. That is unless the chiggers are biting.

Poison Ivy: Not my Thing

On Wednesday, four WWTs met next to the campus of the University of the Incarnate Word to visit a new nature preserve. Dr. Bonnie McCormick, chairman of the University’s biology department, and Helen Ballew, director of the Headwaters Sanctuary, led us on a tour of the 53 acre site set aside by the Sisters of Charity of the Incarnate Word.

Riparian was not in my vocabulary until a couple of weeks ago, when Mary went to a riparian conference in Tarpley, along with other landowners along Hondo and other nearby creeks. I sat in during part of the presentation and learned that riparian refers to a zone near a creek (people underestimate what dogs can learn—a pity).

Undeveloped but not pristine, the riparian Headwaters Sanctuary along Olmos Creek--which feeds into the San Antonio River--is plagued with non-native plants and trash delivered via flood waters. Yet, a pair of Mexican Eagles nests in the secluded space and small mammals like foxes are seen there, along with a lengthy list of bird and native plant species.

Speaking of native plants, a noxious one lurks along the brushy trails: poison ivy. When I inadvertently walked through some, Mary started carrying me. Both of us had to take baths when we got home, just to be safe.

After the balance of the land is restored, I’d like to go back to this evocative place. Hopefully they’ll consider poison ivy removal, even if it is a native. Until then I’d prefer not have to endure another scrubbing like the one I got.

Agarita Jelly: More than a Notion

Mary and Lewis took me to Austin on Saturday to visit Maverick’s dog, Chiugurh. I also got to check in with the chickens, though they hardly give me the time of day. You’d think they would be afraid of someone of the canine persuasion. But not these girls. Chiugurh and I roamed freely among them as they hunted and pecked about the back yard.

On Sunday morning, Mary completed a project that had begun a week before in Tarpley. While in the country, she and Maverick took a notion to harvest agarita berries. And as Mary’s mother used to say, it’s more than a notion deal with the agarita bush. That’s because its leaves are spiny like holly and the berries are not much larger than B-Bs.

Now there’s some clueless dude on the Internet that talks about picking the berries one by one. But the time-honored method, passed down by Mary’s grandmother Maverick, entails spreading an old bed sheet on the ground and beating the branches. (Several years ago, a guest introduced her upside down umbrella method, but it didn’t take.)

Despite the difficulty of maneuvering the sheet (or in this case a throwaway plastic tablecloth) under the low-lying branches, the harvest went fairly smoothly. But that was just the beginning. The toughest, most time consuming part of the procedure entails separating the berries from the twigs, leaves and sundry insects that have also fallen onto the sheet.

Mary took it in stages, floating the berries in a pan of water, removing detritus and draining. After repeating the process several times, she brought it home and did it again. And again. Once the berries were more or less all that was left, she boiled them and strained out the juice.

The easy part came yesterday in Austin: matching the juice cup-for-cup with sugar, adding pectin and a dash of lemon juice, and boiling briefly. The yield was only two and a half small jars and I was never offered any. But I’m guessing that agarita jelly must be heavenly since they’re already talking about going through the hellish process again.

Which is fine with me because while they wrestle with sheets, sticks and pans of water, I can run leash-free in the country with my buddy Chigurh. Life doesn’t get much better than that.

Not Getting no Respect

This week nearly all the WWTs had a conflict and my mistress was sick, so there was no walk. Which leaves me space to get something off my chest.

Being a small dog, I never feel I get the proper respect, even now that I’m bona fide aristocracy. People simper over me, using baby talk mostly. Really, it’s so demeaning.

Now comes a magazine article with the headline, “In the Canine World, Sometimes Less is More.” It goes on to explain that Chihuahuas are descended from long-haired dogs called Techichi in ancient Mexico. Royally prized by the Aztecs and Toltecs, they were carried in sleeves of their ceremonial robes.

At some point these aristocratic long-haired dogs mixed with hairless dogs from Asia that had crossed the Bering Strait and, as the article pointed out, “eventually ended up in Paris Hilton’s purse.”

Now I won’t argue whether it’s a step up or down to go from the sleeves of ancient Mexican royalty to the purse of an American pop celebrity. What I will say is that I don’t think Chihuahuas generally get the respect they deserve because, let’s face it, we are really cute. And cute doesn’t gain respect like say, the jaws of a pit bull.

Well, as Mary’s friend’s shrink is fond of saying, “It is what it is.” So I guess maybe I’d better just enjoy being clucked over and forget about R-E-S-P-E-C-T.

Walking, Talking and now Cooking

Things have quieted down quite a bit at my household, and that’s not all bad. No longer does Mary rouse me at the crack of dawn, wrap me in my royal robe and schlep me over to a TV or radio station. Instead, I can laze around all day and still have a fine outing when she and my master take their walk.

On Wednesday four WWTs walked a part of Alamo Heights they hadn't done before. They moved briskly except for a stop at the Episcopal Diocesan Center on Torcido Dr. to see the springs at the headwaters of the San Antonio River. Because of recent rains they were flowing rapidly, so I had to be careful not to sink into the marsh.

Two days earlier, Mary had a covered dish supper for the Wednesday Walkie Talkies and their husbands. The pretext was for everyone to see our new screened porch. Of course, they all made over me, since I’m the de facto mascot for the WWTs.

The food was outstanding and every now and again someone would slip me a little something. I really liked the chicken spaghetti casserole that Mary Ann Franzke brought. Since I like all kinds of pasta, I also liked my mistress’s artichoke heart pesto pasta dish. But the hit of the evening was the homemade fresh peach ice cream bought by Ann McMullan. Since no one figured I’d like that, no one offered me any. A pity.

Luckily, the most peripatetic WWT was able to make the party, just back from a traditional Japanese wedding near Kyoto. Marta Siv’s husband, Sichan, described the Shinto ceremony in detail. He is the author of a book, “Golden Bones,” about his life in Cambodia before and during the Killing Fields era, as well as his life after his escape. After he came to the United States, he got a job picking apples and within a few years had ascended to a U.S. ambassadorship to the United Nations. Even a princess like me has to be in awe of someone like that.

Whenever they are in town, Martha walks with the ladies, who love hearing of her trips to places ranging from Paris to Phnom Penh. Conversation never lags when she’s with the group. But then it never does with this group. The last word in their name says it all.

Coronation to coreopsis

Last week I made two more media appearances in my royal robe. The first was for the “San Antonio Living” show on KMOL TV. The spot was filmed on the River and all six owners of royal doggies got to talk.

My mistress told about how she had been a duchess in a Fiesta Coronation many years ago and how happy she is to be the mother of a duchess. I’ve seen a framed photo of her in her Order of the Alamo duchess gown. It’s green with signs of the zodiac on it. My gown, on the other hand, is bright pink with dog toys on it. It's the creation of Mistress of the Grrobes Cheryl Trevor, who managed to make it as comfortable as it is pretty.

When I’m not wearing it, my mistress puts it on a Staffordshire statue of a dog that sits on her mantel. It’s a perfect fit. She has been thinking about giving it to the Witte Museum, who got her gown. But since they have never displayed it, she may just keep mine on permanent display on the mantel.

My second media appearance of the week was at WOAI Radio, where C.J. Cruz interviewed the three royal doggie owners who came. C.J. served as mistress of ceremonies at our coronation so we all felt quite at home with her. Again my mistress told her duchess-to-mother-of-a-duchess story.

On Saturday, I made my last Fiesta appearance in my robe. Unfortunately, it was almost my undoing. The problem was that the velvet gown is hot and heavy and the Pooch Parade in Alamo Heights was five kilometers long. Some of the smaller dogs had their own conveyances, including one that looked like a flying saucer. (Another year, a Chihuahua was carried by helium balloons). But I hoofed it all the way with only one stop, at the house of Mary’s cousins, John and Jamie Bloodsworth. They have a Pooch Parade party every year since they live along the route.

When we got home I was limp as a rag, too droopy to even drink water. In fact, I’d been offered water on the walk but had refused. My mistress was kind of freaked out but after awhile I took some water from a bowl that she put next to me on the bed. I began to revive.

By the time we drove up to the country in the afternoon I was back to my old self and able to enjoy the amazing sight (and smell) of fields of coreopsis. Our place on Hondo Creek just outside of Tarpley was covered in a glorious golden carpet of those bright yellow wildflowers and all of us reveled in the beauty of it. Needless to say, Mary took a zillion photos of me running through the flowers until she got the one she wanted. I was just glad I didn't have to wear my robe during THAT photo shoot.

Trixie's in Tall Cotton

How many dogs get hugs from a member of Fiesta royalty and two TV personalities in the space of three days? The answer to this rhetorical question is... ta dah... moi. Yes, as the Duchess of the Indestructible Chew Toy in the Humane Society’s El Rey Fido Court I’ve been consorting with some of San Antonio’s prettiest celebrities.

It started with a trip across town to the Fox News TV Station on Thursday in a blinding rain. I met up with my fellow royals there and we were filmed with reporter Mileka Lincoln for future broadcast. After it was over she gave me a hug and I gave her a kiss. (The trick to kissing humans, by the way, is to do it quickly so they don’t have a chance to say no. A man should never ask a lady for a kiss beforehand and neither should a dog.)

This morning, we crossed town again in the rain to KENS 5 TV for their morning show. By this time I was used to the klieg lights and huge moving cameras. Guests were there to promote Fiesta events ranging from A Night In San Antonio to the St. Mary’s Oyster Bake. Of course the Humane Society’s Royal Court fit right in, with our colorful robes. Did I forget to mention that we wear our robes to all media events?

This time I got to be cuddled by two lovely ladies: Miss Fiesta, Virginia Eliott (who, like me, was there to be on the show) and the TV hostess, Stacia Willson. I was truly in tall cotton.

But my biggest ego stroke has come via email after Kay Smith, a friend of Mary’s who lives in Austin, saw a photo of me in my royal robe. Kay wrote, “She’s really a hottie.” Now THAT’S what a girl likes to hear, even if she's already a duchess.

Brisk walk followed by Ego Boosts

This morning four WWTs walked too briskly for my taste. They power walked up and down hills in Olmos Park for an hour. Judging from the decorations we passed, people are gearing up for Fiesta there.

One gate was festooned with bright colored fabrics and flowers. Meanwhile WWT Susan Gragg--who will become mayor next month since she is unopposed--dressed up the pug statues that flank her front entrance in serapes with Fiesta medals. She changes their outfits seasonally, but these are my favorites so far.

On the way home my mistress and I stopped by the house of another WWT, Mary Ann Franzke, to drop of one of my master’s books for a charity auction she is involved with. Her husband Chuck, a biz whiz who retired as head of the entire southern region of Dillard’s Department Stores, came out to greet me. He even picked me up, which made me feel soooo important.

The ego boost continued today when Mary took me out to a photography studio just for dogs, where I sat for an official court portrait in my royal Duchess of the Indestructible Chew Toy grrrobe. Photographer Renee Spade set me up on a white footstool and gave me organic doggy treats so I wouldn’t jump down.

She spent all kinds of time taking photos of me in different poses and even took a few of me with my mistress. The best photo will be framed and displayed with the rest of this year’s doggy court at the Humane Society headquarters.

Tomorrow I am going for a media appearance at Fox TV. I’ll go on TV again on Saturday and several times next week. It’s taking a lot of my time, but that’s part of the life of a VIP, no? All I can say is be careful what you ask for.

Coronation to Cascaron

Today was the day I’ve always dreamed of, given that it was all about me.

At noon, my master, mistress and I boarded a San Antonio River barge along with the rest of the Humane Society's doggy court, and headed to the coronation site. Along the riverside, people gasped and waved at our finery. Oh--I forget to say that just after we got on the boat the Mistress of the Grrrobes gave each of us our velvet gowns. Mine was hot pink with a stand up collar. It was edged with faux ermine and sewn with shiny images of "chew toys."

Now I always try to shake off any kind of clothing my mistress puts on me. This time I didn’t. It was quite comfortable, but even if it hadn’t been, I wouldn’t have. As Mary’s mother used to ask, “What price beauty?”

When we got to the patio aside the Grand Hyatt Hotel, our subjects were seated in front of a stage. Each of the six members of the court was called up individually and the master of ceremonies, C.J. Cruz of 94.1 KTFM Radio, read our biography. Of course mine told of my rescue from the streets of Austin and that I’ve be come a writer since moving into a household of writers. She even gave the address of my blog.

My entrance was made dramatic when two of Mary and Lewis’s friends, Bruce and Jill McDougall, shot off confetti guns over my head. Since Bruce is the executive director of the San Antonio Conservation Society, which puts on A Night in Old San Antonio during Fiesta week, he knows all things festive. Other friends who came to my coronation included two WWTs—Pat Semmes and Susan Gragg; and Bonnie McCormick with her daughter Kate Lathrop and her granddaughter, Sophia. Several friends brought their doggies: Buffy Montgomery and the Jesse Fernandezes.

After it was over, Mary was interviewed by a San Antonio Express-News reporter who asked, among other things, what she thought about the Rey Feo/Rey Fido controversy. The brouhaha erupted yesterday when it was revealed in the newspaper that the Rey Feo Scholarship Committee, a group run by LULAC Council No. 2, was taking legal trademark infringement action against the Humane Society over the use of a name similar to theirs.

Virtually everyone who has written in on the E-N website has defended the Rey Fido folks, saying that in no way would people confuse the two fund-raising organizations. Who after all would confuse a human king with a dog king?

When Mary said: “It looks like the MALDEF folks have laid an egg…and unfortunately, it wasn’t a cascaron,” the reporter cracked up. A cascaron, for those of you not from San Antonio, is a confetti-filled eggshell that is cracked on someone’s head for fun.

Well, fun is what I had today, and I’m looking forward to having more of it at the Pooch Parade the Saturday after Fiesta Week, April 24. Stay tuned.

All Hail the Duchess!!!

All hail the duchess of the Indestructible Chew Toy!! That’s me, since I came in third in the Humane Society of San Antonio’s El Rey Fido fundraiser.

Thanks to my supporters—who number more than 100, I raised more than $5,000. The other two top contenders had four-digit infusions in the last week, taking them to more than $7,000. But hey, I get to wear a royal robe just like they do. And besides, I like my catchy title.

Last Friday, my mistress took me to the Humane Society for a fitting. The Mistress of the Royal Grrrobes measured my girth and body length and Mary let her granddaughter, Christina, choose the color: bright pink. Well, I just can’t wait to see if that color works with my lovely amber brown coat.

I’ll be wearing the outfit this Saturday, April 10, at the coronation. It will be at the Grand Hyatt Hotel in downtown San Antonio at 1:00 p.m. and is open to the public--and their dogs. Members of the canine court will arrive on a river barge. Well, I just can’t wait to take part in the pageantry.

Those who miss the coronation will have another chance to see us in our finery at the Pooch Parade. It will be on Saturday morning, April 24 at 8:00 a.m. It starts at the Alamo Heights Swimming Pool and passes through Alamo Heights. Well, I just can’t wait to strut my stuff on the streets.

Before I sign off, I want to thank the person who suggested I run for El Rey Fido: Anita Flores. Well, I just can’t wait to see her at the Coronation so I can thank her in person.

So who's more Famous?

Today the Wednesday Walkie Talkies met with a member who works at Trinity University. Lyn Belisle, who teachers in the computer science department there, toured us around the campus. It was drizzling, but four stalwarts came and got to hear about Lyn’s just-completed trip to New York.

She went there with her son, Rick Riordan, author of the Percy Jackson series of books for young readers. Rick met with his editors and spoke to a sold-out crowd of pre teens at the Metropolitan Museum of Art before he and Mom Lyn took a behind-the-scenes tour at the museum. One of his books, “The Lightening Thief,” has recently been made into a movie.

But enough about him. What about my growing fame as a candidate for El Rey Fido? Right now I’m ahead in on-line giving, having raised $2,310 for the Humane Society of San Antonio. That doesn’t include off-line giving though. And with the stroke of a pen in a checkbook I could be knocked off the pedestal. So please support me at www.firstgiving.com/maryfisher1. Remember: the deadline is April 1 at 5:00 p.m.

Trixie: What a Woman!

After a one-week hiatus The WWTs resumed walking (and talking) this week. It was a gorgeous spring morning and the air was redolent with blooming mountain laurel.

Four members hoofed it to Olmos Basin Park and back to Olmos Park. (Did I mention that WWT member Susan Gragg is now running unopposed for mayor of O.P.? Hooray!) I like to walk in Olmos Park since they have a well-enforced stray dog ordinance. (Did I mention that last week my Mistress took a petition to the Terrell Hills City Council and got a favorable response? Hope they follow through.)

But what I really want to talk about today is what people have been saying about me as they have donated to my El Rey Fido campaign. Here are some of the comments:

“You would look great in a tiara”

“You deserve to be top dog, Trix”

“Wow—You Da Dog, Girl!”

“Good looking and above average”

“Trixie rocks”

“What a woman!”

Two of my favorites came from my vet and from a neighbor. Dr. Kothmann said, “Trixie is a great patient and will make a great queen.” A neighbor who was a Fiesta King the year before last said, “King Anchovie XLI wishes you the best in your quest for royalty!!”

Help me get there with your donation to the Humane Society at www.firstgiving.com/maryfisher1. I know you all are tired of me begging every week but guess what? There are only two more weeks until the contest ends, on March 31. So please let your friends and neighbors know “what a woman” I really am.

The Trix goes on TV

Yesterday I made my television debut as a contestant in the El Rey Fido contest benefitting the Humane Society. Ten dogs came with their mistresses and/or masters to be filmed for a local morning show on KMOL TV. Mary and I went first. She explained why I was running: first that I had a heart for homeless dogs, having been one, and second that I’m a princess wanting to be a queen. So true!

My master, who was home, told Mary that I really looked good on TV and that my collar (a new red one with silver conchos) reflected beautifully in the sun. Unfortunately the sundress didn’t show since they filmed me head on, but I’m sure there will be other dress-up occasions. Mistress Mary was never able to find a hat that worked. The only dog that had one (a straw number matching her Fiesta-theme outfit) wore it on her neck. It seems that dog’s heads don’t lend themselves to hats like people’s do. Lesson learned.

The bottom line here is please vote for me by donating to the Humane Society of San Antonio. It's a win-win! To do so, go to www.firstgiving.com/maryfisher1.

Trixie makes her TV Debut

Today the WWTs took a bye since most of them had conflicts. This was fine by me since I’m getting ready for my TV appearance. Yes, TV. The Humane Society—which is sponsoring the El Rey Fido contest--has arranged for the contestants to show their stuff tomorrow morning on WOAI TV.

My mistress has bought me a cute little red and white striped number with a kicky blue skirt for the occasion. Her friend Sarah Lake suggested painting my nails and pasting pearl earrings on my foxy ears, but I’m hoping Mary won’t follow up. Sure, I'm a princess. But I don't like too much frufru.

Luckily Mary is so busy with a new book project that she hardly has time to deal with my sartorial issues. It’s a rush job so she sits at the computer all day instead of noticing me. She did, however give me an oatmeal shampoo yesterday, which should help with my itchy skin. Heaven forbid I should scratch while on TV.

As of the moment, my campaign chest has topped $1,000, giving me a comfortable lead. But I’m not complacent. I’m paranoid that a doting dog owner will step in and buy the contest for their pooch. So please vote for me at www.firstgiving.com/maryfisher1.

Campaign Update

Well today I jumped to first place in the El Rey Fido contest after two ladies my mistress didn’t even know made generous donations, taking the total up to $770. I don’t know whether the donations came as a result of flyers Mary took to the Humane Society Luncheon at noon or from readers of my blog. Whatever. I’m simply thrilled to be on top. And I'm thankful to those ladies as well as all my other supporters.

To help keep me on top, please donate to: www.firstgiving.com/maryfisher1.

The Campaign Continues

All of the ladies had conflicts today so the Wednesday Walkie Talkies took a break. But I didn’t take a break in fund raising for El Rey Fido (or in my case La Reina Fido).

For a while today I was tied for first place. But by evening a dog named Brutus had bested me by a mere $15 dollars. My total is $620 so far, with a goal of $5,000. OK that’s kind of ambitious but like my mistress always tells her boys, ”If you don’t set a goal, you won’t get there.”

Meanwhile, a friend of my mistress, Sarah Lake, has offered to sew me a coronation gown. Sarah, who helped former Texas Governor Ann Richards choose what to wear for her inauguration, is certainly up to the task. Sarah sewed clothes for her dolls when she was little, so she is certain to get a good fit. As a princess I know fit is key to looking one’s best.

Don’t forget now. To donate to my campaign, which benefits the Humane Society of San Antonio, go to http://www.firstgiving.com/maryfisher1.

One more thing: Lyn Belisle has brought Mary the Wednesday Walkie Talkie logo she designed and Mary has taken it to the proprietor of the Toilet Seat Museum. Mr. Smith assures her that the toilet seat in honor of the WWTs—with my picture in the middle—will be ready in a month. Can’t wait!

Please vote for Susan and Trixie

Today it was bitching cold (Why does it bother me to use a word that denotes a female dog? Should I allow people to co-opt what I am into something pejorative?). But the sun was shining.

The five ladies who showed up walked about Olmos Park again this week, which was fitting given that one of the members, Susan Gragg (she of the ski poles) has put her hat in the ring for OP mayor. All of us—along with WWT Pat Semmes--who is also on the OP Council--are behind Susan 100 percent.

But Susan’s not the only one to put her hat in the ring. This week Mary got an email from a former co-worker, Anita Flores, offering to support me in a run for El Rey Fido. The contest is a fund-raiser for the Humane Society of San Antonio and the dog who raises the most money is crowned El Rey Fido, meaning the dog king. Of course in my case, I would be La Reina Fido, meaning the dog queen. It has a nice ring don’t you think?

Given that I was a rescue dog I can certainly get behind the Humane Society, which benefits orphaned dogs and cats. (Well I’m not as keen on saving cats but I guess they shouldn’t have to scavenge on the streets either.) If you would like to show your support both for the Humane Society and yours truly, the web page address where you can donate in my name is http://www.firstgiving.com/maryfisher1.

Please donate. I’d love to one-up my famous cousin Sadie, who just won the Westminster Dog Show at Madison Square Garden. (When Mary talked to her cousin, Sadie’s owner, she said that in addition to opening the stock market, Sadie got to meet Donald Trump the day after she won. Given Sadie’s incredibly glossy coat—cited by the judge—maybe she shared some hair tips with The Donald. He could certainly use some).

After the walk, Mary’s ran by her grandchildren’s school to give almost-two-year-old Maxwell a dose of antibiotic for an ear infection while I waited in the car. He looked jaunty wearing a baseball hat backwards just like his uncle Maverick did at that age.

Me and my Cousins

There is nothing to report about the WWT walk today other than it was in Olmos Park and that five ladies came, including our newest member, Lyn Belisle.

But there’s big news nonetheless: my “cousin” Sadie just won best-in-show at the Westminster Dog Show in Madison Square Garden. You will remember that she’s the Scottish Terrier owned by Mary’s first cousin that’s been winning best-in-show throughout the country.

My mistress went to a different cousin’s house to see the victory on TV last night Unfortunately, I couldn’t go since the hostess has five dogs of her own. But I heard all about it when Mary and Lewis got back.

Unlike last year when Sadie had what a news article referred to as a “carpet accident” at the Garden, this year she was the picture of grace and decorum. The judge who awarded her the honor told the New York Times that “She’s pleasing to the eye at every angle.” And he went on to say that a dog of that caliber comes up only once in a decade.

This morning—celebrity that she now is—Sadie opened the New York Stock Exchange. And with her handler, Gabriel Rangel, she made the rounds of media outlets and basked in her glory.

But hey-- enough about her. What about me?

I had my own moment of glory this week when yet another cousin sent Mary a gorgeous watercolor portrait. It seems that Joan Dilworth so admired me when they came to visit recently that when she got home she painted my likeness.

And guess what? Mary is going to hang it next to the line drawing and pastel portraits of me that Mary’s friend Karen Condit has done. The grouping will hang on a wall above the computer where I scribble this blog. So I guess you could say that I will be my own muse as they inspire me from above.

Sleet, Stray Dogs and Sticking to my Story

I couldn’t believe it when my mistress started putting my sweater on me at the crack of dawn yesterday. It was crazy cold--36 degrees--with a prediction of sleet. Amazingly, six stalwarts turned up for a too-brisk walk in the too-brisk weather too early in the morning. After an hour on the streets I started feeling something hitting me from above-- it was the sleet, so we headed back.

Since one WWT was sick, Mary dropped by her house afterwards with some soup. I like J.D., Pat’s dog, but he is SO possessive. Every time Pat tried to be friendly with me, he would do something passive aggressive, like lick me. Why didn’t he just be honest and growl like I do when Maverick’s dog Chigurh moves in on Mary?

Pat, a member of the Olmos Park City Council, gave Mary some pointers on her dog petition. She suggested that instead of focussing on a leash law (which is very divisive) my mistress should zero in on stray dogs. She has a point. Both times we've had problems it's been strays that either attacked or menaced me.

Later in the day the Wednesday Walkie Talkies voted on their logo online. You’ll remember that they needed one so that they have their own entry in the Toilet Seat Museum. (When they visited the quirky museum on a walk a while ago, its owner said he would decorate a seat in their honor if they would give him a logo.)

A new member, Lyn Belisle, offered to design one. My mistress sent her a line drawing of me at the suggestion of the WWTs. Lyn submitted three suggestions, only one of which had my portrait. Of course the one with my face in the center was by far the best, but not everyone saw that—some did, some didn’t. When I counted the ballots guess what? I won hands down. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.