To Dig or not to Dig

This week the Belles walked to an archaeological dig at the northern edge of Brackenridge Park, where remains of an original acequia are being unearthed near the San Antonio River. For those who may not know, acequias were ditches used by Spanish settlers to divert water from the river to their dwellings. While that was not of particular interest to us dogs, a rib bone on the ground nearby interested us greatly. And we didn't even have to dig for it!

Border Country Adventure--sans Chihuahuas

Almost every Monday Chica and I can count on a bracing one-hour walk in Brackenridge Park with our mistresses’ walking group, the Brackenridge Belles. But this week the ladies went bush. Literally.

Three-plus hours south of San Antonio and a mere eight miles from the Mexican border, the brushy desert-like San Pedro Ranch, co-owned by one of the walkers, is a radical departure from the park. This is where the ladies drove on Sunday afternoon. Knowing them, I'm sure they were gossiping all the way down.

The San Pedro is inhabited by the likes of coyotes, javelinas, wild hogs, red shouldered hawks, bobcats, rattlesnakes, even the occasional mountain lion--none, I might say, friends to little Chihuahuas.

As the ladies approached the headquarters, a large rattler lay dead on the road, just killed. Once they got to the complex of white stucco buildings that comprise the headquarters (one of the buildings is a historic stagecoach stop), their hostess explained that the snake would be draped over a fence in accordance with Mexican legend--which holds that doing so will bring rain.

There is a rich profusion of spiny plants on this flat, far-as-the-eye-can-see stretch of land. They range from several varieties of cactus, including five types of prickly pear, to white and black brush, whose blooms perfumed the air with the smell of spring; huajillo, which closes its leaves in the heat of the day; tasajillo, whose red berries are favorites of wild turkey; and Spanish dagger.

After a good night's sleep and a morning walk, the ladies drove over a portion of the ranch, guided by a range management specialist who is helping the owners select the least environmentally harmful spots to place new drilling sites, since the ranch is in the Eagle Ford. The ladies were fascinated both with lessons in native plants and in the process of drilling for oil.

Who knew that so much care can be taken in selecting a drilling site with respect to drainage and plant diversity? That sites are then cleared and flattened into a "platform" resembling a home building site before drilling and fracking with underground water? At the San Pedro Ranch, even the color of storage tanks--painted a grayish green-- are considered, so as blend in better with the landscape.

While Chica and I would have loved to have been with our mistress and her friends, as soon as we heard about the rattlesnake (not to mention the coyotes, hawks, bobcats and mountain lions) we were happy not to have been included. Hopefully, however, we’ll be there when our mistress takes the ladies up to our tame little place in the Hill Country.

Hangin' around the House with Ian--Good Stuff

Once again, Mary and Lewis have left us behind. This time they went to the Yucatan peninsula, where they saw mysterious Mayan ruins and sipped margaritas. In the past, they’ve left us at the vet’s. But who wouldn’t prefer to be in her own digs? Well this time around our master hired his college-age cousin to check on us at home and take us on walks. We really loved stayng in our own room, and when he came to check on us he was a lot of fun. His name is Ian Lanphear and he can be reached at (412) 719-4071. So listen up, doggie friends: tell your masters to call Ian. You won't regret it.

Who's for Dinner?

There’s been a lot of water under the bridge, as the saying goes, since I last blogged.

Would you believe that Mary and Lewis left us twice last month, first to gallivant in Virginia, where he went of a book tour of his newly written Civil War book, and then in Rochester, N.Y., where he gave a talk on the history of his home town?

Both times we were confined to the dreaded cage at the vet’s. But with our tummies filled with Thanksgiving Day treats and fine leftovers the day after, all is forgiven.

We spent the big day in the country, where we not only feasted on turkey and the trimmings but had a splendid walk down to the creek in glorious sunshine.

The night before we heard the whooping of coyotes outside the window. But snuggled next to our mistress in bed we felt confident we wouldn’t be the main dish in their Thanksgiving feast. Wonder who was?

Coyote Hanging--not our Thing

Last weekend we got to go to the country again. The weather was perfect, the creeks were up and the fall wildflowers were gorgeous. Maverick came with his big dogs, Chigurh and Sir Walter, which made it just perfect. Except for one thing:

Along the fence line of the adjoining ranch, we saw a row of coyotes strung up by their heels. Back in the day people used to do that with “varmints.” But Chica and I had never seen such an abomination until recently when a rancher did the hanging thing several miles down the road.

Now don’t get me wrong. I have no doubt that a coyote would see me and Chica as a comestible, not a cousin. Yet truth be told we’re pretty close kin. I must say it’s really creepy to see a fellow canine hung upside down rotting on a fence. The irony is that studies show that females have larger litters when such exterminations occur. So not only is the practice cruel, it’s futile.

On a happier note, six ladies—two of them new to the group—walked in Brackenridge Park today. The weather was perfect and there was nary a carcass to be seen.

Living the Sweet Life

The ladies skipped the Monday walk since it was Columbus Day. Which, given that it turned mighty cold in Sunday, was probably just as well.

On Saturday, the weather was close to perfect in the country— sunny and coolish with a soft breeze. Chica and I had a glorious walk in Hondo Creek, which had a welcome trickle of water. Mary captured a turtle at the low water crossing and let it go while we were wading.

Chica, who as far as I know had never seen one before, was fascinated and followed it all the way to the shore, where it pushed under a rock overhang.

I preferred to sniff out all the intriguing smells of the country while Lewis and Chica wandered about. Before it was time to go back to the car and home, Lewis took a photo of Mary sitting on a rock by the cliff, holding the two of us. It captured one of those serendipitous moments in time that make life so very sweet.

The Growling's got to Stop!

From the dawn of time man has debated why dogs do the things they do. Theories abound. Countless books have been written on the subject. Now I have a dog question.

You'd think I'd understood all Chica’s behavioral quirks, being a dog myself. But not so. She's much sweeter natured than I except at bedtime. That’s when she turns into a momentary monster. When I jump up on the bed with her and my mistress, Chica growls with the ferocity of a mad dog. It’s so primal that it's scary even though I'm bigger. Once I settle in she does stop, thank goodness.

Now I’m no shrink, but my first guess is that she's jealous. But if that were the case why wouldn’t she do the same thing in the daytime when I jump up beside her and my mistress on the sofa? Could it be night blindness? Maybe, but she knows it’s me by my scent. So what is it?

I’m asking the readers of this blog, both human and canine, to help me figure this one out before I lose my cool and bite her.