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.”