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.”