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.